Unraveller

Ocean Horizon: The Shardseeker Chronicles

PIRACY INTENSIFIES

Ocean Horizon: The Shardseeker Chronicles

Fergus Gallagher

Image

"Nae matters the circumstance of yer birth, nor yer lot in life, only the truthiness of yer grit and the strength of yer heart."

NAME: FERGUS GALLAGHER
AGE: 46
HEIGHT: 6'-4"
WEIGHT: 268 lbs
HAIR COLOR: DARK BROWN
EYE COLOR: LIGHT BROWN

--- CREW POSITION ---

Deckhand / Crewman / General Mook and Goon.

--- PHYSICAL APPEARANCE ---

Ferghus is a vastly muscular man of middling years hailing from. Standing quite a bit above the average human he tends to stick out. It doesn't help that the man is heavily muscled and prefers to flaunt his physique.

His shaggy medium length brown hair seamlessly transitions into mutton chops and a thick beard, truly a gruff visage, yet one that more often than not sports a jovial expression, a warm smile below a wide flared nose. Of course, his light brown eyes tend to give off a minor tranquillity to them, betraying the rough exterior, whilst being topped off by thick brows, often furrowed. A countenance that is also dominated by a fair amount of wrinkles, generally worn by age.

The bulky man is also seen sporting an array of tattoos gathered through near a lifetime of piracy. From which each he tells of having their own little story to go along with. Most notably of these are a great oak splayed out across a defined back, branching up and around broad shoulders. A pair of skulls surrounded by roses, one of which is embedded by a simple dagger. And innumerable octopi, which the man deems as his favorite creature.

--- ATTIRE ---

Mister Gallagher, despite his penchant for the theatrical, does not clad himself in gaudy apparel that would frankly just get in the way. Not to mention fitting all manners of straps and buckles on such a large frame might prove quite problematic. And thus, one will most often find the man wearing nothing more than a simple striped tank, a loose pair of slacks, and a sash of similar material to bind it all together. A simple man.

--- PERSONALITY ---

Fergus is a very patient man with a great deal of interest on the theatrical, the gusto, the throngs of MANLINESS. There are very few people that anger or irk the man through incompetence or immaturity, in fact Fergus prefers to share in the naivety and innocence of those redeemable.

Always touting on about reaching perfection in some trait, this large man always forges onward his hardest to push himself beyond the limits of what makes a man a man, and thus encourages all those around him in the same manner. Whether they be underling, equal, superior, or enemy, Fergus wishes only to inspire those around himself that they may one day do the same for others, even despite his menial position.

Some may say that he is far too old to be a good deckhand, he only laughs it off with a hearty smile. Though due to his age, Fergus often finds himself acting fatherly, even to those of higher rank than he, occasionally landing him in hot water. Not to mention the mishaps through his straightforward attitude.

Fergus's traits are that of staunch nonchalance and perseverance, to see a better tomorrow and brighter future for all things. Deeply ingrained within the man is a love for all creatures, whether they be beast or bird, man or otherwise. Things are not nearly so black and white to the man.

His heart is warm, his demeanor inviting, Fergus is a difficult man to anger and one of surprising tranquility. On top of which he is honest to a fault, finding it nearly impossible to hide anything through his very transparent feelings. The man can be seen as too soft for his line of work, for above all, he desires only peace, freedom, and the spray of the sky seas.

--- WEAPONS & EQUIPMENT ---

Fergus is something of a tavern brawler, in the manner that he's quite proficient in beating the livin' hell outta something with those massive meat-hunks of his. Often making the most of the great strength he wields inside those muscles.

Of course, flesh is not all that great at stopping a bullet or blade. So when need be, the man can pull out nothing more than a low-grade pig iron cutlass. One that he isn't all that professional in use of.

--- 'BRIEF' HISTORY ---

A career pirate, through and through. This is a man of experience, yet not of status, having spent a great majority of his life on the treacherous seas, in the turbulent skies. For they are his home, his life, his dreams.

Born to simple-folk, of simple lineage, Fergus indeed had plotted a course in a life of simplicity. As a more rambunctious boy, he had been raised among a small family afloat a lesser wander isle of little consequence, in poverty amid numerous other men, women, and children of the same brand of dullness. And frankly, there isn't much to say about the life he left behind.

