Silver Eglamore
From Inga no Kusari wiki
| Eglamore, Silver (Gregory) ♂ | |
|---|---|
 Unseated, 4th Division | |
| Date of Birth | 9th August, 1410 (601) |
| Place of Birth | York, England |
| Zanpakutō | Morganna |
| Player | Hector |
| Shinigami | |
Contents |
Appearance
Silver stands at a lofty 6'9” with a neat and tidy head of silver hairs that he keeps tied back in a pony tail that goes down to the middle of his back. He has a strong jawed face that carries a pair of grey-blue eyes and soft smile. His broad shoulders are packed with very well defined muscle, as well as the rest of him, though he is far from blocky or awkward. He looks to be only a young man of 25 or so, maybe 30 if he doesn't shave that day. Being a fairly simple man, he boasts no piercings or tattoos though he has experimented with getting different colour hair ties (these experiments ended in failure and he has reverted to simple black).
He wears the sleeveless variant of the shinigami uniform, showing off his arms more out of practicality than fashion. He's always hated baggy clothes and since they get in his way when trying to do something. Silver also took the liberty of replacing his belt and back pack sashes with thick leather belts, trusting the tanned hide to hold onto his equipment better. He also always wears his medical bag, though he has replaced the standard bag with a metal, shield shaped case that also has a space to hold his sword sheath. As one could assume from that last description, he wears his sword on his back, the hilt poking over his right shoulder to be drawn at his convenience.
Personality
Silver is in general a nice guy, or at least he tries to be, to those around him. He puts on a gentle smile most of the time, cracks jokes and laughs along with everybody even if he's the butt of the joke. This however is a bit of a facade on his part because he doesn't want to worry those he considers friends. He is constantly battling what he thinks of as his 'former nature' where he was a soldier who relished combat and took many lives. He's almost trying to repent for his past life despite the fact that he can barely remember any of it, and what he does remember comes to him in blood soaked dreams.
Sometimes the fight to keep his former self at bay is a losing battle and he lets his temper get the better of him. He doesn't go into a berserk rage any more than anybody else, but his temper tantrums are rarely without some casualty (be it living or some unfortunate wall). Most of these tantrums are sparked by failures on his part, in particular a failure to protect or save somebody. He desires nothing less than to stop the pain of others and to restore as many lives as possible.
As for quirks of his personality, he actually abides by the code of chivalry and honour, never resorting to 'dirty tricks' regardless of his situation. He'll hold doors open for ladies and gentlemen alike, largely due to another of his personality quirks being that he's at the very least mostly homosexual. He was completely gay early in his life, but he's remained open minded over the past 600 years. He can also be shy around cute guys or girls, often slouching to not appear so tall and intimidating.
History
He was born a healthy, mahogany haired boy to a fairly well off family in the heart of York, a recently renamed city at the time. His mother, the lady Eleanor, name him Gregory after the writer of the Gregorian chant, Pope Gregory the I. It was her hope that Gregory would grow to be a pillar of the Christian ideals and protect the city of York like his father did. Gregory’s father, Sir Benedict, was a prominent knight in service to the military with several battles to his credit, including the battle of Tragh-Bhaile where he earned a handsome amount of wealth for his services.
Both Benedict and Eleanor wished for their son to become a hearty and strong knight to earn their name honour and wealth after Benedict became too old to continue such activities. To that effect, Gregory was raised as a noble of the times, taught sword play, horse riding and general battle tactics. He wasn’t much older than 15 when he first waded into battle, sword held high and heavy plate draped on his limbs. It was a skirmish, barely, as a few barbarous Germans fought to re-conquer lost glory. Still, it was an important event for Gregory as he took his first life, that of a boy no older than himself though with much less armour and training. There was a celebration for him later that evening at his home; friends and family come to cheer on the newly war-baptized Gregory. The young man soaked it up and couldn’t wait to test his medal again, completely understandable considering he was not but a teen boy high on his first victory.
