Tlaminqui
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This RPR is for a new character, and is heavily under construction!
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Appearance
Height: Tall for a jungle creature at six feet and two inches.
Weight: Lean, a physique for an agile survivalist's life rather than the bulky, athletic sculpted physique of a gladiator. More a lizard than a dinosaur.
Build: Fibrous and developed, tight muscle speaking of a life of physical activity.
Eyes:A purple tone that easily reminds of an eggplant.
Scales: Bright yellow with faint traces of reds.
Feathers: A gradient that goes from bright lime greens, through yellow to red.
Hands: Thin, clawed fingers and calloused palms, testament to a life of work.
Tail: Long and strong, it may perhaps lack the flexibility that a monkey could have to grab things, but a strike from it will sting.
Voice: Raspy hissing tone, dried by seawater and a love for smoking strange herbs.
Markings: Scattered everywhere, and most prominently on his chest and arms, there are multiple scarifications featuring symmetrical reptilian designs, carved with primitive tools on his flesh. Tribal motifs, clearly. Perhaps to tell a story or some superstitious form of prophecy.
Weapons:
- A vicious Macuahuitl. A simple base of wood with jagged knives of obsidian socketed along its length. Crude and fragile, but the sharpness of the stone was infamous amongst the first jungle explorers, for the ease with which one of them could sever a limb with a single blow.
- A small blowpipe, more portable than the usual long canes usually spanning several feet, but incredibly inaccurate in longer distances. Loaded with darts coated in paralytic poison harvested from the skin of toads deep into the jungle. -
Tsikbal
The mysterious, vastly unexplored jungles deep in the islands that the tecohuanime - the slave traders - named Guildereim, gave birth to Sxxhoatl inside one of the many unknown tribes shrouded in a mist of folklore, rumors and mystery. There were old memories of his home imprinted in his mind's eye: A hidden valley of tiered houses, overseen by an monstrous ziggurat, with its bold depitctions of terrible scaled gods with names now forgotten by most, and perhaps that was a better destiny. To allow them to remain in the slumber of men's ignorance as nothing more than secrets of the rainforest. The reptilian designs on the stones spoke brutality, and ritual sacrifice, and the ever-returning maw of the devourer that would feast upon the world to birth it anew. The flame pillars oft illuminated the night when the stars aligned in their complex dance, to announce the seasons. Flames fed with living flesh to serve as tribute to insatiable deities.
An unforgiving world in which survival was meant for the fittest, and morality in the way the foreigners understood it was a strange set of greys. The somber lizard-priests praised gods that would lead outsider tongues to strangle themselves, offering flesh from friend and foe alike to bring them peace, and keep the balance of their savage world. Many adventurers spoke of his homelands with awe and superstitious greed. It was said that the gargantuan pyramids were built of bricks of gold, and spoke of precious rubies and emeralds that were eyes of stone behemoths; of mastery over the craft of the delicate obsidian, sharp enough to sever a horse's head in a swing, and of legends mixed with rumors and circling reality like hungry vultures.
The tecohuanime had taken him in the night, many, many rains ago, meant to be sold off as a scaly piece of meat to anyone who had eccentric enough tastes, or that could crack the godfearing savage into submission. But the ritual scarification gathered on his chest in its odd, symmetrical designs was a tale. Prophecy perhaps, or simply a self-fulfilling tale of pride. Carved in his flesh was the story of the tlaminqui, the hunter. And so the foreign men with their shackles of iron could not bind him, his tongue bearing poison and his long claws sharpening for many moon cycles, preparing to meet the throat of his captor.
The man in question was a wolf by the name John Bonner, a criminal turned into some government's privateer after his profitable ventures in unexplored lands, selling flesh and suffering and hiding it behind a charming smile. To the outside world, he was a roguish gentleman fit for a dinner with kings as much as to break slaves and breed pirates and other scum of the earth for his own gain. It was a night of full moon when, with the gentle rocking of the ship, the skink slithered free from his chains, and stole the captain's name as the last drop of his life's essence escaped his throat, crimson and terrible. It was said that he feasted on his heart. And it was also said that the lizard stole his soul, but those were merely drunken ramblings in some sailor's den.
From that day, after the death of the fleshmonger that would have sold him like cattle, he claimed the slain captain's name which now rightfully belonged to him, to become Johnny Sixx, born from mockery of his strange true name, Sxxhoatl, that no sailor dared speak. Even among pirates he was strange in his brutality. One that never stemmed from an absent morality, but of an understanding of death as an almost religious prospect. His renown came from the ease with which his blade could be brought down on the defeated, and also because of his strange, savage customs, which he never did abandon. Even at sea, Sxxhoatl did not abandon the use of the strange bulbs and flowers and plants that embarked him upon strange oneiric voyages, that brought him to strange heights in the depths of his mind, and oft numbed his mind with only murderous intent before battle.
He had been living his years in that strange border between being a slimy seafaring criminal, a life of freedom at the risk of one's neck; and the memories that call from his home, bound in blood, to return to his people. He is now two different people that pull in opposite directions: one to the jungle, one to the seas. But for now, the rainforest's magical song drives him to the ancestral ruins, and the obscene lizard gods, and thoughts of home.