Up until the early teens had Fergus worked with his hands, even as a wee lad, producing the coinage to provide not only for his own hungry maw, but for that of his family. Trivial physical labor, a trend that began a young Fergus's molding into the bulky giant he is today. Of course, there is only so much satisfaction one ambivalent teen could receive in carrying cargo day in and day out, hour after hour for a pittance. No, a hungry heart and strong will demand something more to life, bound to an existence so narrow, it pains the soul.

And so, as any rash child with a penchant to see the world would do, Fergus found himself a stowaway, hardly even with a thought that he had broken his family's heart. Of course, these thoughts would catch up to the man, as he aged, as he grew wizened. Serving aboard an array of different ships of the sea and skies, never once with a care for becoming anything greater than a mere swabbie. For it was not rank, or subordinates, or power, or wealth in which the large man desired. No, simply the wind in his beard, and the spray of the sea, the freedom, the vastness of the world. Wanderlust. These are what keep Fergus's heart.

As for how ever he managed to find himself aboard the good old Horizon? Well, there comes a time in every pirate's life, where their luck just happens to run dry. For Fergus, this happened to be around the ripe young age of 39, seven years ago. Why don't we let him tell the story?

"Right, there I was. Locked right on up in the bilges-o-some god-fersaken vessel, tha crew I'd-a-been runnin' with just happened ta get in some deep troublin' waters, in a matter of speakin'. Beside me, me mates, Coughlan n' Aodh. Like I was sayin', here tha three-o-us are, down shit creek without a paddle, an' I mean it was bad, ya never know what another band of 'rats are gonna do with tha prisoners they 'aven't slit tha throats of.

Right about tha time when all our 'ope went and dwindled on ta fairy land, tha sound of rallyin' men. Ach, never in me-life can I say with such certainty that I'd been so happy ta hear cannon fire. Course, tha three-o-us were still all cooped up 'hind those bars. So what'd we do when tha guards took off ta deal with whatever big-ole mother they were after?

Used me damn arm as a crowbar, we did. Fit it all nice and tight 'tween tha hinges, an' all-o-us just pushed tha ever-lovin' hell outta it. Desperate times, lads. Sure, we coulda kept hopin' on some errant ball of lead slamming right through tha hull, but that'd be a damn miracle in a haystack it would.

Soo, just about tha time me arm snapped, all loud and cracklin' too, tha big-ole metal door broke off. Oh shite we were celebratin' that one for awfully too long. Right on up ta tha point where one-a tha crewman drew his blade right on through Aodh, damn bastard. He was done right then an there, mortally wounded, but we could pull 'im through, we could, we believed.

After dealin' with the blighter what stuck 'im an' all. Tha three-o-us waited, and we waited 'till juuuust 'fore all the commotion slowed down. Cause that's our chance, an' we took it, rushin' on by storm to tha deck. Blastin' ourselves through piles of men, headin' fer our target, a rattletrap ole Spectre. That's when tha final hope faded, a right fine explosion took that one on down to plummet through tha clouds.

We were ready ta throw in tha towel, sayin' our farewells, our last words an all. No regrets, no regrets. Course, that's when Coughlan just so happened ta catch wind-o-Sylph in disrepair. Like a little gift from above. Oh, they'd already decided, 'You go on Fergus, we'll catch up.' Damn bastards knew they'd never make it. Didn't matter what I said, final wishes an all, someone had ta stay with Aodh. Ach, rest their souls.

Swear, just got somethin' in me eye.

Where was I? Oh right, here I am, broken arm, never been a pilot in me life, flyin' some shoddy rust-bucket of a Sylph. Had no choice but ta go after the big-beauty that sunk that lil' scrap heap of a prison ship. And so, it was tough, lemme tell ya. Three days and three nights I was, waverin' in tha clouds, nearly passin' out every few hours after the adrenaline all got spent up.

