Leading this CRUSADE ;; wip :3

[crusade]

GENERAL }}

NAME;
Crusade;
last name dropped.
GENDER;
Male
AGE;
Twenty-Eight
SPECIES;
Polecat*
OCCUPATION;
Corsair

OUTSIDE }}

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE;

There are very few reasons why any creature would stop to glance at Crusade; in fact, there are none. Nothing about the drunken corsair would be a cause for anyone to whisper, to marvel, or just simply stare. For Crusade has been, and always will be, simply ordinary; plain, common-faced, call it what you will, he is quite simply another person in the crowd. Masking his features, which have been hardened from what he calls an 'occupational hazard', is the traditional bandit-style markings of his species. His softest fur is generally found around his roughly-hewn face, and the most plush of his spots seems to be just as his eyes cave in to form sockets; in all his years, filth has not penetrated the small spots around his optics.

From a distance, the dark brown threads that make up his coat may appear glossy and sleek; on a closer inspection, however, one will find that his fur only catches such light, because it is thick with oil and sweat. Seasons of grit has built up beyond his hair and clung to his skin, preventing exfoliation - as such, his skin can often be itchy and a bit tender. When he scratches, small cells of dead skin tend to go flying eveywhere. Although his scent in general isn't too bad, as soon as he opens his mouth, the pungent odour of alchohol is almost over-powering, but most of the creatures he talks to a intoxicated sea vermin, so it usually doesn't matter.

To beasts who's mannerisms are more civilised, he appears to be a bag of filth - a breeding ground for terrible disease. But, he is actually a very fit and hardy creature. He has enduring stamina and considerable speed on his side, although his wiry build does not allow him to harness much strength. He is a rather tall polecat, however his insistant hunching over makes him appear smaller and more compact, and this habit has already started to maim his posture. His proportions are a bit awkward at times, as polecats has naturally short legs, and when he stands tall, his body seems to long and narrow for his stoat little legs. When stretching his torso, his ribs can protrude lightly from beneath his skin, but he is hardly emaciated - he is merely just naturally slender, and does not carry bulk or muscle.

His irises are coloured in with hazel; muddy, engulfing brown swallows a good proportion of his gaze, but the occasional fleck of dark, rotted green can be seen. Outlined with black lashes, they are actually rather long, and can thus be characterised as 'feminine'. However, they are covered with a thin layer of grime and dust, which ruins any sort of 'refining' quality is could have given him. When he grins, the small, chiseled fangs he bears are crooked, chipped, and stained a light yellow, Crusade maintaing a very low standard of personal hygiene; but he still cares for his teeth better than the rest of himself.

His once creamy-yellow underbelly has been stained a tender brown from years of wallowing in his own filth - and the filth of others. Curving around his neck, is a narrow scar from when he lost a duel and was then taken as a hostage, held at sword-point; in the end, a crew-mate slew his capter, but he was left with an unsightly pink scar, bare of fur, dirt evening out grooves. Allowing him to keep a level center of balance, even while drunk, is his long bristled tail that is in severe need of grooming; not even bothering to lift his appendage about ground-level, it trails through whatever mire or mud he happens to be ambling over, causing an extreme build-up of filth that he simply refuses to strip away.

Accompanied with his filth, Crusade's left eye tends to squint horribly of it's own accord. Thrust up over his arms and onto his shoulders, a green vest hangs, the hem tattered and threads falling hap-hazardly away. At one point in time, it was rich, velvety green, but grime and age has caused it to fade away to the same dark, rotting green that can be seen in his eyes. With a grey sash fashioned loosely about his waist, and a pair of black knee-length shorts, his appearance does not suggest that he was born to riches. No - he looks just like another cut-throat, dirty pirate who is eager to follow his Captain's orders.

POSSESSIONS;

Crusade - or Crusty, as his Captain calls him - has very few wordly possessions. At one point in time, he had manifested a small fortune in stolen goods, but gambled most away with his frightful luck. Still, he had been much more fortunate when he had sailed the seas, but now he is down-on-his luck with but the clothes on his back, and a small golden chain wound about his neck.

