Coma

Hearing the boards above his head pound, Thirteen paused in his exercise. A steady rhythmic drumming as two combatants circled and attacked one another. Taking up a firmer grip on his weapon, the massive barbarian charged for the door. It took him some minutes to squeeze his huge frame through the passages back to the upper decks. By the time he'd arrived the fight was over. One man was calling for a doctor, and the other simply walked away. His bloodlust frustrated, Thirteen made his displeasure known. An unwary crew member caught the back of Thirteen's open hand across his face. The power of the hit lifted the man clean off the deck and threw his body like a rag doll. Thirteen strode off, feeling the eyes of the rest of the crew burning into his back.

Pushing past a pair of strange characters, the barbarian went to a spot along the gunwales where the sun shone through the snow. Thirteen dropped his bulk to the deck heavily. He leaned the powerful axe against the boards behind him and pulled a bread bag from under the bear-skin cloak. The meats within, with which Thirteen ate with relish, were of uncertain and unmentionable origins.

Sitting on the hard-wood decks of a sailing ship was possibly the last place that Thirteen wanted to be. This strange sensation, like floating whilst standing on a hill. The very last place for a bandit. Thirteen wouldn't have been here, save for the scrap of paper one of his raiders had passed him. The opportunity to travel far-afield was too enticing. Thirteen was a greedy man, greedy for pride, adventure, and loot. So he'd traveled to the city and boarded this wooden contraption on the water. He'd accepted the ride and the quest with the pure intention of taking all he could from the strange peoples they would doubtlessly encounter. A purse full of gold and a rack of skulls were Thirteen's only real goals.

More so, his fellow passengers were tiny little people. Insignificant and poorly armed by a barbarian's standards, the burley warrior estimated that this ship would take his men all of three moments to own. Thirteen had even been tempted to take ownership of this 'boat' on his own. It's timbers would make him a magnificent home back on land. Safe, immobile land. Bile rose in Thirteen's throat as the ship hit another swell. Fighting it back he continued running a coarse stone along the length of a massive machete. Concentrating on the task at hand distracted him from the need to kill those around him.

Shrugging the bear pelt tighter around his shoulders, Thirteen shivered against the unfamiliar chill. Cursing the wind that whipped across the open waters he sheathed his blade and retreated below-decks. The dark solitude and warmth was comforting to him. From under his cloak Thirteen took his axe in hand, the heft adding to his confidence. His favored weapon, with its massive forty-pound head and deadly cutting blade, would take apart any living being known either to Thirteen or any of his men. It felt good in his hand. Heavy. Thirteen grinned horribly as he began drilling, swinging the huge weapon about his body in mock battle.

Name: Thirteen.

Age: Unknown

Gender: Male

Physical Description: Huge, over 350lbs of pure muscle. A horrible branding scar mars the right side of his face, and the left is packed with dense tattoos. Thirteen once clothed himself only in the skins of his hunting kills, but his new role as a bandit precludes this. Thirteen wears the ragged clothing he finds after attacks. His most prized piece is an ancient protective tunic (Flak jacket, fyi.) that Thirteen has decorated with ears and silver. As a symbol of his status, Thirteen wears a cloak made of the largest bear he ever took.

Combat Info (power, weapon, etc.): Although affected by the Silver Comet as anyone else was, Thirteen is either unaware of his power or unwilling to use it. Instead he relies on his amazing strength and never-dying stamina. Around Thirteen's body is a dizzying array of clubs, swords, daggers, and other instruments of cutting, ripping, and crushing. Collected from victims or crafted by hand, Thirteen is an expert in the use of them all. The giant axe "Nergal" is Thirteen's favorite weapon, seldom far from his hands. Although he mistrusts it, Thirteen carries an ancient Webley revolver under his clothing.

These weapons, including brute strength, are tempered by Thirteen's mental state. Entirely self-educated, Thirteen cares only for the here-and-now, having no concept of a future. While he is not slow, Thirteen appears very dim to the average person. Planning ahead or seeing the extent of his actions are entirely unknown to this barbarian. Furthermore, he is easily driven to murderous anger by even the most simple of tasks (that don't involve destruction).

Short Biography: A massive hulking monster, Thirteen is the Alpha Male of his traveling band of bandits. Thirteen is a child of the Meteor; his parents were members of the cult centered around the Silver Forest. Deemed at birth as being a feeble genetic reject, Thirteen was branded with his characteristic Roman numeral 'XIII' under his right eye, indicating his worthless status and inferiority. Unlike other 'feeble' children, Thirteen took pride in his brand and flaunts it even now.

At the age of 11, Thirteen was expelled from the cult's village after killing another boy. Abandoned in the desert, left to die, Thirteen once again denied his own fate. Using primitive weapons crafted of stone and wood the boy fed himself with animals poisoned by the curse of the Silver Forest. Their meat nourished him, and the alien nutrients within transformed the boy. Years of eating only Silver Forest meat and hard living crafted the boy into a fierce some warrior, unstoppable and calculating.