Like I was chasin' an unreachable dream, only had Coughlan an' Aodh's memory to get me where I could right keel over. Three. Days. That'll kill a man without conviction. So I kept up with that grand skyship, what other choice was there? But, I just couldn't make it, an the fuel was all but runnin' dry. Ach, I remember starin' at that empty gauge fer hours, waitn' 'till it just gave out. At a time like that, there's no dread, there's no sense of fear or anguish. Only that I gave it me all, and maybe it just weren't enough. I was satisfied ta go.

But, course, that's about the same time the pace-o-that ship just barely slowed an unnoticeable tick, that I picked up on in me state. And so, I readied meself fer the crash landin' Haha! Only broke four extra bones after that, wouldn'tcha believe? Needless ta say, tha welcomin' party weren't all that kind at first glance, but after three days-o-chasin' what coulda been ghosts, any face was a welcomin' one. An, here I been, ever since, swabbin' decks 'till kingdom come! Hahah!

Ya know, after tha fact, I always found meself wonderin' why they never just shot me outta tha sky and be done with it, and why just about tha time when all hope dried up, they slowed down. Like it was some kinda test of will, or somethin'. I dunno, the Cap'll never give me an answer ta that one. . ."

--- RELATIONSHIPS ---

S'THERE ANY OF YA LOT WHO WANNA BE BUDS?

It seems I forgot to -

YAARRRRRRGGHHH!

Ocean Horizon: The Shardseeker Chronicles

Oh delightful. I'll stick it right on to the characters tab and work on them sweet relationships!

I wanna be a saikyou hero!

"That'll be three Cupon my good-good sir!" A most disingenuous toned voice called to a well-muscled, and not to mention, soaked customer. There, from underneath a hastily cobbled together, deal hunter of a kiosk, a squat little man testily waited for the money to enter into his grubby grasp.

From which moments afterward, the salesman spun and weaved a nice delicious stick of pastel cotton candy. Happily, the lucha-masked man abruptly turned about, moving from under the awning, subsequently dissolving his snack before he could even have the first bite.

About face again, gazing through two framed eye-holes, deep into the shit-eating grin of the vendor. Whom displayed a hat on the little cart, obfuscated by its umbrella attachment, only five Cupon.

---------------

A now water-retardant muscleman maneuvers through the yapping crowds, nibbling on his delightful treat as rain pings off the multicolored umbrella resting above his head, with the vague sensation that he'd been cheated out of his lucre.

Nevertheless, this bulky individual moves onward, with conviction, with determination, with GUSTO! That is, before being compacted in-between hoards of wacky costumed wannabes. Smack dab somewhere around the middle of the undulating congregation, the masked man found himself mushed tight against a stinky sea-woman's rock-hard frame and another interesting, thing, identified by a name-tag as Har Daithi Place.

The half-woman-half-fish creature's head tilted, turning toward the large man now pressed against her. With countenance as if a catfish, she twirled a whisker in curiosity. However, before she could open those thick lips, there was an upheaval in the writhing mob, something must have occurred far in the front as commotion spilled out.

--- Panic! Alarm! Madness! Lunacy! Mass Hysteria! ---

Masked ne'er do well and spandex-suited would-be-heroes pushed past, hurdling over, and smashed up against one another! Brawls broke out all over the gathered crowds, children were left parent-less! A bovine individual mooed in the center of a fountain! Nothing made sense!

In the absurdity of confusion, our dear pair of fish-person and trenched-lucha were flung right on to the head, thrust onto their hands and knees before two ominous men, who in turn stood before the great and slightly more ominous association doors. The luchadore's snack, vanishing painfully into the rain.

“Aaaah, I see's we got ourselves a new buncha eegits. . .!”

The voice rang out from the smaller of the jumper-clad demons. A crack of the knuckles sent a visceral snap through the spines of the two vertebrates, who in a matter of seconds took note of the gi-wearing, headband-bearing, whisker-flaring, catfish-woman whose pose took that of the latest moving-karate-pictures.

She stood, stalwart against the ruffians who in turn also stood stalwart, and she began with a particularly wet voice, without anyone asking mind you.

"I am the one known as La Passionné Poisson, once I was a normal-everyday-girl striving to be the sushi-eating champion of our entire world. Striving so very hard for so very long, I eventually realized that in order to be the best, I would have to BECOME the fish! I changed, morphing into the mighty and majestic woman you see before you! Of course, my trifles in a fish-eating competition were over, for I would be considered a cannibal and. . ."

