Ortiga Azoul
From Inga no Kusari wiki
| Azoul, Ortiga ♂ | |
|---|---|
 Primera Espada | |
| Date of Birth | 5th June, 1921 (90) |
| Place of Birth | Casablanca, Morocco |
| Resurrección | Aguamala |
| Domir | Tóxicos Niños |
| Player | Ortiga |
| Arrancar | |
Contents |
Appearance
Ortiga reeks of creepiness, from his long and slim arms to his dark and shining slicked back hair. His fingers are overlong, ending in nails grown and sharpened to points, the veins beneath his skin bulging ever so slightly. He has a sharp nose, eyes and face, his irises the same colour of the sea whilst his teeth hold an eerily sharp look to them. Above his eyes are small purple triangles, markings reminescant of his former state as a Hollow, and beyond them eyebrows cut and shaped to add to the sharp and disconcerting angles the rest of his face possesses.
On each of Ortiga's cheeks are remnants of his Hollow mask, the lower arches of his eyes and the adjoining teeth. It looks similar to an upper jaw, though considering there was no jaw in his Hollow mask, it is simply a plate of bone with a line of sharp teeth sticking from the bottom.
His clothes are the same stark white as the sands of Las Dias, a well-fitting jacket of simple cloth covering his torso, the collar is long, reaching up to his chin, whilst the neck of it is plunging and deep, a great triangle that ends just below his chest. The sleeves carry along his long arms, widening and flaring at the end, vast cavities with pockets and straps for holding a whole host of objects.
Around his waist is a black sash, and hanging from this are an assortment of beads and bottles, buddhist prayer beads, Roman Catholic rosaries, containers of sickly green fluids, and masks of small hollows hanging loosely by tattered threads. The bottles typically hold elixers and poisons, intended to heal or harm, depending on the circumstances. There are also little leather bags of powder, gun powder, spices, sleeping powders, all of it meticulously collected and stored to reinforce Ortiga's self-image of being a medicine man, and allow him some degree of protection and safety, no matter what ill befalls him.
Tucked beneath the sash is his blade, Aguijon, it is a modest affair, a single shaft of polished Japanese Oak forming both the hilt and sheath. The blade is guardless, the unadorned hilt having carved into it near invisible crisscrossing lines to improve the grip. When hilt and sheath are together, the blade looks to be merely a polished stick of wood, possibly a quarterstaff, though considering it's position on his body it would be a poor place to keep a quarterstaff. This hidden blade is used as a form of surprise when he does draw it, but also it allows him to move about without attracting the combat-hungry attentions of some Shinigami.
Personality
Ortiga is a self serving coward, he fears for his own existence on a daily basis, and will do anything within his power to keep himself alive. He is devious and forever planning things as if it were a game of chess, anticipating the actions of others and searching for ways to better himself off of those actions. He has a way with words, or so he'd like to think, another poisonous barb to his arsenal to allow him to use those around him, play on their best interests and, in the more dire of situations, talk his way out of a fight. He would rather flee from a fight than see it through to the end, though with his constant efforts to keep his allies thinking well of him, he will often engage in combat simply to allow himself to make use of others at a later date.
A terrible lecher, Ortiga will actively select his prey based on their physical appearance and the social stereotypes they fall into upon first impressions. He likes sweet and innocent teenagers the most, all the better for his wandering fingers to touch and his tongue to taste. Though this tendency can often wind him up in more trouble than is wise for merely eating the spirits of humans, Ortiga enjoys it thoroughly. Coupled with this is the fact he is also a bit of a sadist, enjoying inflicting pain upon his prey, be it emotional or physical. It's all to do with control, and the ability to pick and choose who he dines upon, and even beyond that to be in the commanding position, deciding what pain is inflicted, how much and when, all serves to sate Ortiga's inner desire for self control, and thing he lacks and severely fears.
A renewed confidence accompanied Ortiga as he reinstated the vast Imperio del Hueco. He no longer fears for his life, but considers himself a god above all. Still self-serving, he speaks of himself as often as he can, and when involved in a fight, often uses unfair tactics in order to ensure that he gains the upper hand and ultimate victory.
History
Born the son of a cobbler (shoe-maker) in Casablanca, Morocco, Azoulay had very limited scope for growth, he would become a cobbler like his father, and was taught as such, with little consideration of going to a school for further education. He learned his trade at a very early age, and learned enough in other areas to get by, some basic math skills, speaking. It was all sufficient to let the baby grow up into a young man. As he grew older, Azoulay got more and more of an urge to branch out into other things rather than be stuck with the life of a shoemaker.
He didn't enroll at a school due to his age being unsuitable, at sixteen most his age had already left school, so he undertook an apprenticeship in working as a joiner. With this profession he could earn more than his father did, and so earn more for the family in general, raising their standards of living, let them live like kings in the city of the White Castle.
