(https://i.imgur.com/xDvee43.png)
Name: Granrak Gorebull
Race: Minotaur
Gender: Male
Height: 7'8"
Weight: 725 lbs
Physical Appearance:
At first glance, this minotaur acts as an imposing and dark figure in even the brightest of lights. He stands tall, taller than many of his own kin, and broad enough to seal a doorway simply by standing in it. An oddity, perhaps, is his distinct lack of armor and weaponry. Instead, he has opted to wear a loincloth when he must, and a satchel large enough for him to carry all that he might need while being entirely unburdened. With that constant exposure, this bestial figure has no way at all to hide his identifying features. In rare cases, Gorebull will dress himself in loose cloth, to be seen as decent for his run ins with cultures that see his comfort as crudeness.
With no helm to hide his head, the minotaurs horns are proudly on display just behind fuzzy, bovine ears. Their natural, off-white bone tones protrude to the side, curl forward, and point ahead to act as the iron sights for a charging beast. His mane is wild and unkempt, curling and draped across his shoulders and down his back like a waterfall of ink. Even his eyes carry that same dark depth, gleaming like polished charcoal and as sharp as an axe. Gorebull’s long face ends in a blunt, flat nose where his nostrils flare with every huff and puff. Unlike his cowish cousins, this monster does not have flat, herbivore teeth. He has chompers. Gnashers. Teeth as sharp and terrible as daggers, capable of tearing meat and tendon from the bones of those unfortunate enough to become his victims.
His body is a marble statue of horror and violence wrapped in the pelt of a black bear. The dense, shaggy fur is matte, reflecting nothing, appearing to absorb the light around himself. There are lines, spots and flecks that break up this black behemoth. Streaks of grey cross his chest and back where arrows and blades have once carved into him. Jagged stripes stand on his forearms where he has been sliced, the defensive wounds earned by the swords of righteous men and burning giants. The senseless pattern does little to hide his herculean physique, the muscles across his body are drawn tight and honed to near perfection. Even his knuckles have been hardened, bone turned to steel from the lengthy battles that he calls training. Truly, a monstrous creature with the capacity for wanton cruelty and devastation with his claws alone.
Personality:
Not entirely unlike those of his kin, this minotaur is territorial, tribal, and destructive. He has learned to harness his innate traits and often appears as placid and calm as a lake, though he is a coiled snake ready to strike. He is determined, steadfast, goal oriented. Where his kin rage and become a mindless mess of fur and teeth and axe, Gorebull stays steady and strikes with opportunity, with clear and controlled fury to put his claws in the most vulnerable of places.
This monster sees the world as a strange sort of hierarchy, a pyramid to be climbed or to be destroyed. While he seems to seek a unity of monsters, to strengthen their hold on the land above and below, he has no issue at all with slaying those that disagree, that stand in his way, that oppose his ultimate goal. When they are human-ish, he sees this act as furthering his desires and providing himself with food. When they are monsters, he sees this as a culling of the weak and misguided, a strengthening of those who would stand with him in his glorious ascent. When they are animals, undead, or even stones laced with iron and mithril, it is simply training, practice for his body and mind while he coats himself in blood and dust.
On the very rare occasions that the minotaur allows himself to relax and to find comfort, he is oddly paternal. He smiles instead of snarls, comforts instead of kills, offering a firm hand of guidance instead of the iron fist of “leadership.” When found in this state, he listens and speaks plainly though the gleam in his eyes reveal this act for what it truly is: a collection of information, a gathering of facts and feelings that he might use to better tune his mind towards his desires. Even still, those that he finds this comfort with become akin to family to Gorebull and gain his strange brand of affection and comradery.
History:
A local to the hills north of the current port, this Minotaur was pleasantly surprised by the arrival of and empowering of the current Sullivan. His small family, a tribe of mostly feral beastmen, had all but lost themselves to hunger and greed while the more capable and more conscious monsters had taken to this new leader, this strong figurehead, and had flourished. It was an eye opening experience, a revelation that solitary workings often led to self destruction. That weakness could be conquered in more ways than simply fighting for control and power against one's chief or father. But such a collective growth couldn't happen with a unity of weak beasts. There needed to be an effort, a push to perfect an individual to provide an example for others to do the same. And he took that knowledge and applied himself. Burning rage became fuel. Blind hunger became a sharp tool.
He has never had a martial arts master, no sensei, no abbot, no great trainer to teach him. He had to harness himself. He was clumsy at first, still young and lanky when he started his path to self control and violent purity. He was determined to be as true to his Monstrous nature as he could, though, and his early years were a disaster. He'd earned the ire of goblins by battling their hordes until he could truly fling them against their cavern walls. He had gone fist to fist with gnolls until he understood their savage strikes and cunning tactics. He'd honed his strength by wrestling the powerful of his own kin, learning to use those deadly horns for more than a charging gore. Bugbears had shown him merciless cruelty. Hobgoblins taught him something else entirely. To think. To plan. To read and write that he may intercept letters and learn of paths and plans. Ogres and trolls had delivered the message of might, of the right to rule by beating those that would stand opposed. His mind and his body had become a weapon, one he continues to sharpen, to perfect that he might one day become a leading force for those whose land has become trampled, carved down for cities. For those who have become hunted for the use of their fat and teeth and bones by magical meatbags. For those who understand that the only way to make their violent life better is to become better at violence.
Recently, Gorebull has taken to making offerings and praises to Mother, the mythical maker of monsters. While he doesn't seem particularly devoted, he has seen the force it has had in unifying monstrous races and knows that, by utilizing that strength, by harnessing that collective faith, monstrosities could be an unstoppable Force that just might be able to remove the reach of the Empire and leave his hunting grounds unfortified. His actions have followed that same ideal, as well. Clearing the homes of smaller monsters of pests and critters, claiming the hearts of tigers to strengthen Orc tribes, culling infected kobolds so that they can reclaim territory and breed and grow stronger together.
Rumors:
Whispers around Sullivan's Port tell of the Minotaur who can punch through even the strongest of stones and that the goblins who dared to get close to him during such occasions become smears of crimson across stone floors.
Travelers and gypsies may mention a large, black figure looming in the darkness and of caravans who do not complete their journeys. Some even claim to have seen this unknown monstrosity near the outskirts of Hadrian and Southbank.
The gnomes of Runaway's Hole claim to watch him from their windows as he dives into the depths of a nearby cave and emerge covered in an amalgamation of green and red, of shell and flesh without so much as a scratch on his horns.
References:
https://i.imgur.com/gRO5s5F.jpg (https://i.imgur.com/gRO5s5F.jpg)
https://i.imgur.com/t2OE0uz.jpg (https://i.imgur.com/t2OE0uz.jpg)