Spirits
Children of those who are neither god nor mythical humanoid. e.g: Muses, Fates, etc.
Hamza Urdu
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/___7152958.jpg)
Hamza Urdu
The Captain
16
Son of the Fates
Kin: Abraha Urdu (father), Lolita Urdu (step-mother), Stanley and Muslima (brothers), Tracy (sister)
Friends: none
Rivals: none
God-Friends: Selene, Khione, Artemis, Apollo
God-Rivals: n/a
Status: single
Hamza means 'foul taste' and supposedly that's what his family thinks of him. Nothing but a foul taste left in their mouths. So they cursed and spit upon him and drove nails through him. Fueled with an insatiable hunger to tear apart the child, the suffering lasted years till he found the means to escape. He still wonders what sort of thing could have driven his family to despise him so, but the answers remain elusive. Hamza is the son of the Fates. Which one, he is not sure of, as neither of them bothered to divulge that information. He was always aware that he was different. Besides his general appearance, his supposed mother always held extreme aversion and hatred for him. Eventually, his father also turned on him, till both his mortal parents became the worst tormenters he ever faced in his young life. They were far more powerful and oppressive than any bully he may have faced or criminal he may have encountered, since they were always with him, day and night, and he was in constant fear of his life. Home was a thing to abhor, a place to cower from. When he was sent to school, he always dreaded returning to the house. Eventually he was pulled from school as his parents didn’t want others to discover the abuse. He was all but forgotten then. When relatives or visitors came, he was sent to the basement to play with toys or some other meaningless thing to pass the time. Even his siblings were cruel to him. It wasn’t entirely their intention or their wish, for children are often far too innocent at that age to understand right from wrong. They saw Hamza as a thing, as a horrible terrible thing that mommy and daddy hated. So they too, hated him. He was beaten, mistreated, and abandoned. He was forced to eat his meals in the confines of the basement or at different times of the day when the family wasn’t around to see the revolting creature. Revolting creature indeed. Bruised, scarred, and a face disfigured by their actions. He had a crooked nose, a slacked jaw, one eye almost permanently half closed, and weak, twisted fingers. He could hardly do anything properly but forced himself anyway since he could never rely on anyone else’ help. He was always weak of body, but not of mind. He learned to adapt, to shift, to change. He learned to block pain and ignore hatred. He learned to numb his soul and created his own world in his head. In his own world he was happy. The basement became a sanctuary for him to escape to his world in Him and his little toys would run and play and fight dragons in his secret world. He would weave elaborate tales and fantasies, all for himself. They would always start with the little ugly boy in the basement, and end with the little ugly boy receiving a great reward or being praised as a hero. And he dreamed and lived in those worlds, until he quite forgot reality altogether. His family took notice and declared him mental. He couldn’t communicate with them or anyone else anymore. He never talked or wrote or made any gestures. His strange red gaze wandered, and he never seemed able to focus. He seemed to revert to more infantile ways. He was finally taken to see doctors, probably for the first time in his life. They found nothing wrong with him but said his behavior was like that of a severe autistic. His parents were convinced he had gone mental and found that as only more of an excuse to hate and reject him. Now they had an ugly, stupid boy to feed and shelter. The basement became his permanent residence, and he was forbidden to go outside. But he wasn’t mental, he was merely lost. Lost in his head, in a world of imagination, where no one could hurt him. Where he couldn’t hear his screams and couldn’t shed any tears because no such things existed in his world. In his world he could move his fingers. In his world he could eat at a table and sleep in a big, soft bed. He preferred his world and that is where he stayed. He stayed there for years until he turned thirteen when he was violently ripped, screaming and clawing, from his beautiful, flawless world and into a reality more unimaginable than he could have dreamed in his worst nightmares. His father hurt him. It’s a dreadful thing that can’t be described in words, but his father took away Hamza’s last shred of security, a security he never knew he had until he lost it. And then Hamza seemed to wake up from his dream world. He woke up and murdered his father. He took hold of everything that was his father and unmade him. Then he fled. He came alive with energy and fled the horrible house that held all his nightmares and untold stories. He fled to the cruel and harsh world. And it was there he cried. He cried because the world was so beautiful and he was too fragile to exist in it. He was weak, ugly, broken. A deformed, demented creature without any shred of spirit left in him. He let his pain consume him, and he almost died from it. When he finally awoke, he awoke with the dawn. The darkness, the misery, it all vanished with the rising of the sun. And from that, Hamza found some strength left. He begged God for peace and forgiveness. He made his promises. He took his vows. He found his strength and he found his resolve. And with that, he walked away. Away from his old life, away from everything that made him who he was and he entered a new world as a new being. Such was not to last long. Innocent of the mythical world he was a part of, he was not prepared for the sudden appearance of. What seemed to be a relatively peaceful swim in a forest lake while on his wanderings, soon turned for the worst when a monster appeared. The hydra would have killed him if not for divine