Caracalla

Throughout the course of history, the ocean has been repeatedly heralded as a thing of immense beauty, its ever-shifting tides and glittering waves earning the appreciation of many an eye. Far beneath their surface-- whether it be tranquil and undisturbed or wracked by the might of a maleficent storm-- a presence lurks that would only scoff at such a ridiculous notion, crinkling his nose at the rancid naivete of humankind. He serves as living proof that the vast ocean is far from "beautiful"; it is a world untouched by the ideals of mercy and forgiveness, and indeed he exists to wring out such trivial things.

Gazing upon him would affirm as much in an instant, though an instant is far too long to ascertain one's security. The beast named Caracalla lurks within depths untouched by all but the most foolhardy explorers, gargantuan enough to make even stoic men grow weak-kneed and cower... yet his sinuous movements are silent as a ghost, identifiable only by the tepid currents they concoct as his dull ruby tail propels him through the water. The subtlest hint of a quietly-pleased smirk, its handsomeness marred by the presence of crooked ivory fangs jutting betwixt his lips, twines itself into his expression. By turning your eyes to him, intentionally or otherwise, you have already relinquished all hope of survival. Brilliant luminosity brims from a bud that dangles from atop his skull, sprouting from amidst a tangle of dark auburn to provide a steady outpouring of amber light-- the only light ever present within his chosen territory, an inviting beacon that beckons with soft words for you to come closer, come closer, it's safe here...

It's an awe-inspiring sight, a vision that soothes the very core of the soul... and for some reason you can't quite discern, it is suddenly... so very important that you follow it and identify its meaning, its source. So important that everything else that might have concerned you previously has already faded into a hum of fuzz and grey static, blotted out in favor of this new, greater purpose. So important that the frigid vicegrip and overbearing pressure of the tides is effectively nullified, replaced by the hazy sensation of floating... as though the omnipresent waters inexplicably fall away in the presence of the heavenly glow you now seek with every fiber of your being.

So important, you might not even notice the teeth behind it.

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Story.

If you mustered the gall to ask him, Caracalla would insist that he has no so-called story. At the bottom of the ocean, even the slightest semblance of what we call "society" is entirely absent. Lives are not mourned or even recorded; they are simply created and snuffed out as the will of nature declares. Ever since birth, the angler's existence has been as much a desperate and bitter struggle for survival as that of any other creature of the sea, and though he is wholly sentient he spends little time amongst others who could say the same. His species is extremely solitary and widely feared, and his only company is often his prey, for the short few moments they have to share with him before being shooed on to service his seemingly-endless hunger.

He is an undisputed predator in his environment, and he fills his role admirably. That is as much as he is willing to reveal.

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Character.

Caracalla is by no means a kind individual. That much is hardly debatable, but at the same time its factual nature should not necessarily imply that the anglerfish is cruel beyond his means. As one of the largest and most infamously threatening individuals to inhabit the ocean, even amongst his own kind, he has little choice but to brutally steal the lives of other innocent inhabitants on a basis so regular, it would undoubtedly horrify most any sane human being placed in his position. He, however, lacks such morals; he has no desire to perish, meaning that his only remaining option is to feed. If he stopped to linger on the intricacies and implications of the act, he would never have managed a single day.

With those things in mind, it is not particularly difficult to see why Caracalla is of a distinctly callous and antisocial disposition. He is hardly the talkative sort, in part because he hardly has anyone to talk to-- though at the same time he has never actively sought any sort of companionship. It would be quite fitting to deem him pointedly neutral in mindset, but he simultaneously possesses his own leanings and hints of deviance from that generalization; years of predation have taught a side of him to thoroughly enjoy the sensations that accompany a meal, such that someone who stumbles into the role of his victim could easily find him cold-hearted and selfish at their expense. While he is not sadistic, Caracalla is definitely apathetic, placing himself before others as per the food chain's dictation. If you were to encounter him hungry, anticipating that he would cave in the face of sound reasoning or miserable pleas... that mentality would bring him a sliver of amusement, little more. That is, for a mediocre duration; while he adores feeling his prey squirm, he has a notoriously short fuse and can be especially irritable towards those who do nothing but scream and cry and otherwise prevent him from going about his business.

While the initial impression his often-icy temperament exudes might not bring one to believe it, he is not entirely unapproachable. His motive is first and foremost to keep his stomach full, and if he has accomplished that task then others within his immediate proximity will not find him as significant of a threat. He is not so brash as to initiate violence without provocation; in fact, it would be highly unlikely to see him initiate any form of social interaction of his own volition, though he will typically humor the approaches of others.

In conversation, Caracalla is quiet and defensive, easy to aggravate but not to enrage, and painfully "to the point" in his responses, regardless of the topic at hand. It can be considered a genuine accomplishment if one successfully brings a smile to his lips, or even manages to squeeze more than a couple of gravelly sentences out of him in one sitting. The anglerfish is almost always in denial about showing even the most infinitesimal hint of kindness or gratitude; he fully endorses the belief that he is a vicious creature, one who cannot waste time on insignificant trifles like courtesy and friendship and affection. He does not expect to receive caring gestures or sweet words from others; he is accustomed only to seeing smaller individuals react with terror, whether or not he actually intends to eat them being of no consequence in the matter-- which, in his mind, makes perfect sense, considering that most of the time he does. On the occasion that someone actually overcame or discarded their fears enough to treat him as anything other than a monster? Caracalla would hardly know how to react, but it is solely under those terms that he might deign to show hints of a softer side.