When war came to Casablanca for the second time in living memory, Azoulay was one of the first to sign up from the general public to help the French effort. Given a quick-and-dirty training, he saw combat on the Franco-German border in 1940. The survivor of three battles, Azoulay's poor combat training failed him in his fourth combat situation, and he died by gunshot three months after his induction into the Moroccan army.
Like many of the dead of World War 2, Azoulay was forgotten, unsent for months. Like a coward he ran from his comrades, across France, through Spain he ran, to return to his native Morocco, to his family. It wasn't until he reached Paris that Azoulay realised that he was dead, and after that he wondered how much a fool he had been, to flee his body at the slightest wound, to expect others to help him when his cries fell on ears deaf to those who should be in their graves, not wandering Parisian streets, begging for food, the smallest scraps and morsels would do, anything to keep this wounded soldier going so he could reach his family in Casablanca.
Azoulay grew more and more tired as he crossed Europe, eventually reaching the Spanish coast, Morocco was just across the Strait of Gibraltar, 9 miles wasn't that far to walk, but to swim was a completely different matter, especially for a ghost, but regardless Azoulay would be unable to make the journey across the Strait, for it was in the hills of Tarifa that his hunger struck for the final time. It was terrible, the hexagonal plate that had adorned his chest for so many months was beginning to crack and crumble, a medal he had first thought it, before he realised his death. He stumbled into a village, any village, he had to eat, his stomach did not growl but he felt so immensely empty. The first home he came across he fled into, gobbling bread and meat, but they provided no sustenance to this ghost. Sustenance or not it no longer mattered, the plate on his chest snapped and Azoulay began to scream.
He can't remember now how long he screamed for, only that when it was over, when his mind came back to him, he could not feel his face. It was as if an incredible numbness had overcome his head, and then a sharp stab of sensation, smell, the smell of sweat and blood and flesh, the smell of food. Looking across the room from Azoulay was a small child, a girl no more than 8 years old. She could not see him, but she could see the overturned tables, the crumbs and strips of meat so brutally ripped apart in thin air. He turned to her, he tried to speak, but his face wouldn't move to his wishes, instead he felt the hunger again, and an urge at the back of his mind tickled his lips and his tongue into even more of a hunger, he could taste the girl in his mouth, blood and sweat and tears and fear filling his mouth, flowing down his esophagus with paradisical taste and fullness.
She was dead before Azoulay even realised that he was chewing on her bones, her body and her soul now his, in his stomach that felt similarly numb. He caught himself in the mirror when he left the house, no feelings of remorse or fear over what he had done, he was invisible to the living, they would not punish him. In the glass he saw his horrific reflection, a white face like a skull covering his head, even as he stood there to look it changed, the teeth sharpening, becoming as huge as those of the dinosaurs he had seen in museums at home. The top of the mask flattened out, and as that happened the flesh that made his arms, his entire body, began to unravel.
It was not painful, the transformation into a Hollow, not as painful as it looked whilst Azoulay stood there, meserised by the changing reflection in the glass window. His flesh took a darkish colour as the body unravelled into thousands of thin stands, tendrils, it was obvious what he was becoming near the end, some kind of monstrous jellyfish, the white mask now sitting atop these many tendrils that coiled and writhed with feeling, a saucer of bone upturned, his eyes saw through triangles in the ornate mask, as his teeth surrounded the base of it, he could feel every one of them, but he had no jaw. It all fitted into place quite well, as if Azoulay, no, he was not Azoulay, he was a monster now, and it was the most natural thing in the world, it was as if he had been born as he was now, never before being a Human. He still had his memories of life, his drives and emotions, but somehow they seemed insignificant, somebody elses problem, all he was filled with now was a desire to feed, at least now he knew how to sate that hunger, instead of foolishly wandering around Europe, begging the blind for bread and cheese. Who needed bread and cheese anyway, it was insubstantial compared to the grand vastess, plentiful fields of meat and souls that lay around him. The world was his oyster, and he would feed until he was hungry no more.
With the ability to hover above the surface now, uninhibited by the restraints of feet and legs, never tired or sore or full of cramp, free from the restrictive effects of gravity. He was free to float where he would, through his own will or merely following the wind in its vast currents, and it was this latter choice that he adopted, drifting about Europe for years on end, no final destination in sight, merely a motive to drift.
As he floated he ate, as was natural for any Hollow to do. Azoulay decided it was only right to completely immerse oneself in the process of eating, he needed to do it or he'd die, no point trying to resist, do what the humans would consider the 'good thing', fight the good fight. Fighting the good fight was what killed him, what made him into the bloodthirsty creature he was now, he was not human, he had transcended that and become truly mighty. It was in 1953 that the Hollow named itself, Nettlesting, a suitable name for a jellyfish, but anything would have done to break free of the final shackles that tied him to mankind, his pathetic human name.