---------------

The heavily-muscled luchadore couldn't help but gaze over to the exceedingly oddly shaped man as he rose from the cemented ground, who in turn also gazed at he. They shared a similar and bond creating stare of. . . Utter confusion. Perhaps also a tinge of embarrassment. And quite honestly, so too had the pair of blazon-haired men who stood all cross-armed.

---------------

". . .That is why, I, La Passionné Poisson, stand before you whiper-snappers today. For I shall use this newfound power to become a legendary he--"

Clearly the spiel was droning on for just a fair bit too long, and the younger brother's temper simply wasn't all that great. Besides, could you blame him? He'd probably heard this whole origin story thing at least ten times today, and there were two more waiting in line for a pummeling.

Thusly, the toned leg of the wildly-maned villain drove with instant speed, connecting with full-force straight into the. . . Uh, the jaw of the fish-woman. Knocking the wind outta her gills just as well as sending her flying, smashing through the cotton-candy kiosk. Much to a certain vendor's chagrin.

"Next. . ."

One of the brother's stated plainly, impatience running through their word. As either pair of men stood, facing off. Shadowy veils deepening the most serious expression while the tension tore through the disorder crowds. Sending their rabbling to a halt. All eyes, even teal-shadowed sets were on this confrontation. . .

Ocean Horizon: The Shardseeker Chronicles

Strangely, I feel like I should be being productive, trying to come up with future plots or something. But at the same time, I realize that I'm a lazy bastard. Truly this is the pinnacle of existence.

Ocean Horizon: The Shardseeker Chronicles

Fergus Gallagher

Image

"Nae matters the circumstance of yer birth, nor yer lot in life, only the truthiness of yer grit and the strength of yer heart."

NAME: FERGUS GALLAGHER
AGE: 46
HEIGHT: 6'-4"
WEIGHT: 268 lbs
HAIR COLOR: DARK BROWN
EYE COLOR: LIGHT BROWN

--- CREW POSITION ---

Deckhand / Crewman / General Mook and Goon.

--- PHYSICAL APPEARANCE ---

Ferghus is a vastly muscular man of middling years hailing from. Standing quite a bit above the average human he tends to stick out. It doesn't help that the man is heavily muscled and prefers to flaunt his physique.

His shaggy medium length brown hair seamlessly transitions into mutton chops and a thick beard, truly a gruff visage, yet one that more often than not sports a jovial expression, a warm smile below a wide flared nose. Of course, his light brown eyes tend to give off a minor tranquillity to them, betraying the rough exterior, whilst being topped off by thick brows, often furrowed. A countenance that is also dominated by a fair amount of wrinkles, generally worn by age.

The bulky man is also seen sporting an array of tattoos gathered through near a lifetime of piracy. From which each he tells of having their own little story to go along with. Most notably of these are a great oak splayed out across a defined back, branching up and around broad shoulders. A pair of skulls surrounded by roses, one of which is embedded by a simple dagger. And innumerable octopi, which the man deems as his favorite creature.

--- ATTIRE ---

Mister Gallagher, despite his penchant for the theatrical, does not clad himself in gaudy apparel that would frankly just get in the way. Not to mention fitting all manners of straps and buckles on such a large frame might prove quite problematic. And thus, one will most often find the man wearing nothing more than a simple striped tank, a loose pair of slacks, and a sash of similar material to bind it all together. A simple man.

--- PERSONALITY ---

Fergus is a very patient man with a great deal of interest on the theatrical, the gusto, the throngs of MANLINESS. There are very few people that anger or irk the man through incompetence or immaturity, in fact Fergus prefers to share in the naivety and innocence of those redeemable.

Always touting on about reaching perfection in some trait, this large man always forges onward his hardest to push himself beyond the limits of what makes a man a man, and thus encourages all those around him in the same manner. Whether they be underling, equal, superior, or enemy, Fergus wishes only to inspire those around himself that they may one day do the same for others, even despite his menial position.

Some may say that he is far too old to be a good deckhand, he only laughs it off with a hearty smile. Though due to his age, Fergus often finds himself acting fatherly, even to those of higher rank than he, occasionally landing him in hot water. Not to mention the mishaps through his straightforward attitude.