intervention. Artemis, Goddess of the Hunt, came and rescued him, whisking him away where he would be safe for the time being. He had been terribly injured by its poison, his entire body shifted and grossly deformed, destroying itself from the inside out. Artemis entreated her brother to save him, and Apollo readily answered his sister’s plea. Hamza was healed. Completely. His face no longer bore the ugly visage he gained from his abuses. His fingers were no longer weak, his body no longer thin and unreliable. No longer was he damaged. He was completely healed. Made anew. When he awoke, he was shocked and stunned by the face he viewed in the mirror. It was… beautiful. His skin was soft and smooth as a baby’s. He was strong and lean. His eyes burned with a brilliant flame and his once ragged, dirty hair was silky smooth and shimmery like silver. Immediately, he hated and loved it. He hated it for he did not believe he deserved it, but loved it, for it was such an act of mercy and compassion, an act only a divine, benevolent creature could have performed for something like him. It was another one of those rare moments when he truly cried. Almost as hard as the day he escaped his old life and was reborn. Reborn in spirit and now reborn in flesh. It was then the Fates came to him and told him who he was and what he was. A demigod. Their son. He doesn't know which of the three is his actual mother, but as they all are a part of a whole, he has come to address all three of them as his mothers in turn. It's strange, but both parties accept it. After they left him, he abandoned his mortal family. He knew there was only going to be more danger and figured it was high time he left them anyway. Hamza is actually quite grateful for his parent's mistreatment of him as it has better prepared him for the brutal reality he has to face day-to-day on his own in the outside world. Whether running from monsters, man, or his own inner demons, he is both mentally and physically prepared for the encounters and fated outcomes the world and its devices have to offer. He has gained enough survival skills to adapt to any given situation and is never afraid of the risks these situations may pose. Hamza is a mental puzzle. Often times his morals and beliefs clash with his actions and intentions. Not so much that he can be labeled as a hypocrite, but enough to keep others guessing and surprise them. He has a love for violence and is not afraid to kill, but he hesitates and is actually conflicted with ending a life. It goes hand in hand with his power, more on that later. He values life. He believes it to be precious and the worst thing to waste. Life is a gift. Life is a treasure. He has such a strong love for life that it almost outshines his love of violence. But it must be noted that violence is not the opposite of life, hence, this is not one of his contradictions. Violence is the opposite of gentleness, and he is not malevolent normally. He finds that peace is more quickly attained through violence and that the best way to neutralize a threat is to kill it. Permanently. No matter the risks, no matter the journey, the outcome is what is important and so he will sacrifice all to reach that outcome. He holds a sanctity in life, yet will trample others underneath him to reach his goals. If he cannot finish the job and reach the end, then he considers himself worthless and his self-esteem lowers even further. He has a very unstable confidence in himself because of this struggle but doesn't seem ready to overcome it. His gentleness shines through when peace has been reached. He is only kind and gentle to those who are weaker than him, taking on some sort of guardian role. He will not pamper and baby the weak, but he will be kind to them. Sometimes. The rest of the time he will strike and drive the weak until they become strong. He will force them into finding their strength and then use his own methods to amplify that. He believes his childhood and the suffering he endured was the best form of training and he will imitate it when he trains others. This can cause problems for him, seeing as no one else thinks that physically life-threatening abuse is a good form of training. He doesn't really understand people that well from the get go. Often making passive aggressive statements that he sees as truths and blunt statements of fact where others find them provoking. There are occasions where he seems to understand people down to their core, which can be arrant frightening. He seems to read their minds, speak from their hearts and souls. He lays their emotions bare before them, picks and pokes and displays every detail, every moment of them as if he was simply inside their heads. It comes from being a son of the Fates. With his parent's heritage, he can see the fates of others, and then, he can unravel them. That is how he kills people and that is why he cannot decide his parent of the three. One winds the thread, one weaves it, one snips it. And he? He is there in between them all, pulling out the strings and un-working the weave. Unraveling. Unraveling fate. He sees the entire future, past, present of the person. He sees their fears, their memories, their choices, their decisions, their actions, their intentions. He sees all the possibilities their futures hold. And then he tears it apart. He reworks the fabric of their lives and makes them die. Right there, right then. By his hand. They say the worst weapon to use is a sniper rifle. If one used a psitol or a machine gun, they pull the trigger, and they see a body drop to the ground. With a sniper, they see the face. They see the body. Every detail before their eyes in crystal clarity. Up close. Personal. Such is unraveling fate. He is up close. Personal. For a moment he is inside that person. For a moment he is that person. And then he is not. And then he is Hamza once more and the incredible surge of life he cherished for an eternal moment screams and twists and dies in his arms. And not even the gods can undo what Hamza has done.
