Vutoln Catreran
Barbarian
Vutoln Catreran
Species
Half-Ogre
Appearance
Vutoln is a huge, soft-bellied half-ogre whose bulk rolls and sways with every step, yet there is frightening strength beneath the sagging flesh. His greasy hair hangs in matted ropes around his ears and neck, threaded with bits of sailcloth, fishbone, and dried salt. His yellowing teeth are chipped and partially rotten, but his smile becomes strangely gentle when he speaks to frightened children or injured animals. His skin is rough as old leather, mottled by sunburn, bruises, and pale scars. He moves with a slow, heavy slouch until violence begins, then he surges forward with startling speed, his weight crashing across the deck like a dropped anchor. He smells of tar, sour beer, wet wool, and cloves rubbed into his beard to disguise the rot.
“His voice is a deep, wet rumble with a rough coastal accent. He speaks slowly when threatening someone and too quickly when discussing food, storms, or his mother's cooking.”
Ability Scores
Alignment
Distinguishing Features
A broken lower tusk that leaves a dark gap in his smile
A crescent-shaped scar across his scalp where a boarding axe nearly split his skull
A gold wedding ring worn on a cord around his neck, despite never having married
A left ear pierced with a tiny silver spoon
A habit of licking salt from his knuckles after touching the sea
Voice
“A low, gravelly bass that seems to come from the hull of a ship, softened by an unexpectedly careful rhythm when he speaks to the vulnerable”
Clothing
A salt-stiffened navy coat several sizes too small, worn over a stained linen shirt left open at the throat. He wears patched trousers, a broad belt made from stitched ship harness, one polished officer's boot, and one cracked leather shoe. Brass buttons stolen from dead captains glint along his coat, each engraved with a name he claims to have erased.
Body Language
Vutoln leans heavily on furniture, railings, and other people as though the world exists to hold him up. His fingers constantly knead his beard or worry at the leather strap around his wrist. When angered, he stops moving entirely, his shoulders sinking and his eyes fixing on the target with the patient attention of a butcher choosing a cut.
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