The chain is essentially worthless; rusted and fake, it's once gleaming surface used to be able to reflect the dimmest of lights to a remarkable degree, but nowadays it is worn, just like him. Light merely seems to slip dully off the chain, and it hardly brightens up his oppressed aura, so one may wonder why he bothers with the broken old thing. Quite simply, it was a gift from a young maid in his youth, and he wears it in regret, as the only touch of guilt you will ever see him express. He can very testy when someone criticizes it, and can be, abruptly, extremely wrathful if they dare try to touch it. It is his most valuable possession.

INSIDE }}

PERSONALITY;

To his victims, Crusade is obviously cruel, merciless, and uncompromising; he has to be. He will enforce order with a strong fist, and gut any one creature who refuses to conform to his authority. However, he is not a bloodthirsty killing-machine who revels in pain and who's goal in life is to make others suffer - he is simply living life the way his father, and grandfather has. He knows no other way to make a living, and is determined to remain ignorant of alternative lifestyles. To him, it's not a matter of being 'good', but rather of surviving - any way he can.

Crusade has a biting wit that is humurous, but also mocking and even at times unintentionally harsh. He is quick to judge others, and to put down their opinions, and is so very good at prying shamelessly at their weaknesses and flaws. Satirical in every way, shape, and form, the jaded corsair, unsatisfied with life, instead mocks it at every turn, always trying to get the upperhand on the whole world. It's a tough thing to try to do, and he in turn becomes more angry and regretful each time it beats him back down again. Crusade is comfortable in holding a strong grudge against the world, for all it owes him and all the grief it has ever given him.

Crusade is suspicious of everyone, and believes no one has pure intentions in anything they do; "nobody does nothing for nobody". He is also very sceptical - a cynic, a disbeliever, a creature who constantly doubts. The only exception to this seems to be his captain, who, he follows with a blind, foolish faith and hangs on his every word attentively. Once you have gained Crus's respect and admiration, you can do no wrong. Of course, his respect and admiration are very hard to gain, which is why his only loyalties lie with his captain, who is the first and last to achieve both of them. For someone so scornful of trust, he sure does invest a lot of it in his captain.

Crusade can be extremely insensitive, and over time his heart has grown cold in the absense of love, for he does not believe in such a notion. Once upon a time, he had been willing to give it a shot, but it had been too late and he ended up in pain, rather than love. So now-adays, he is under the impression that love is pain, and of no use. To him, "I am in love", is just like saying, "I am in pain." Oh yes, the lanky polecat has grown tart over his many years, and althrough his experiences have given him strength and a bright mind, it has also left him bitter and unaccepting.

Stubborn to the core, and not willing to stick his neck out for anybody (except his Cap'n), Crusade can likewise be characterised as cowardly and selfish. He may seem quiet and hard around those he does not know, but around those he actually likes, he is talkative and upbeat, and will even show an amount of care towards those who are close to him. However, he is not the type of friend that others would consult for advice on life, but rather if they are in a spot of trouble with a leader. Phsyically, he won't life a finger to help them, but he will lay their predicament flatly and clearly down before them with a tactless forwardness, and let them decide for themselves what they want to do.

Of course, Crusade is very intelligent, and would know the best method of action right away; but even for a good friend, he won't do nothing for nobody. Those who know him, and want his help, know to bring some sort of payment - in order to get the most concise run-down, and some sound advice on all options that could be considered. The vermin generally is quite relaxed and easy-going, but will snap at a moments notice, and strictly enforce order. Crusade doesn't try to prevent physically outburst, but he doesn't intentionally seek them out, either; if it's going to happen, it will, with or without his help.

His dream in life, his goal, seems to be to spite the world around him. He is determined to claw at the world and get the last, piercing laugh, no matter the cost. He is, of the final opinion, that life is a waste, yet still he grips to the world of the living and will readily push another into the way of death, so he can continue breathing. Perhaps living won't matter so much after he has gotten his laugh, but right now he sure does value his life high above the rest of the world's priorties. His life is near-the center if the universe, and will not accept those who think otherwise. If he wasn't the center, why would life pick on him so much?

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Strengths:


Weaknesses:


THE PAST }}

History:


Relationships: