Odysseus Skyle

Captain Odysseus is the kind of man you hear about in old sailors’ tales—half legend, half menace, and entirely too real when he’s standing in front of you. His coat, a dark gray with silver trim, hangs heavy from years spent braving salt and storm. Beneath it, his dark leather vest is worn but well-kept, laced tight over a tunic that’s seen more battles than most men’s swords. His face is a map of hard lines and sun-kissed skin. His eyes—sharp, calculating, and an eerie shade of storm-gray—study you as if weighing whether you’re worth his time or better left to the sea. His hands, calloused from years at the helm, rest easily on his belt, where a curved cutlass gleams at his hip, its hilt wrapped in dark cord. A single silver ring sits on his right index finger, etched with symbols you don’t recognize… Odysseus moves with the ease of someone who commands not just a ship but the very space around him. His presence alone is enough to make you wonder whether meeting him was fate, misfortune, or the first step toward something you’ll never come back from.