[hider=Thag, Ogre Sailor]
[B]Username:[/B] Maxwell

[b]Character Name:[/b] Thag the Unwieldy

[b]Race/Species:[/b] Ogre

[b]Gender:[/b] Male

[b]Age:[/b] 39

[b]Career (if any) and Skills:[/b]
As an ogre, Thag is a natural fighter with an innate talent for causing spectacular damage to everything around him - sometimes even when he isn't trying. He has sailed the Old World's western coast from Sartosa to Erengrad, variously as a stevedore, deckhand and seaman, depending on how much his captains felt like paying. He can swear, demand food and threaten thinlings with violence in eight different languages (not that he can count that high).

While the finer points of sailing and navigation will forever elude him, Thag is a master of stowing goods, pulling the right ropes at the right time, and scaring off would-be attackers with his mere presence. He might not be the most elegant creature on the high seas, but he floats well, and falling overboard isn't much of a concern when you can climb up the hull of a Man O' War with nothing but rage and a blunt dagger.

As a staunch admirer of ogre culture, Thag is also an accomplished amateur smith; in the way of ogres, he has a knack for turning unassuming scrap into moderately functional pieces of gear, mostly by bashing them together until they assume a useful shape. After all, it's not like you can expect a weedy human smith to make a proper gut plate.

[b]Weapons:[/b] 
A chunk of mast strapped around a large anchor.

A pair of marlinespikes.

[b]Attire:[/b]
Various fishing lures, shark teeth and small knives as body piercings, and a hook hand for an earring. A large ship's helm covered in scrap metal as a gut plate. A tiny vest and a pair of badly worn pants.

[b]Equipment/Other:[/b] 
Thag doesn't carry much, on account of him being poor and recently shipwrecked. He is sure to pick up anything valuable, damaging or shiny he can get his hands on, though.

[b]Physical Description:[/b] 
Thag is an ogre, with all that brings with it. Just shy of ten feet tall, he towers over ordinary mortals, and is at least three times as wide as a man. His limbs resemble tree trunks and his hands are the size of dried hams, their palms thick with callouses and knuckles heavily scarred. A lifetime spent toiling under the hot sun has tanned his skin to the colour and consistency of leather, where it isn't pale with old scars, or pockmarked by left-behind grapeshot and shrapnel. Several of his teeth and nails are missing, and his nose has obviously been broken on several occasions. On one cheek, he carries an Imperial tattoo artist's best impression of the symbol of the Great Maw, a terrifying torrent of teeth spiraling into a bottomless pit - Thag was disappointed to note it looks nothing like the traditional image of the Maw.

Sadly, life on board a sailing vessel is not conducive to overeating, and Thag is laughably thin by ogre standards. His jawline and adam's apple can still be made out within his neck flab, and his upper arms hardly even slap against his sides when he runs. Equally laughable is his gut plate, made out of a simple ship's helm with a handful of trophies strapped across its spokes, the whole thing held in place by half-rotten rope. He carries himself with the same general air of humorlessness and martial pride as most ogres do, until the violence starts and his face contorts into a yellow-toothed smile.

[b]Mental Description/Personality:[/b] 
Ogres are not the most astute creatures, beyond perhaps a certain animal cunning, and Thag is a model example of his race in that regard. Driven by greed, hunger and a lust for violence, he possesses little in the way of ambition, and only a very simple kind of initiative - if a problem cannot be immediately solved without violence, the solution must indeed be violence. He loves to eat, drink and fight, and while he has learned to abide the ways of thinlings, with their laws, politics, hierarchies and money, he admires the simpler ideals of the Ogre Kingdoms - the thought of following an almighty tyrant into battle fills him with a longing he can't quite describe. Having sailed the high seas for nearly half a century, he is sick and tired of water and ships, and would like an excuse to wreak some havoc on dry land. Last but not least, he suffers from an entirely unwarranted sense of insecurity over his physique, and a slightly less unwarranted worry that he might die before he achieves the bulk of his dreams.

[b]Background/History:[/b]
Born after a chance meeting between two wandering ogre mercenaries, both come from the Mountains of Mourn to make their fortune fighting for the thinlings. Growing up, he watched as they killed and bullied their way across the Empire, and listened raptly to their tales of the ogre kingdoms - its harsh, unforgiving mountain ranges and the ogre tribes that ruled them. Their tales were numerous, fantastical, and oftentimes wildly exaggerated, and Thag loved them. Thinling society was a complicated mess of rules, trickery and secrets, but in those mountains, it seemed, life made sense. He came to idealize the ogre kingdoms, and though the realities of life forced Thag to adapt to the customs of the Old World, he resolved to emulate the traditions of the ogre kingdoms whenever he could.

After a little over a decade of mercenary work, Thag's parents finally went their separate ways, one sailing west with an Estalian explorer, one heading east with a Great Caravan, along the Silver Road to Cathay. As neither employer wanted a child along - even an almost-grown ogre whelp - Thag was left on his own in Marienburg, where he was immediately snatched up by the guild of stevedores and teamsters. A few years and countless bashed skulls later, Thag was among the guild's most valued members, doing the work (and committing the violent crimes) of an entire team by himself. He had all but settled into his cozy, simple lifestyle, and might very well have remained a small-time thug if a passing navy captain hadn't recognized his worth. An offer of a year's worth of gold per month, and plunder and food besides awakened Thag's wanderlust as much as his greed, and though the guild were most unhappy with his decision, Thag left to sail the sea of Claws in defence of Marienburg.

Many years of adventure followed, with Thag trading ships as greed and whimsy dictated until an unfortunate shipwreck saw him washed ashore outside of Miragliano, just in time a new call to battle.
[/hider]