Fergus's traits are that of staunch nonchalance and perseverance, to see a better tomorrow and brighter future for all things. Deeply ingrained within the man is a love for all creatures, whether they be beast or bird, man or otherwise. Things are not nearly so black and white to the man.

His heart is warm, his demeanor inviting, Fergus is a difficult man to anger and one of surprising tranquility. On top of which he is honest to a fault, finding it nearly impossible to hide anything through his very transparent feelings. The man can be seen as too soft for his line of work, for above all, he desires only peace, freedom, and the spray of the sky seas.

--- WEAPONS & EQUIPMENT ---

Fergus is something of a tavern brawler, in the manner that he's quite proficient in beating the livin' hell outta something with those massive meat-hunks of his. Often making the most of the great strength he wields inside those muscles.

Of course, flesh is not all that great at stopping a bullet or blade. So when need be, the man can pull out nothing more than a low-grade pig iron cutlass. One that he isn't all that professional in use of.

--- 'BRIEF' HISTORY ---

A career pirate, through and through. This is a man of experience, yet not of status, having spent a great majority of his life on the treacherous seas, in the turbulent skies. For they are his home, his life, his dreams.

Born to simple-folk, of simple lineage, Fergus indeed had plotted a course in a life of simplicity. As a more rambunctious boy, he had been raised among a small family afloat a lesser wander isle of little consequence, in poverty amid numerous other men, women, and children of the same brand of dullness. And frankly, there isn't much to say about the life he left behind.

Up until the early teens had Fergus worked with his hands, even as a wee lad, producing the coinage to provide not only for his own hungry maw, but for that of his family. Trivial physical labor, a trend that began a young Fergus's molding into the bulky giant he is today. Of course, there is only so much satisfaction one ambivalent teen could receive in carrying cargo day in and day out, hour after hour for a pittance. No, a hungry heart and strong will demand something more to life, bound to an existence so narrow, it pains the soul.

And so, as any rash child with a penchant to see the world would do, Fergus found himself a stowaway, hardly even with a thought that he had broken his family's heart. Of course, these thoughts would catch up to the man, as he aged, as he grew wizened. Serving aboard an array of different ships of the sea and skies, never once with a care for becoming anything greater than a mere swabbie. For it was not rank, or subordinates, or power, or wealth in which the large man desired. No, simply the wind in his beard, and the spray of the sea, the freedom, the vastness of the world. Wanderlust. These are what keep Fergus's heart.

As for how ever he managed to find himself aboard the good old Horizon? Well, there comes a time in every pirate's life, where their luck just happens to run dry. For Fergus, this happened to be around the ripe young age of 39, seven years ago. Why don't we let him tell the story?

"Right, there I was. Locked right on up in the bilges-o-some god-fersaken vessel, tha crew I'd-a-been runnin' with just happened ta get in some deep troublin' waters, in a matter of speakin'. Beside me, me mates, Coughlan n' Aodh. Like I was sayin', here tha three-o-us are, down shit creek without a paddle, an' I mean it was bad, ya never know what another band of 'rats are gonna do with tha prisoners they 'aven't slit tha throats of.

Right about tha time when all our 'ope went and dwindled on ta fairy land, tha sound of rallyin' men. Ach, never in me-life can I say with such certainty that I'd been so happy ta hear cannon fire. Course, tha three-o-us were still all cooped up 'hind those bars. So what'd we do when tha guards took off ta deal with whatever big-ole mother they were after?

Used me damn arm as a crowbar, we did. Fit it all nice and tight 'tween tha hinges, an' all-o-us just pushed tha ever-lovin' hell outta it. Desperate times, lads. Sure, we coulda kept hopin' on some errant ball of lead slamming right through tha hull, but that'd be a damn miracle in a haystack it would.

Soo, just about tha time me arm snapped, all loud and cracklin' too, tha big-ole metal door broke off. Oh shite we were celebratin' that one for awfully too long. Right on up ta tha point where one-a tha crewman drew his blade right on through Aodh, damn bastard. He was done right then an there, mortally wounded, but we could pull 'im through, we could, we believed.