In the late 50s, Nettlesting met his first Shinigami, quite an achievement for a Hollow that had been living for more than a decade then. The creature that looked human, with a sword that stank of souls, so inviting and tasty, he was almost fooled by the invitation, but fortunately realised the true intentions of this creature that took the face of a human, that could see him unlike every other creature. It struck like a viper, but Nettlesting was quicker than that, hovering up and out of the way of the falling blade. Immediately he lunged forward, and threw his myriad tendrils at the blade, wrapping around it, grasping arm and torso, head and legs. Up and up he pulled the Shinigami, all the while further into himself, crimson oral arms with their millions of tiny teeth cutting the clothes and flesh of the pathetic creature apart, consuming flesh and soul with the vigour of one that starved, that craved the flesh and blood and gore.
That encounter put Nettlesting into the realisation that he was as easily killed as the human souls he preyed on, most plentiful and helpless in their graveyards. But he, like them, could easily be torn into two, consumed forever. His almighty form was not immortal as he had thought, he did not age, but he could be killed, truly he was still mortal. Overwhelmed by this feeling of mortality, of weakness, of lack of control, Nettlesting fled the world he inhabited through means he did not know, to recover from the wounds incurred from his battle. Once in Hueco Mundo he felt an immediate lightness to his form, as if all his problems had been lifted from his domed head, like his stomach pouch was full and he had not a care in the world. He would, in time, learn that this was due to the air of the Hollow World, thick with reiatsu to sustain the Hollows that inhabited it. Not enough for most of the greater Hollows, but enough for a lowly one as Nettlesting was right now, a mere polyp compared to the great beasts that roamed the landscape.
The days melded into months, and those in turn morphed into years, for decades Nettlesting roamed Hueco Mundo, testing the waters of Earth whenever he began to feel peckish, and by 1992 he had pretty much mastered the methods of moving between the worlds, breaking the air, dashing through as the atmosphere, cracked and splintered like glass, slowly fixed itself. It was primitive compared to the elegant folding of fabrics that the Menos Grande's used, but it was all a lowly Hollow like Nettlesting could perform. For years he continued this act of flitting between worlds, feeding on human souls whenever he could, usually fleeing from Shinigami unless they weren't completely saturated with reiatsu, those that were could usually change the way their blades looked, and that usually lead to Nettlesting being at a terrible disadvantage. It was in situations like that that Nettlesting fled, filled with a feeling of inadequacy and cowardice. He needed to become stronger, to be in control of a situation, rather than fleeing when things got tough, but self-preservation was a strong feeling, and he wasn't going to ignore it when his life was threatened.
A new level of ability was discovered after years of searching, discovered but not attained. The other Hollows were generally not very conversational, but some would occasionally drop the odd part of information to Nettlesting, mentioning things such as Ceros and Altos and Sonido, weapons, Nettlesting assumed, to combat the creatures the other Hollows called Shinigami, the black robed monsters wearing the faces of men that rendered Nettlesting so vunerable.
With forward planning and hopes to grow in power, Nettlesting began to venture into Earth more and more, challenge weaker Hollows to fights, and take on Shinigami whenever he was confident that he could win. With the souls he collected and the combat experience he gained, he was sure that he would grow more in power. He gains power by the day, and soon he will be the master of his existence, rather than fearing the acts of others, fearing for his life.
As Nettlesting grew and evolved he developed abilities even he had not anticipated. Venturing into Earth was a worthwhile way of gaining strength and finding souls that were more than filling, and he developed a tendency to feed off the leftovers of others in addition to his own hunting. He formed an alliance with a huge dragon-like Hollow named Kudram quite early in his time hunting in the Okumichi City area, using his cunning and the brutish Hollow's strength to enable the two to eat more than well. And though it pained Nettlesting somewhat that Kudram considered him something of a bottomfeeder with his sometimes scavenging ways, it all helped to get Nettlesting more evolved and aware of his self.
An Arrancar named Anzu would prove to be Nettlesting's big break. Released from his bestial form by his own hatred of Quincy, he amassed an army of masks to lay carnage upon the spiritual archers, the monks of destruction as they were known and feared. Nettlesting went along with the army. Never explicitly naming himself as one of them, he drifted along the edge of the battle, consuming the dead and nearly dying whilst the Hollows and Anzu simply killed without eating. Plenty of food left over. It would have been perfect if not for a scuffle with the Shinigami Shiro Amida, who soon fled under Nettlesting's assault before being replaced by some masked human with armour and weapons forged from the sun itself. It was then that Nettlesting realised his frailty, inflicting damage upon his foe, but suffering himself and retreating before he was able to land the killing blow.