The Captain
16
Son of the Fates
Kin: Abraha Urdu (father), Lolita Urdu (step-mother), Stanley and Muslima (brothers), Tracy (sister)
Friends: none
Rivals: none
God-Friends: Selene, Khione, Artemis, Apollo
God-Rivals: n/a
Status: single
Hamza means 'foul taste' and supposedly that's what his family thinks of him. Nothing but a foul taste left in their mouths. So they cursed and spit upon him and drove nails through him. Fueled with an insatiable hunger to tear apart the child, the suffering lasted years till he found the means to escape. He still wonders what sort of thing could have driven his family to despise him so, but the answers remain elusive. Hamza is the son of the Fates. Which one, he is not sure of, as neither of them bothered to divulge that information. He was always aware that he was different. Besides his general appearance, his supposed mother always held extreme aversion and hatred for him. Eventually, his father also turned on him, till both his mortal parents became the worst tormenters he ever faced in his young life. They were far more powerful and oppressive than any bully he may have faced or criminal he may have encountered, since they were always with him, day and night, and he was in constant fear of his life. Home was a thing to abhor, a place to cower from. When he was sent to school, he always dreaded returning to the house. Eventually he was pulled from school as his parents didn’t want others to discover the abuse. He was all but forgotten then. When relatives or visitors came, he was sent to the basement to play with toys or some other meaningless thing to pass the time. Even his siblings were cruel to him. It wasn’t entirely their intention or their wish, for children are often far too innocent at that age to understand right from wrong. They saw Hamza as a thing, as a horrible terrible thing that mommy and daddy hated. So they too, hated him. He was beaten, mistreated, and abandoned. He was forced to eat his meals in the confines of the basement or at different times of the day when the family wasn’t around to see the revolting creature. Revolting creature indeed. Bruised, scarred, and a face disfigured by their actions. He had a crooked nose, a slacked jaw, one eye almost permanently half closed, and weak, twisted fingers. He could hardly do anything properly but forced himself anyway since he could never rely on anyone else’ help. He was always weak of body, but not of mind. He learned to adapt, to shift, to change. He learned to block pain and ignore hatred. He learned to numb his soul and created his own world in his head. In his own world he was happy. The basement became a sanctuary for him to escape to his world in Him and his little toys would run and play and fight dragons in his secret world. He would weave elaborate tales and fantasies, all for himself. They would always start with the little ugly boy in the basement, and end with the little ugly boy receiving a great reward or being praised as a hero. And he dreamed and lived in those worlds, until he quite forgot reality altogether. His family took notice and declared him mental. He couldn’t communicate with them or anyone else anymore. He never talked or wrote or made any gestures. His strange red gaze wandered, and he never seemed able to focus. He seemed to revert to more infantile ways. He was finally taken to see doctors, probably for the first time in his life. They found nothing wrong with him but said his behavior was like that of a severe autistic. His parents were convinced he had gone mental and found that as only more of an excuse to hate and reject him. Now they had an ugly, stupid boy to feed and shelter. The basement became his permanent residence, and he was forbidden to go outside. But he wasn’t mental, he was merely lost. Lost in his head, in a world of imagination, where no one could hurt him. Where he couldn’t hear his screams and couldn’t shed any tears because no such things existed in his world. In his world he could move his fingers. In his world he could eat at a table and sleep in a big, soft bed. He preferred his world and that is where he stayed. He stayed there for years until he turned thirteen when he was violently ripped, screaming and clawing, from his beautiful, flawless world and into a reality more unimaginable than he could have dreamed in his worst nightmares. His father hurt him. It’s a dreadful thing that can’t be described in words, but his father took away Hamza’s last shred of security, a security he never knew he had until he lost it. And then Hamza seemed to wake up from his dream world. He woke up and murdered his father. He took hold of everything that was his father and unmade him. Then he fled. He came alive with energy and fled the horrible house that held all his nightmares and untold stories. He fled to the cruel and harsh world. And it was there he cried. He cried because the world was so beautiful and he was too fragile to exist in it. He was weak, ugly, broken. A deformed, demented creature without any shred of spirit left in him. He let his pain consume him, and he almost died from it. When he finally awoke, he awoke with the dawn. The darkness, the misery, it all vanished with the rising of the sun. And from that, Hamza found some strength left. He begged God for peace and forgiveness. He made his promises. He took his vows. He found his strength and he found his resolve. And with that, he walked away. Away from his old life, away from everything that made him who he was and he entered a new world as a new being. Such was not to last long. Innocent of the mythical world he was a part of, he was not prepared for the sudden appearance of. What seemed to be a relatively peaceful swim in a forest lake while on his wanderings, soon turned for the worst when a monster appeared. The hydra would have killed him if not for divine intervention. Artemis, Goddess of the Hunt, came and rescued him, whisking him away where