After dealin' with the blighter what stuck 'im an' all. Tha three-o-us waited, and we waited 'till juuuust 'fore all the commotion slowed down. Cause that's our chance, an' we took it, rushin' on by storm to tha deck. Blastin' ourselves through piles of men, headin' fer our target, a rattletrap ole Spectre. That's when tha final hope faded, a right fine explosion took that one on down to plummet through tha clouds.

We were ready ta throw in tha towel, sayin' our farewells, our last words an all. No regrets, no regrets. Course, that's when Coughlan just so happened ta catch wind-o-Sylph in disrepair. Like a little gift from above. Oh, they'd already decided, 'You go on Fergus, we'll catch up.' Damn bastards knew they'd never make it. Didn't matter what I said, final wishes an all, someone had ta stay with Aodh. Ach, rest their souls.

Swear, just got somethin' in me eye.

Where was I? Oh right, here I am, broken arm, never been a pilot in me life, flyin' some shoddy rust-bucket of a Sylph. Had no choice but ta go after the big-beauty that sunk that lil' scrap heap of a prison ship. And so, it was tough, lemme tell ya. Three days and three nights I was, waverin' in tha clouds, nearly passin' out every few hours after the adrenaline all got spent up.

Like I was chasin' an unreachable dream, only had Coughlan an' Aodh's memory to get me where I could right keel over. Three. Days. That'll kill a man without conviction. So I kept up with that grand skyship, what other choice was there? But, I just couldn't make it, an the fuel was all but runnin' dry. Ach, I remember starin' at that empty gauge fer hours, waitn' 'till it just gave out. At a time like that, there's no dread, there's no sense of fear or anguish. Only that I gave it me all, and maybe it just weren't enough. I was satisfied ta go.

But, course, that's about the same time the pace-o-that ship just barely slowed an unnoticeable tick, that I picked up on in me state. And so, I readied meself fer the crash landin' Haha! Only broke four extra bones after that, wouldn'tcha believe? Needless ta say, tha welcomin' party weren't all that kind at first glance, but after three days-o-chasin' what coulda been ghosts, any face was a welcomin' one. An, here I been, ever since, swabbin' decks 'till kingdom come! Hahah!

Ya know, after tha fact, I always found meself wonderin' why they never just shot me outta tha sky and be done with it, and why just about tha time when all hope dried up, they slowed down. Like it was some kinda test of will, or somethin'. I dunno, the Cap'll never give me an answer ta that one. . ."

--- RELATIONSHIPS ---

S'THERE ANY OF YA LOT WHO WANNA BE BUDS?

It seems I forgot to -

YAARRRRRRGGHHH!

Annnd, there we go! I've all gone and finished my history, please enjoy. Hopefully, if it's accepted completely I'll go ahead and start writing up some relations, whenever it goes on to the characters tab.

If it helps ya in creating some kind of relationship with Ferg. I like the idea that he's been aboard near since the start of it all, seven years about. Surely by now he'd know just about everyone that gets on deck.

Ocean Horizon: The Shardseeker Chronicles

Hehe, that sounds about exactly right for good old Ferg. I like it! I'll be sure to come up with something and try and finish my history/ work on relationships as soon as I get off work.

Ocean Horizon: The Shardseeker Chronicles

Allow me to get us back on track, ahem.

_{pirate noises}

YYYAAAARRRGHGHGHGHHHHHH!

_{pirate noises}

We now return to our regularly scheduled program.

Ocean Horizon: The Shardseeker Chronicles

Ehehe, I can dig it. So it's fully possible there's at least a bit of a relationship between he and Poole, though probably not to much of an extent. After all, as the ship's Bosun, he'd certainly at least know of Fergus. Who, perhaps, as a relatively normal man, has a decent standing with the rest of the mooks and general deckhands who aren't quite as relevant. Love to hear ideas if ya got some though.

Ocean Horizon: The Shardseeker Chronicles

Well, I went and edited it in anyhow. Right! It's probably time to wrack my head for a couple of hours on history and come up with nothing interesting at all! Hopefully my sheet should be completed relatively soon, especially I'd love to fill out the relationship segment. Hint, hint.

Or hell, maybe no one cares about the laymen in their crew.