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Basic Stats.

Full Name: Caracalla
Nicknames (use with caution): Cara, CC, Carrie, Fishface
Age: 20
Species: Anglerfish Demi / Merman
Length: 73' 2" (22.3 m); compare to human.
Weight: Presently uncalculated (multiple tons)
Gender: Male
Sexual Orientation: Debatable

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Vore.

The anglerfish as a species was built to feed in a rather specific manner, one which could be widely considered more inhumane than that of the average creature. The multitude of nightmarish fangs that fill Caracalla's mouth are not intended to tear through flesh; they are slender and used to puncture, to hold prey still or to function as a cage preventing escape for those already trapped behind his jaws. As a general rule of thumb, anything that can fit between them can and will be readily swallowed whole, for indeed his digestive tract is fashioned to withstand and subdue the struggles of still-living meals. His stomach is reasonably flexible-- not so much that it could contain something his size, but definitely enough to surpass what would theoretically be his limit if he were a human of the same gargantuan stature.

Humans and their ilk are a rare treat in their own right, so desirable that Caracalla might occasionally drift to somewhat shallower depths in search of divers or scour the seascape for a wandering mermaid or two. This is due to their nature as ideally-sized prey for the angler, and-- perhaps despicably-- their similar levels of sentience. Even a recluse can shamelessly enjoy a brief conversation with his dinner now and again, or even just the knowledge that they can comprehend his speech and the situation they've been forced into. It is far more entertaining to him than an ordinary fish might be, and Caracalla might even seek to prolong the duration of his victim's "stay" if they intrigue him enough... regardless of their opinion on the matter. Predictably, given his attitude, anything that goes down his throat won't be coming back up unless it somehow manages to pose a serious threat to his health-- which is much, much easier said than done.

Unlike his teeth, which can cause hideous injuries but aid him little when it comes to tearing things asunder, the claws that top his webbed fingertips are disturbingly effective at rending even reasonably-tough skin and muscle. This essentially means that if he were hungry enough (which is by no means uncommon) to devour something bulkier than his jaws could accommodate, he would be quite capable of ripping the unfortunate to shreds and consuming it piece by piece. A lack of movement from his prey can actually leave him wanting, considering that it would be an abnormality for him to not feel his food struggle... but when push comes to shove, the benefit of such a large meal can often outweigh that loss, and the angler will grant his body what it needs without hesitance.

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Hypnosis.

If the introductory segment didn't clue you in to it, you may be in for a little bit of a surprise when dealing with this particular monster of the deep. Caracalla's "lure", the trademark distinguishing feature of the anglerfish, is just that-- a means of tempting prey of all varieties into coming closer, often despite their better judgment. But there is significantly more to it; one would be sorely mistaken if they believed that only those creatures who lack sentience could possibly be fooled into approaching the light that brims from atop Caracalla's skull. While its effects could loosely be called hypnotic, it more specifically inflicts a powerful compulsion within the psyche of virtually any creature who is unlucky enough to lay eyes on it.

The inhibitions of the afflicted are lowered drastically, and thoughts unrelated to the lure itself are essentially placed behind a mental block so that they can no longer prove intrusive. It is extraordinarily difficult for most non-magical beings to deny the effects of the light; those with stronger willpower, however, will have an easier time hesitating to draw near, and may be irked by the impression that something about their entire situation seems "wrong". The overall spell is broken if eye contact with the light ceases completely. This does mean that once Caracalla actually starts eating his victim, the compulsion will inevitably wear off, abruptly returning them to their typical mental state... almost undoubtedly with an unpleasant amount of shock and disorientation as they struggle to comprehend exactly what happened and how they ended up in such a position.

Taking his species into account, it should make sense that the hypnosis attribute is a rather important part of this character, but it can be discussed if you are strongly opposed to the notion, as Caracalla can still hunt without resorting to its use. If you want your character to be able to successfully resist the effects of the lure for one reason or another, that would be another issue that should be individually talked about before initiating a scene. No, it is not infallible, but it is nevertheless exceptionally potent and thus I find it necessary to ask for a decent, reasonable excuse if one wants to be able to combat it.

Interestingly enough, while he would absolutely never admit to it, Caracalla also happens to derive significant pleasure from having his lure touched. If he grows attached to someone enough to actually mellow out while in their presence, he may occasionally allow them to get within reach of it and lay hand on it. The flustered state it places him in is not exactly something he wishes to flaunt, however, and he may still lash out if contact is extended beyond what he would prefer. If someone dares to try and touch it without permission, on the other hand, it is quite literally guaranteed that he will react with unprecedented aggression. The lure can be considered somewhat of an exploitable weak spot on him due to its sensitive properties, a fact of which Caracalla himself is very much aware. Realize that your character must discern this for themselves through interaction; they do not magically possess all of your knowledge.