Many battles followed, each one a victory with Gregory returning a hero to those close to him. He was even earning notoriety among the military ranks and by the time he was eighteen he was having young maidens practically tossed at him by fathers eager to have a young and distinguished lad to add to the family. Truly life for Gregory was a fantastic paradise that any man would envy, save for one small detail. Gregory found the young ladies at his feet were not to his tastes, but the fathers that threw them were. Indeed, Gregory felt ‘fonder’ feelings for his fellow soldiers than he did for the women he was being asked to marry. This was a detail he let slip to his mother, a foolish idea on his part, but he didn’t know much better as the idea of homosexuality didn’t even cross the minds of his parents and thus never made it into his learning as ‘wrong.’ It was a secret between the two for three years until Gregory let the cat out of the bag when he enjoyed the company of a handsome young cook who worked in his family’s kitchen. His mother was disgusted and heart broken as she had hoped her son would fix his disposition over time. In desperation she turned to the church and confided in a Cardinal who was a friend of the family, hoping that they could ‘set him straight’ as it were. The Cardinal knew Gregory’s ‘choice’ was a mortal sin and that Gregory would be put to death should anyone find out. While the Cardinal had no love for those of the homosexual community, he did have a need for soldiers as the recent advances into the east were being torn apart by the fire-arms that were being developed there. The Cardinal used his influence to have Gregory lead the next expedition into these lands, knowing he would die but hoping the armoured man would be able to gain some ground as well.
Gregory was actually glad to accept the chance to get away and earn some true fame. The march was long and treacherous, but Gregory and his men finally met battle near where Russia now meets Ukraine. Their enemy was a troupe made of Asian and Mongol soldiers armed with arrows and guns mostly. The battle was fairly even, the guns being clumsy to wield fire and reload allowed for Gregory’s troops to close in and his archers to thin the crowd. Still, each volley shredded the infantrymen and Gregory himself felt each one like a kick in the chest, but they didn’t penetrate his metal hide. Soon the battle was clearly going against the English and he ordered a retreat to a nearby forest to save them from the ranged weapons. Gregory was actually caught in the head by one last volley from their enemy and he rushed into the woods, disoriented and losing himself quickly. He collapsed in the woods, separated from what remained of his soldiers, left to die by his enemy.
He next awoke with his head in the lap of a lovely woman in a small wooden house on a hillside in the forest. Initially, he was frightened and jolted up to find he was very sore and cramped, falling from the bed the woman had been sitting on. She told him, in a very harsh Russian accented version of English, that she had found him in the woods two days ago. She had carried him to her home with an ox and pried off his armour to treat him. It turned out that this woman, soon introducing herself as Ira, was a medicine woman who treated all who came to her from the nearby villages. She stayed out of villages herself because she was considered a witch of sorts and though she had frequent customers, she was not welcome to stay. Gregory had no intention of staying near her either, the term witch having put him off spending another moment here. Still, he found that rather impossible as his ankle had been rather harshly broken when he fell and going anywhere wasn’t going to happen for many several weeks.
At first, he was what in modern terms one would call ‘a huge jerk wad’ to his hostess, but soon her clearly benign nature curbed his attitude and despite himself he found he was growing quite attached to her. When he was well enough to hobble around on a makeshift crutch, he started helping her around the house, particularly with the small ‘farm’ she fostered and firewood since he was still a very strong young man injury or no. He also learned a great deal from Ira, the woman seeming to enjoy talking quite a bit since she had so few opportunities to do so. She taught him about her medicine, how to cook, and after a bit of a theological debate, Gregory agreed to listen to her ramble on about her faith. He had been taught (as most of that age was) that if one didn’t follow the Christian god, they followed the Christian Devil in some form or another. Hearing first hand that Ira gave patronage to neither and still turned out to be a perfectly good person through her own beliefs shook Gregory’s faith to it’s bones. He found himself questioning the campaigns his church led and had even sent him on, also mulling over their policies to people of his… preferences, where Ira seemed perfectly okay with it. Still, his wounds did heal over the course of two months and he found he was reluctant to say goodbye. Ira was also reluctant to see him go since he was a very helpful man and treated her with more kindness than anybody she had met before. He asked to stay until he could sort out how he felt about his home and Ira agreed to let him, happy that he was taking his life into his own hands.