Some days after the ill-fated assault upon the Quincy Abbey, Nettlesting found a band of youg adults poking around an abandoned apartment building. Seeing a chance for an easy meal he followed the group silently until they were too high up to escape, ambushing a pair of young lovers and tearing them to shreds, feasting upon their panic, their fear and confusion, and, most importantly, their souls. He followed another little human before being attacked by a Shinigami, sworn on his pride to protect the living from the likes of Nettlesting. They fought to a standstill, with Nettlesting discovering the ability of cero half-way through, before the gods looked upon the jellyfish Hollow and his ally, Kudram entered into the fray, taking on the Shinigami in single combat, allowing Nettlesting to chase after his intended prey.
He never managed to feast on Yukari as she fled towards police cars and safety, summoning some curious ability like the burning knight from before to entangle him whilst a bullet hit him square between the eyes from a mysterious police officer. As he lay there, barely holding on to life, Nettlesting found new strength within himself, the spirits from the young couple serving as what was needed to push him from being a simple Hollow and raising him from near death as a Hollow alto, with a more aggressive form and a mind that wasn't ruled by hunger he fled into Hueco Mundo, to think on what had happened and bide his time.
The time was bided well as he consumed lowly Hollows, further adding to his strength as he roamed the endless desert, not really searching for anything, merely contemplating the past few months of his existence, how everything had come at once to him, how he was finally becoming something to be feared, something in control. It was during these wanderings that he discovered the ruined stronghold of the long-dead Anzu, filled with scrolls and jewels he revelled in the treasure he had found, a discovery so important, in fact, that it brought even the Arrancar Queen, Elmira, into the rudimentary hut. She commended him and lead him towards Las Noches, where the rest of his life was waiting for him.
In a hidden chamber beneath the palace of Las Noches, Elmira performed a forbidden ritual, transferring her own power into a great machine that worked to raise Nettlesting from his basic shell, breaking his mask and his body into a thousand pieces in a whirlwind torrent of concentrated reiatsu. The pain was nigh-on unbearable and he thought he was going to die then, at the hands of a treacherous humanshape. Though it turned out, after just a few minutes of the storm that he had survived, his body had changed, tendrils had wrapped into muscles over bone, elongated fingers and sharp nails replacing his snapping claws whilst his oral arms were given a jaw to reside in and teeth to chew with, a tongue to taste things and ears to hear things. Nettlesting became an Arrancar, an Arrancar who called himself Ortiga.
He did not know where the name Ortiga came from, a single thought in his mind, the only thought in his mind after the transformation. With this single word he christened himself, leaving the palace to test his new appendages, to chew on the flesh of some unfortunate soul, to taste their blood and feel their skin against his. He was a god amongst beasts now, he was finally in control.
Combat
Strengths
A master of pain, Ortiga knows quite intimately the pressure points and nervous highways of not only the human body but also those of other creatures. He can chop limbs off and remove organs without killing his prey, knowing how to maximise the amount of fear and pain they experience and harvest it for his own sick enjoyment. He is also able to read others insofar of their fears, playing on them to make his opponents rightly fear him and give in to his supreme control.
Ortiga can do many things with his hands, including making potions and elixirs from base ingredients. Using rudimentary equipment and readily available substances he can produce cures to almost any ail, and poisons that can bring about just about any illness. He carries on his person a selection of these toxins and powders, knowing intimately their uses and origins. If a prey was lucky enough to be hauled back to the small stone building he calls his lab, an evening of unending 'fun' would be in store for them.
From having myriad tendrils and claws, Ortiga can operate his fingers independently of one another, allowing him to easily entangle an opponent, and multitask his actions, going both for the opponents pressure points and airways whilst wresting their weapon from their hands.
Weaknesses
With self-preservation and a quest for higher power driving Ortiga forward, he can often be driven to rash decisions, fighting opponents who appear at a glance to be weak and easy prey, whilst equally fleeing from burly types who look like they know their way around a weapon. This caricature of the fight-or-flight mechanism means that even in a situation where no escape is possible, he will opt to avoid combat and flee for his life, only realising that there is no escape at the last moment.
A coward, Ortiga will more often than not use whatever he has about his person to help him escape from harm, whilst this may be good for allowing him escape, it can very often cause him to wind up lacking once he has fled, with none of his elixirs or poisons left to use the next time he winds up in harm. It is for this reason that if he flees, he goes directly back to Hueco Mundo, a good scare can easily get him to flee.
A lecher, Ortiga often picks his prey for their physical appearances and judges based on stereotypes and the mantra of 'small is weak, big is strong'. This can often lead him to pick his opponents unwisely, winding up that he picks a dangerous foe due to their size. He also likes getting enjoyment from his prey, often abandoning all thoughts of combat in order to frighten his victim and inflict pain upon them. With such focus and attention upon his prey, it can often leave Ortiga defenseless against other attacks that may be thrown at him.