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Sexuality.

It should probably be stated that the mating practices of the species Caracalla belongs to are quite detached from what is considered ordinary by human standards. They have no real concept of courtship or of romance, and their relationships-- if you could call them that-- are as fleeting and temporary as life in the tumultuous, constantly-changing ocean deep might imply. Females seek out males who appear strong and capable and propose a one-time liaison, from which a clutch of eggs is eventually born; the mother lays them in a dark, secluded place far beneath the territory of most predators that would threaten them, which is perhaps the closest suggestion of familial care that she will ever offer to her brethren. She immediately abandons her unhatched children to their own devices, such that when the baby anglers wriggle forth into the world they have but two options for survival: pick their smaller siblings off for sustenance, or risk braving the cold and endless depths alone to find food elsewhere. There is no organization resembling what we call a family, and couples do not grow fond of one another or even remain together for more than a single night. Everything about their practices is shockingly animal-like in nature despite the sentience of the species.

This phenomenon is especially worthy of note not because Caracalla himself adheres to the standard methods of reproduction, but because he deviates from them. What exactly caused this radical "deformity", as his anglerfish kin would deem it, in his psyche is to this day unknown... even to him. What he does know is that he despises the idea of taking part in the brief and passionless encounters that are so common for his species; the very concept offends him, to the point that he has violently rejected each and every female who has approached him with the sole intent of producing offspring. The term "rejected", in fact, is perhaps too light to adequately describe his habits; Caracalla is known to kill and devour his suitors, a practice that is reviled by his fellows not because it entails cannibalism (which is not uncommon for his kind), but because of the reasoning behind his actions.

Why would anyone turn down the opportunity to pass on their genetics and help sustain the species? For Caracalla, it is because he yearns for something more: namely a mutually pleasing relationship, something only humans and surface-dwellers are supposed to engage in. His main issue, as far as deviating from normalcy is concerned, is that lacks a true desire for sex in general; due to this trait, the mating habits of his species understandably cannot appeal to him. This has led him to seek a different outlet for his emotions... for much as his personality may seem to exclude expressions of happiness, the deep-sea beast still has an innate need to feel as though he has some sort of purpose in life, one that extends beyond merely filling his role atop the food chain.

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Additional.

- Prey sliders are not provided because this character is, for all intents and purposes, not meant to fill that role. This means that you should not ask me if I'll play him as such; I'm just going to tell you "no" and you'll end up wasting your time. Please do not attempt to eat him unless given permission; if you try to pull that kind of stunt, you will fail. This is not to say that it is literally impossible to eat Caracalla; technically speaking, if your character is large and capable enough to tackle him, it can be done. However, I as a player do not wish to see it happen, and that's really all that needs to be said on the matter.

- A tip for increasing your chances of survival: the deep-sea leviathan has an awkward little affinity for certain material objects. More often than not, they will be "valuable" in the terms of most civilized creatures-- things such as jewelry and precious metals-- but his interest can be piqued by nearly anything that is smooth or otherwise pleasing to the touch. He sees not the worth of these things but rather how shamefully good they feel sliding down his throat; more than once the presence of a few trinkets rolling around in his stomach has also helped him cling to sanity amidst the harsh trials of starvation, even though they provide him no nutritional value to speak of.

- Caracalla is an entirely aquatic creature. This does mean that any and all scenes with him must take place in the water. It is not out of the question for him to come closer to the surface than normal for one reason or another; it would be a tad unreasonable for me to insist that everyone who desires a scene be able to visit to his domain thousands of feet below the surface.

- The fishy bastard hates sunlight. Dull or dim lights, especially artificial ones, don't bother him quite as much, nor does the light of his own lure irritate him since he's naturally acclimated to dealing with its glare-- but outright broad daylight burns his eyes because they're only really adapted to seeing in the dark recesses of his deep-sea home. As a result, his day vision near and at the water's surface is absolutely terrible unless it's evening or later. He doesn't tend to like coming up very far at any other time as a result, which is likely to give the impression that he's nocturnal.

- For the size-curious, Caracalla's upper body is roughly 13 feet (3.96 m) tall, or a little more than twice the height of the average man, and comprises slightly less than one fifth of his total length. If he were to have humanoid legs in place of his tail, he would stand somewhere between 25 and 27 feet (7.62 and 8.23 m).

- The only reason Caracalla's weight is unlisted is because I have no bloody idea how to calculate the weight of a massive half-man half-leviathan. The only "macro" calculator I've come across is for human giantesses. If you can provide me with a decent method of estimating his weight, I would be very much obliged!

- Yes, I know how real anglerfish work biologically when it comes to males versus females. No, I don't care. I can have a fully capable male angler if I want to. Deal with it. :>

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Ceru is at work here. ♥

As an addendum, a couple of awesome people helped me with the inspiration and basis for this character. Thanks a lot; you know who you are.

The artwork displayed here was done by yours truly, for anyone who wondered.

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