He stayed with Ira for over two years, learning everything she knew about medicine as well as finally managing to muddle through Russian and what oriental languages she knew from passing soldiers. It was a regular morning for Gregory, waking up to tend to the farm, when he saw that far down the hillside coming from the village was a crowd of people with torches in hand, loudly yelling. Gregory knew a witch hunt when he saw one and rushed into the house, rousing Ira and donning his armour for the first time in two years. He met the crowd outside Ira’s home in full plate with his sword held in front of him. It so happens that Gregory’s little excursion all that time ago had continued without him and converted a number of the surrounding villages. This one had just decided to not suffer a witch to live, bearing sword and pitchfork as holy weapons. One even held a gun, though Gregory paid it little attention since the last time he had been fired upon they couldn’t pierce his armour. Unfortunately for Gregory, guns had advanced a fair bit in the last two years and when this one was shot, an iron ball the size of a walnut buried itself in his chest. It didn’t kill him outright, and that scared the bejeezus out of the huddle crowd, especially when Gregory charged and lopped off the arms of the man attempting to reload his weapon. The following fight was pretty one-sided since none of the villagers knew how to fight and their weapons were slipshod at best. With a quarter of them slain, the rest ran for their lives, leaving just as Gregory collapsed, a mix of blood loss, shock and pain from the shot. He died soon after, cradled in Ira’s arms with tears running down her face. The last thing he heard before the darkness took him was “Please find peace” as a final prayer from Ira.
He woke up next in a forest alien to him, dressed in full, undamaged armour save a helmet, with a long sword in hand though otherwise completely alone. He couldn’t remember anything very clearly, least of which his name or how he ended up here. He soon found though that this forest was far from uninhabited as a group of really rather ugly men with a variety of weapons closed in a round him. One of them said something similar to ‘that silver haired guy’s armour looks expensive’ though Gregory could only glean the word silver and thought perhaps this was his name. In an odd occurrence, his hair had actually lost all colour, though he didn’t realize this because of his fuzzy memory. He walked forward to greet them, being a bit disoriented and not recognizing them as a threat. That was soon cleared up though as one thrust a rather ratty looking spear at ‘Silver’s’ head. He reflexively parried it, cutting the tip from the shaft with a single swoop of his sword. He did similarly with whatever other attacks came his way, though never did he make an attack of his own. For some reason, the idea of injuring these men disgusted him, he just wanted some peaceful solution, and found it when the men ran off after being summarily disarmed.
He meandered into the forest himself, unsure as to where he was going but knew it was better than just waiting around. He found a village like settlement after a days walk, though the inhabitants all seemed wary of attacks for some reason. Silver, as he was now introducing himself, stressed that he came in peace and didn’t want to fight. He even discarded his armour in favour of simple cloth robes and pants though he kept his sword just in case he was accosted like before. He asked to stay until he got his bearings and even offered his help as a doctor, medicine being something he felt inexplicably comfortable with. At first he was treated as an outsider, watched carefully and visited rarely, but he soon became a member of the society, even learning that he had died and this was the afterlife (that one came as a bit of a shocker). It was a bit of an explanation as to his dreams though, having slurred and skewed visions of a beautiful woman in a forest every night, now what he thought to be his ‘life’. He enjoyed his afterlife as a medicine man for the village for the next five hundred or so years until he met his first shinigami. A band of shinigami came to the village gates carrying a few injured with them, having hunted down and arrested a rather large and imfamous group of bandits. Silver didn’t even wait for them to request aid before he was out there to greet them with his medicine bag (and sword since this wasn’t the nicest district of Rukongai). The shinigami wanted refuge for a couple of days to recuperate and heal before heading back to Seireitei. Silver helped in patching up the wounded, and while he was another came up and offered to take him back to Seireitei with them. Silver was told that he had enough rietsu to join at least and that he would be able to help stop the lawless nature of these deep areas of Rukongai instead of just patching them up. Initially Silver refused, but the shinigami’s words stuck with him even after they left. After seeing so many more come to him injured over the years that followed, Silver found himself contemplating the offer more an more until he resolved to improve enough to save those he cared about from their suffering. Upon reaching Seireitei, he immediately joined the Academy and applied for Fourth division.
Combat
Strengths
Physically, Silver is a very well built and strong man, boasting one of the more chiseled physiques of Fourth Division.
Despite his size though, he is terrifically fast as he has a body trained to strike quickly while wearing full plate armour, and now that he wears simple robes instead?
In terms of medicine, Silver has put more than a fair amount of time into studying the human body. He can diagnose and treat almost every injury from a broken fibia to a broken heart. He's a big ol' softy that way.
Weaknesses
While he did train to strike hard and fast, he didn't train to do it for very long. Stamina wise, Silver can be found lacking as he can tire rather quickly when in battle.
Poor is one word you could use to describe his sixth sense. If you could use two words you may go with absolutely abysmal. While he can use his reitsu just fine, he can't sense it in others at all.
He has a bad habit of martyrdom, freely casting himself into injury to prevent harm to others.
| |||||
