Denrale Oberon's page

form the sea we came, and to the sea we will return. So is the belief of Denrale Oberon. Not surprising coming from the half-elf that was born aboard the Wind Star; a war vessel retrofitted for supply runs to port peril for one of the many free captains in the shackles. His mother and father were assigned to such runs frequently due partially to their luck and skill in the shackles. Rare was the occasion that their captain lost ship or cargo when those two were given charge, and so it was no surprise that, even with strong suggestions against, both were at sea upon Denrale’s birth.

While his parents assignments never wavered due to the island’s seclusion, the sea of the shackles is no place for a young child, let alone an infant; and so his younger childhood years was spent in the care of any on the free captain’s crew that remained ashore back home. Yet, while most would be opposed to the idea, many of the crew viewed the task as an honor. This would always puzzle the young Denrale, but his curiosity did not last long when his mother and father would tell him stories of their adventures at sea, fighting the mysteries of the shackles and the evil of Cheliax. He grew to assume that the honor of watching him was because of his parents and that the captain expected great things out of him as well.

It wasn’t until he was twelve that his life at sea not only began, but also took a drastic change. As a sort of right of passage, Denrale was tasked as a deck hand to a sloop that was to plunder a small Cheliaxian supply ship, with his parents commanding the Wind Star as escort should something go wrong. The Wind Star was also retasked to its original use just in case. Such precautions were proper, but no one expected what was about to come. When the prey was sighted, Denrale’s captain ordered to quarters and attack speed, surging the ship and crew into fervor for the upcoming fight. Denrale’s heart sang for this day. To finally join his parents as a sailor and pirate of the shackles was what he longed for every day since he heard the first tale of adventure from his family. That feeling sank quickly when a massive cheliaxian ship sailed almost out of thin air just off the port bow once their vessel came within firing range of the supply ship; as did the hearts of everyone on board, for they knew their chances against a ship of that size.

One roar from the warship’s cannons, and the sing of the ballistae, was enough to fill Denrale’s heart with fear. But the captain kept the men strong and steadfast, and seeing that forced him to do the same. The sloop was yanked hard starboard and began to run from the warship, leaving the small supply vessel behind. The warship gave chase, and even battered the sloop quite a bit, but was halted rather quickly once the Wind Star closed with the warship. Comparing the sizes and weaponry of both ships, Denrale rushed to the wheel, pleading with the captain to turn around to help the wind star. The captain, however, refused and even threatened denrale should he continue to suggest such suicide. Begrudgingly accepting the captain’s orders, all Denrale could do was watch in anger and sorrow as the warship fought the wind star to the bitter end, taking the lives of 100 sailors, including his mother and father. It was at that point that he swore to besmara that he would do whatever necessary so long as she would provide him the power to avenge his parents.

Once the sloop returned to the port, Denrale did not stay long, and in fact left the island a day or two later without warning. The ship he smuggled himself aboard was inbound for another island in the shackles, but he didn’t care where, so long as it was away from his home. Upon arriving at the next port, he had come across a temple to besmara and inquired for guidance. If he was going to do anything for her, the best place would have been to start there. During his time with the clerics, he learned the tools of the trade, as well as gained a knack for fettering out the weak believers from the strong. It was because of this that the clerics focused his training towards besmara’s inquisitorial group. It was also during this time that a birthmark over his left shoulder bore more meaning than just a birthmark. The clerics told him of the importance of such a mark and that the respect he got as a child was not for his parents sake, but for the sake of besmara’s mark. Now knowing that besmara had plans for him from the get go, only strengthened his zeal for the pirate goddess, but still it left him with more questions than answers.

Ten years had past during his stay, and yet once more the sea beckoned and the answers to his questions called. With the knowledge and skills he was provided and the divine magical attunement he discovered was granted to him, he set out once more, bidding farewell and thanks to the temple’s caretakers. Only a few weeks at sea did he find himself at port peril. Stopping by the Formidably Maid for the night and the drinks gave him the chance to pause and plan his next move. Destiny and answers await, and nothing would stop him from vengeance.

calm and collected, Denrale always feels at home on a ship of any kind, even if his cool demeanor seems out of place in comparison to most sailors of the shackles, pirate or otherwise. Make jokes about family, however, whether directed at him or not, and the man that once assisted a sailor with any task or situation on a ship would be using any means necessary to make the same sailor regret such jokes. Life on land may be possible, but it has never been one to counter the call of the sea and the swaying of a ship.

originally a darker blonde head, bleached over time by the continuous beating of the shackles sun. What soft features he may had borne when younger have been abused and eroded away over time, replaced by a nimble, yet firm frame, scared with callous hands and a striped back; with the occasional blade scar here and there as a careless youth. Only the soft facial features have survived the test of the sea, offset by his piercing emerald green eyes. Choosing to dress less like an inquisitor of a faith and more of an average sailor has allowed his eye for the respect of Besmara’s code to make sure it is followed without suspicion. Favoring a sea blue tunic underneath the studded leather, and a brand on the leather bearing the name of the ship lost to the hunters. Besmara’s holy symbol dangling securely at his hip. Doe-skin colored breeches neatly cuffed at the ankle over buffed black sailors boots finish the otherwise casual attire.