Background.
Setebo is not his name. He vaguely remembers a boat. Arriving at an isolated homestead? Castle? There was running, screaming. Were we pirates? Peaceful traders? Nothing.
He next remembers the table. He knows he had seen it many times before but he cannot remember those times. The table was pain, straps, needles, knife, hammer, saw, tubes. Starving and bloated too close and feeling far far away.
He remembers the storm. He was on the table, in pain. There was a strange wizened man nearby turning a crank that opened the ceiling over the table to the storm outside. "Yes, I think one more treatment, my little Setebo"
Colorful, glowing liquids flowed into him through large tubes down his throat and directly into his chest. He was bleeding from a hundred cuts. The pain was...nothing compared to the pain when lightning crashed down through the open roof. In the light he saw the old man chanting, calling down the storm. That is when he got angry, very angry. He screamed in pain and rage. The straps, half burnt by the lightning did not hold.
He does not remember what happened next. Does not want to remember. He woke to a gentle rain a half burned mansion smoldering behind him. He felt very full.
Over the next few days/weeks he found and buried the burnt and strangely twisted remains of his crew-mates. His own wounds healed quickly but the strange scars remained.
He was alone on a strange shore. He saw a boat. A little skiff but it would go away with him.
Days, weeks later, who can say? A merchant ran across his little boat. Strangely he was still alive. It took him days of eating and sleeping to get well enough to move. He helped where he could, saying little and slowly starting to wake from the horror.
Then there was another storm.
Appearance.
Setebo is wrong. Not just ugly. Ugly is normal. Setebo is covered in strangely orderly scars and the pelt that covers his back, arms and lower legs is more hair than fur. Random hand sized patches radically change color or texture or length. His eyes are two different shades of blue and his thumbs are different lengths. His hands are covered in scars and more than a few stitch marks. Needle welts run up his arms and bandy legs. Under his strange hair his skull is scarred and carries strange bulges.
The remains of leather armor he is standing in adds little to his appearance. Neither does the war club he carries.
Personality.
Too shell-shocked to operate on much more than instinct at the moment. He does not feel safe in his own skin and so will defer to others to avoid conflict. He asks few questions of others, not having many answers himself. He is learning however. More and more every day he is learning. Reaching out through a jigsaw body and a shattered brain. He is watching, learning, becoming, but becoming what?
Currently Setebo exhibits a pack oriented mentality. If you are in the group you are good. If not then not. He responds enthusiastically to both praise and criticism. He will tend to follow strongly worded orders.