he would be safe for the time being. He had been terribly injured by its poison, his entire body shifted and grossly deformed, destroying itself from the inside out. Artemis entreated her brother to save him, and Apollo readily answered his sister’s plea. Hamza was healed. Completely. His face no longer bore the ugly visage he gained from his abuses. His fingers were no longer weak, his body no longer thin and unreliable. No longer was he damaged. He was completely healed. Made anew. When he awoke, he was shocked and stunned by the face he viewed in the mirror. It was… beautiful. His skin was soft and smooth as a baby’s. He was strong and lean. His eyes burned with a brilliant flame and his once ragged, dirty hair was silky smooth and shimmery like silver. Immediately, he hated and loved it. He hated it for he did not believe he deserved it, but loved it, for it was such an act of mercy and compassion, an act only a divine, benevolent creature could have performed for something like him. It was another one of those rare moments when he truly cried. Almost as hard as the day he escaped his old life and was reborn. Reborn in spirit and now reborn in flesh. It was then the Fates came to him and told him who he was and what he was. A demigod. Their son. He doesn't know which of the three is his actual mother, but as they all are a part of a whole, he has come to address all three of them as his mothers in turn. It's strange, but both parties accept it. After they left him, he abandoned his mortal family. He knew there was only going to be more danger and figured it was high time he left them anyway. Hamza is actually quite grateful for his parent's mistreatment of him as it has better prepared him for the brutal reality he has to face day-to-day on his own in the outside world. Whether running from monsters, man, or his own inner demons, he is both mentally and physically prepared for the encounters and fated outcomes the world and its devices have to offer. He has gained enough survival skills to adapt to any given situation and is never afraid of the risks these situations may pose. Hamza is a mental puzzle. Often times his morals and beliefs clash with his actions and intentions. Not so much that he can be labeled as a hypocrite, but enough to keep others guessing and surprise them. He has a love for violence and is not afraid to kill, but he hesitates and is actually conflicted with ending a life. It goes hand in hand with his power, more on that later. He values life. He believes it to be precious and the worst thing to waste. Life is a gift. Life is a treasure. He has such a strong love for life that it almost outshines his love of violence. But it must be noted that violence is not the opposite of life, hence, this is not one of his contradictions. Violence is the opposite of gentleness, and he is not malevolent normally. He finds that peace is more quickly attained through violence and that the best way to neutralize a threat is to kill it. Permanently. No matter the risks, no matter the journey, the outcome is what is important and so he will sacrifice all to reach that outcome. He holds a sanctity in life, yet will trample others underneath him to reach his goals. If he cannot finish the job and reach the end, then he considers himself worthless and his self-esteem lowers even further. He has a very unstable confidence in himself because of this struggle but doesn't seem ready to overcome it. His gentleness shines through when peace has been reached. He is only kind and gentle to those who are weaker than him, taking on some sort of guardian role. He will not pamper and baby the weak, but he will be kind to them. Sometimes. The rest of the time he will strike and drive the weak until they become strong. He will force them into finding their strength and then use his own methods to amplify that. He believes his childhood and the suffering he endured was the best form of training and he will imitate it when he trains others. This can cause problems for him, seeing as no one else thinks that physically life-threatening abuse is a good form of training. He doesn't really understand people that well from the get go. Often making passive aggressive statements that he sees as truths and blunt statements of fact where others find them provoking. There are occasions where he seems to understand people down to their core, which can be arrant frightening. He seems to read their minds, speak from their hearts and souls. He lays their emotions bare before them, picks and pokes and displays every detail, every moment of them as if he was simply inside their heads. It comes from being a son of the Fates. With his parent's heritage, he can see the fates of others, and then, he can unravel them. That is how he kills people and that is why he cannot decide his parent of the three. One winds the thread, one weaves it, one snips it. And he? He is there in between them all, pulling out the strings and un-working the weave. Unraveling. Unraveling fate. He sees the entire future, past, present of the person. He sees their fears, their memories, their choices, their decisions, their actions, their intentions. He sees all the possibilities their futures hold. And then he tears it apart. He reworks the fabric of their lives and makes them die. Right there, right then. By his hand. They say the worst weapon to use is a sniper rifle. If one used a psitol or a machine gun, they pull the trigger, and they see a body drop to the ground. With a sniper, they see the face. They see the body. Every detail before their eyes in crystal clarity. Up close. Personal. Such is unraveling fate. He is up close. Personal. For a moment he is inside that person. For a moment he is that person. And then he is not. And then he is Hamza once more and the incredible surge of life he cherished for an eternal moment screams and twists and dies in his arms. And not even the gods can undo what Hamza has done.