Captain Méchanteau

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Captain Méchanteau

Biographical information
Amol-Kalit 187 Cerak At'Thu
Physical description
Undead Human Lich Male 5'9" 100lbs None None None
Political information
None Pirate, Trader, Mercenary, Necromancer
Out-of-character information
Nuno 01/06/2019 https://www.deviantart.com/johangrenier/art/Pistol-Wraith-522942335

A mysterious pirate captain from parts unknown, Captain Méchanteau is a powerful necromancer completely devoted to Tabin-Ur. He has on occasion accepted letters of marque, but mostly acts independently from any organizations. He is ill-liked by sand elves for enslaving them en masse.

Appearance

Old enough for his flesh to rot away but not the point of turning his bone to dust, Méchanteau's skeleton is well-polished and smooth to the touch. Magic ebbs from his empty eye sockets, its hue changing with the captain's emotions. Méchanteau's cranium is set in a menacing rictus and somewhat chipped and worn from age, wind, battle, and the sea itself. Despite, or even because of, his quite advanced age Méchanteau insists on following the latest nautical 'trends'. He acquires his new pieces from the drowned and those fallen in battle, with a clear preference for bloodstained or tattered fabrics, which he tailors into impressively ornate sets of clothing.

Skills and Abilities

Méchanteau has mastered a quite varied set of skills, ranging from seafaring and gunnery to wielding all manner of exotic and deadly weapons, his dearest and deadliest being the Cursed Khopesh of Alhazrit.

Méchanteau is an adept magic user, deriving much of his power - which he calls 'essence' - from the souls of other beings. Victims of his soul-taking are not necessarily dead, rather their bodies act as unquestioning conduits of his will much like his own, more often than not working themselves to the bone and then some for decades on end.

The necromancer has a keen eye for business, dealing to and fro Cerak At'Thu the most exquisite of slaves, elves. He is quick to pick up on new tongues and dialects, and his haggling skills are second to none. His frightening presence also aids him greatly in securing deals, be they escorting missions or attacks on unsuspecting ships.

Where he goes, a fog follows, upon which he can walk or use as a structure or weapon. This is the worldly manifestation of the nameless, unfathomable monster sealed inside the Cursed Khopesh of Alhazrit, the beast has slumbered for aeons, and Méchanteau prefers to keep it that way.

Méchanteau learned how to weave and sew from his mother.

Personality

Méchanteau is a man of extremes. At times he is more lively in death than he ever was in life, other times he appears deeply jaded and fatalistic, a stark reminder of the burden of prolonged undeath. Still, Méchanteau cares for the same things he did before his transformation, the hoarding of wealth and lore, the more ancient and forbidden the better. His recent breakthrough on his own particular brand of necromancy has left him ravenous for souls to consume, a hunger he wants sated more for the sake of his own sanity than for the well-being of others. He is willing to negotiate with old enemies and former friends to find a cure for his ailment, or use them as sustenance to prolong his life.

Biography & Lore

Although a man of the sea, Méchanteau was born deep in the desert of Amol-Kalit, to a nomad trader tribe. His birth brought his mother boundless joy, but his father, wary of the ever-growing number of mouths to feed, was less than happy when the baby survived long enough to be given a name. As with all youths his first name was chosen by the Great Mother, he would be called Méchan - Night-Eater, or more precisely, He Who Eats Through The Night. True to his name Méchan's gluttony was seen by many as excessive, he would grow brawny and strong, while his playmates, unable to coax and embezzle extra rations as well as he did, were thin and lithe in comparison.

At the age of 5 Méchan was thought to be smart enough to begin learning a trade. His father was a star-reader and his mother a seamstress, his father taught him the dance of the constellations, his mother taught him how to work a loom. The fairer and more open treatment he received from his mother made Méchan favor her lessons, the boy was quickly made into apprentice tailor.

Life was nice and lazy under the Amol-Kalitian sun, miserly too. At 11 years of age Méchan was good at his craft and on decent terms with his father, sharing some of his curiosity on the patterns of the celestial bodies. With no other point of reference only the starlit sky allowed them to navigate through the ever-shifting dunes, and what Méchan learned he weaved into his tunics. They were beautiful works of art, well-favored by the merchants of Elbion - in spite of his young age Méchan became critical to the prosperity of his tribe, and he was well aware of that. But the whole ordeal seemed unfair to him, why should he work night and day and receive only food and water? He wanted those pretty flickering disks of metal that the Great Mother received from the traders and kept in her ivory chest, they were very well-hidden and therefore very precious... More importantly, they were his for the taking!

