Nightmare Sheeta
Memories bleed through my veins
My death was far from glorious.
When I was young, I wanted to go out in style, sailing into the bowels of a storm far too eager for my ship to handle, screaming songs at the top of my lungs until they froze over from the cold. I yearned to combat death until its frigid talons sunk into my heart, and even then, I wanted to best it. I wanted to duel the sharks and scour the depths of the sea, to discover uncharted lands and procure mystical objects, to become the immortal hero my naive mind always thought myself to be. I was a very eager man. I wanted to die as such.
I suppose my dream came true, in a sense.
After years of meditation, I can recall my death with perfect clarity; I was in the midst of a fierce battle aboard my very Vixen. A questionable name for a royal ship such as she, but fret not, I chose it with great care... my poor mother was furious (as intended). Regardless, she was a strong vessel, holding off the intruder's ship to the point that they failed boarding three times. They only managed to get by due to dumb luck and a sudden shift in the wind.
In other words, they cheated.
I remember having to deal with my fair share of pirates in my prior life, but nothing to the scale of these dogs. No, this was the sea's very own Poseidon's Hate, the tastelessly named pirate ship run by no other than Valentine Rouge, a long-time enemy to the crown - to my family. An odious specimen with a fierce crew of bandits with nothing but loot on their minds. You'd think the site of a royal ship would deter such gold-starved mongrels, but alas.
I remember having utmost confidence in my crew as we began to be boarded, all hands on deck to deal with the gnats that swarmed us. It was terribly exhilarating to my younger self, the perfect chance to best a most wanted criminal and reclaim the possessions he plundered from my country. It was my time to become the hero I strove to be and prove to my superficial mother that the throne was not my place. My calling was the sea and her majestic beauty, untouched lands, lost knowledge; realms beyond the scope of her royal protocols and standards. My place was here, among my crew in an epic struggle for control, the sky weeping rivers onto us to wash away the blood that spilled. And I was to rise victorious with a mighty cry, bloodstained blade thrust into the sky, my men's cheers soon following as the storm roared its approval.
Was to.
Instead, I quickly became a rather unorthodox pincushion while my crew cried bloody murder, being picked off one after the other. I don't recall the pain, thankfully, but judging by the amount of blades, I can safely assume that it hurt. Quite a lot. Even more disgusting was how Valentine reveled in it, taking every measure possible to try and break me down, going as far as to behead the remainders of my crew and drink the blood that flowed forth from them right before my eyes. If being a rampant criminal hell-bent on raiding, plundering, being the very cause for countless death and despair along the coast wasn't enough, Valentine turned out to be... a vampire.
A bit cliché, isn't it?
But alas. According to Valentine, I had been his most valuable plunder, his greatest prize in all his years of raiding. No, he hadn't intended on slaying me as he did the rest of my men, but rather to turn me into his puppet (or play-thing. I never really knew). How ironic would it be for such a prestigious son to turn against his very crown? Thus he sired me, and I became one of them. The last thing I remember was being carried to his ship as my Vixen burned, and noting how she still managed to look majestic even whilst dying. Not even the storm could quell such radiant beauty. God have mercy on her, she was a good ship.
I spent far too long in a trance I could not break. For years upon years I followed that man to the brinks of the Earth, pillaging and marauding coast to coast, spreading disease and destruction wherever the wind blew us. For years I was stuck in a haze of blood and hunger, a state of mind that only Valentine could satiate with his cruel ways. I call this era of my life 'The Storm', as we raged across the sea akin to a tempest. Yet... those who know the storm are soon consumed by it; their calm ruptures and can no longer be contained.
It was after fate had me taste the blood of my own lineage, that my skies finally cleared.
She had been a frail girl with fair skin and blonde hair pulled into pigtails with blue ribbons, so very reminiscent of the mother I hadn't seen since my turning. As I stared down upon her horror-riddled face, even after death, I remembered. It was as if blood began to flow through my veins once more, yet not with blood, but with memories; they seeped from every vessel, made my skin itch so terribly. They gave me the strangest sensation of being alive again, and for the first time in my undeath, I could feel. I became my own entity, could grasp my own thoughts as if they were tangible beings. As I gazed across the sea and her endless beauty I could feel a dull ache within my chest, my heart beating not with blood, but emotions; regret, sorrow, and a pitiful anger.
I was Thorian once more.
The turmoil of emotion I felt can only be akin to a storm-front gathering over the ocean, waves crashing furiously against my heart in seeming efforts to get it going again. I was so, so angry. Thus, I took the brewing storm within me and manifested it into a single emotion; revenge. I became the storm. I lashed out against Valentine's crew like lightning, the savage roar of my rage akin to thunder, striking fear into those who heard it. My fury was the gale force wind that whipped many of his men overboard, one after another plunging into the sea. It finally came down to Valentine himself to boldly brave the storm, the fire in his eyes so eerily reminiscent of myself as a young man; Valentine was a very eager man. He was going to die as such. Our struggle was brief, but I prevailed, entangling Valentine in the chains of his own anchor and casting him overboard. Forever would he be condemned to the ocean floor along with my guilt, anger, and all of my sorrow.
Nowadays, I consider myself to be a simple man. It's humorous how the curse Valentine bestowed unto me would turn into a sort-of boon; I'm free to explore as I please, discover all the ruins I researched as a boy, and ultimately live the life of an entirely free man. Or at least that's what I like to tell myself. It certainly beats the alternative; brooding over a past gone by, recounting sins over and over. It's not that I don't think about it, I most certainly do, but the time to dwell upon it has long since gone. I'm six-hundred and fifty-eight years old; I've spent enough centuries in sadness.
I may be a living nightmare, but it is my life, and I've come to adopt it. I try to repent for my sins where I can, but it isn't a race. I hunt evil whilst exploring the world, all at my own pace, on my own agenda. It's the perfect world my former self pined for so terribly... drama, adventure, glory. It only cost many lives to make it so, a terrible price to pay for my rebirth as a beast. But I will avenge them. So long as I walk the Earth, lightning strikes in my wake. The ghosts of my former crew howl with fury, their roars loud and thunderous. I am the perfect storm, the immortal hero I always aspired to be.
I am Thorian.
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Credits:
Profile by 
Ringo
Overlay by Keshi
Story/Character by War
