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| Jeremias Santiago; The Portuguese Crusader | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Jun 3 2014, 11:36 PM (113 Views) | |
| Jeremiah | Jun 3 2014, 11:36 PM Post #1 |
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Iberian Drunk
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![]() Name: Jeremias Santiago da Rocha Peres (Jeremiah Saint-James of the Rock Peres). Gender: Male. Nature: Fanatic. Demeanor: Cavalier. Age: 35. Date of Birth: August 5th, 1195. Place of Birth: Braga, Portugal. Religion: Roman Catholic. Merits: True Faith (7), Medium (2), Crusader (1). Flaws: Vengeful (2), Haunted (3), Addiction (Alcohol [3]), Dark Secret (1), Nightmares (1). Appearance: Jeremiah's short dark brown hair shows signs of aging, as he has been through many stressful situations, aiding to the showing of these very signs. On his face, a perky nose can be seen when he has the hood of his vestments covering the rest of his somewhat typically Iberian face, with a slight tan to it. His eyes complement well with his hair and short beard, being hazel brown in color. Generally, he can be seen walking the streets in his vestments, either a long brown robe concealing much of his body or a knee-length tunic over chausses. He does have a strange armor, though, mostly made out of leather, seemingly somewhat worn and old, yet when wearing it, usually with a coat of chain-mail underneath it. Jeremiah rarely uses this armor, though. What probably stands out the most in Jeremiah is not the fact that his face is somewhat angular, but a scar on the top right of his forehead gives away that this priest might've been more than just a priest once upon a time. What stands out the most doesn't even have anything to do with his face or vestments; it's his sword that does it. A well-crafted, sharpened and polished Damascus steel sword with a cross engraved on both sides of the pommel. Personality: Santiago is generally calm and patient with his fellow men (Roman Catholic humans, that is), but if he comes across a 'creature of darkness', as he tends to call whoever isn't human, his attitude is quite the opposite. During the day, the man may appear tired, and with baggy eyes... One can safely assume he does not sleep much. He can get easily frustrated when it comes to certain touchy subjects, like faith, alcohol, or even his own past. History: Oh, brother. I remember the day you were born. Mother and father were so happy; they had your second name be that of a saint. I was as happy as they were, maybe even more… You became my little brother, and I became your big sister. I took care of you, fed you, clothed you, and bathed you… And years later you paid back in a different kind of coin. Remember all those times we used to play out by the Cávado river? All those frogs we used to catch, and then set free because you couldn’t stand harming one of them… And yet here we are. I’m a ghost, and you’re a wretch. You drink yourself to sleep every night because you blame yourself, and you should. No one is to blame but you. Everyone in your life has been hurt, and you’re the only one to blame. You thought you’d escape the troubles of the past, but you couldn’t. You can’t. You had always said you loved me, and I always said I loved you too. I couldn’t have known you had been so serious all those times you told me you loved me. I couldn’t have known what was inside your head, your sinful, incestuous thoughts… Inside your wretched brain, brother. That night, the night of my murder… I remember it. Do you remember it too, little brother? How you came drunk into my room, with your mind filled with incestuous thoughts. I tried explaining to you how sinful it was, to even think about those things, but you didn’t care, did you? You didn’t care about Him back then, but there’s no one and nothing else you fear more now. You’re afraid of going to Hell, well guess what brother, that’s where you’re headed, even with your Crusader’s indulgence. I remember how you ripped my clothes, how you punched me so I would keep silent, so I wouldn’t wake mother and father. I remember how I didn’t allow you to handle me, how I didn’t let you into me. I remember fighting back, and then I remember falling and hitting my head on the corner of my bed. Then, I don’t remember anything more. Now, do you remember as well? I saw you grabbing our family sword and running. I saw your tears falling as I lay there, lifeless, on the ground… Me, a dead virgin, and you, a running, crying virgin. You had to get away as soon as possible, or you’d be sentenced to death. You would hang for your crime, for your sins, for your love and actions. You would die as you should’ve died all those years ago, in the third battle for Jerusalem. But you managed to make it through that alive as well, brother. And your sword, and myself, still accompanied you. I saw you sick, riddled with disease, at the siege of Damietta. You and your crusader “brothers” dying one by one, with diseases fouler than your thoughts the night I died. All was lost, but you saw the light, brother. You saw Him, didn’t you? You saw our Lord and savior… You saw God, and God spoke to you as he’s been doing all these years. He saved you from that straw you were laid on, as you remained morbidly sleepless, helpless, sick, and diseased. You were as much a burden to others as you are to yourself this day. You are still diseased, little brother… Only with a different kind of sickness. Remember, little brother, the day Damietta fell? You were there; awake, with our family sword that had killed more than a dozen Arabs by then, and would come to kill much more than just Muslims. Than just men. You were there, brother, and you won the battle. You, and your God, and your crusader brothers. I remember accompanying you on your march to Cairo. I remember your feelings of fear, paranoia. You were always afraid of the next Egyptian raid on your marching brothers, on you. The next raid could be the last, and you weren’t willing to die yet. Remember, brother, how little you had to eat? How little you had to drink? Remember the Nile flooding, remember your near capture by the Egyptians? I do. I was there too. Watching you murder other people for believing in a different God than your own. You escaped. You managed to make it to Damietta eventually. Yet the disease came back, and this time it only came for you. You had failed your God, and now you would fail… Yet He changed His mind. You would not die that day either, but your life and world would change. Remember when you woke up a week after you were healed, brother? Remember who was there beside you? I was there. And you could sense me, and you could hear me… If only I was capable of murdering you like you did me. I wanted you to suffer, and still do… I didn’t want you to die just then, and still don’t. And after the war you traveled back to the Kingdom of your birth, you traveled back to Portugal, to Braga… To our home. And I followed you, little brother, and when you arrived you were met by an old cousin of ours. Mother and father had died, murdered, a bloodbath. They had found them by the river, with missing body parts, a gruesome scene… There and then, in front of me, in front of our cousin, by God you swore to see whoever was responsible for their deaths punished. There and then, your life changed. It took you months to find any clues, and years to follow them… But you did it anyway. You, brother, a kin-slayer which had been pardoned of his sins, who found God in the Holy Lands, was now following the tracks of a murderer. And when you found him, how did you feel? I remember. Do you? Do you remember how disgusted you felt when you found him fangs deep in a poor young woman’s neck? How afraid you were when you saw the look of complete horror on her face? How angrily your heartbeat was as you unsheathed our family sword, and moved in on him? Did you count how many times you had to hack at his neck with the sword to take his head off? I did. Six times, little brother. It was your first encounter with this type of creature. I recall your baffled face as it’s body slowly became ash and dust… A vampire. Remember? You didn’t know what it was at the time, as you saw the poor girl bleeding out onto the ground… As you tried helping her, but couldn’t. Another person lost because of your incompetence, brother. Because you couldn’t find that thing sooner. And then, you left for England, passing as a priest, after finding out what you had encountered… And you decided to study these beings, and to kill any you met, for "such unholy presences in the world would surely lead more than just a few innocent lives to eternal damnation". You, brother, decided to fail again... Because heed my words: You will fail again, and I will make sure to be there to see it. I will make you wish you were dead, little brother. For everything you’ve done, for everyone you’ve killed, for all of your sins. ![]() Edited by Jeremiah, Jun 15 2014, 09:04 PM.
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