And so one night Méchan snuck into the Great Mother's tent, saw her slumbering mass flanked by her two jackals - company animals, friends to all children - and smote all three. His bloodied cudgel fell from his shaking hand once the deed was done, not out of fear but... excitement. Tied to the hag's necklace was a key that he plucked, under her sleeping mat was a chest heavy with that he loved most. He opened it and saw enough coin and riches to last for three lifetimes, and it was all his. It is said that Tabin-Ur stood by the boy's side that night, carrying through the night breeze dark secrets and incantations as reward for the amusement young Méchan had given him, even helping him dragging the impossibly heavy chest away from the caravan. The tribe was slaughtered to a man hours after, by robber cultists if the markings made from their bones are to be trusted.

When dawn finally broke Méchan collapsed. His treasure was carried away by a gust of wind, and his body swallowed by the sands. Where he was taken to he could not tell, but he was perhaps the first in an age to enter The Forbidden City and from it reaping great reward at relatively little cost. As he looked for shelter from the swarms scorpions and serpents the child fell into a veiled tomb, a spire turned inward into the ground, burrowed deep into the stone underneath the sand. He was still in the Charlatan God's graces, instead of death he was met with an open sarcophagus of eldritch design. He was compelled into entering it. And so he did.

Days, weeks, months, years, to Méchan they passed all by like seconds. But these were long seconds, each an eternity, during which he learned much about life, death, and the things beyond them. Inside his prison Méchan was stripped to his bone, leaving only his soul behind to animate it, of his past life he cared and remembered little, only for that precious yellow metal was on his mind... Nebu, called the spirits with which Méchan communed, gold, murmured a memory in his head, of a man always gazing at the moon and stars. And so in slumber Méchan became Méchanteau.

One day grave-robbers came and violated the sanctity of Méchanteau's place of rest. His sarcophagus and dozens of other artifacts were taken by camel to a distant port city, hauled on board of strange black ships, and sailed to a island far, far south. Cerak At'Thul awaited the ships, and its nonliving stowaway, with open arms. Awakened by the chanting of a frenetic baritone Méchanteau returned to the land of the living. The jade lid of his sarcophagus slid violently and green lighting spewed forth from his eyes, incinerating the head of the enchanter and dispersing the screaming congregation. Surrounded by relics and judging from the many seats before him, the revenant guessed correctly that he had interrupted an auction of sorts. He took all objects on display and pilfered the strange clothes of the man that had incurred on his wrath, then making his way through the docks and into a gigantic galleon, sturdy like a dwarf fortress. Those that barred his way were turned into soulless servants, those that neared his touch suffered the same fate, without shedding a drop of blood Méchanteau laid claim to a mighty ship and a soon-to-be skeleton crew.

Méchanteau left Cerak At'Thu as suddenly as he arrived, returning a week later with two more ships, all brimming with slaves. He sold his product quickly, at extremely low prices, when it came to sand elves none could compete with his near monopoly. And then, unannounced, The Sleeping Jackal sailed away with her sister ships in tow. This cycle repeated itself time and time again, and Méchanteau soon gathered a flotilla big enough to accept mercenary work without having to halt his slaving business. With his enormous wealth came the means to hone his abilities, he made great efforts to master every nautical matter, in part so as to divide his plunder as little as possible, and to delve deeper into the mysteries of his gods.

One foggy evening Méchanteau strolled alone in his deck, watching his meat puppets go about their business... Then, a voice from below called to him, one that could sink him to the abyssal depths, it made a plea, a threat, and then a promise. The Captain did as he was ordered, throwing to the sea everyone in his ship that still had flesh and sinew over their bones, slaves or deckhands it did not matter, only the skeletons and the wights remained. The air cleared immediately as the water surrounding the twenty odd ships stained red, the sacrifice was over, and in return Méchanteau received the Cursed Khopesh of Alhazrit, handed to him by a tentacle that could split the waves.

In current times Méchanteau continues expanding his power and influence over the seas, troubled only by a madness that is beginning to cloud his mind. This worries him a great deal, and now he seeks to have it cured - at any cost.
Categories: Category Undead

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