Name: Saint Baltimore Dominic Bellweather
You can't fold a paper more than seven times.
You can't survive the terrific pressures of the deep sea with a wineskin and a duffel bag of rocks.
You can't simply stumble upon the key to the ancient and esoteric at a tobacconist shop in Castor.
Impossible is a lie. Impossible is a challenge.
Few are not acquainted with the exploits of Saint Baltimore, his notoriety as much a burden as a gift. The son of the wealthy industrialist whose steamship company represents the backbone of the ocean fairing merchant trade, despite the ubiquitiousness of the Bellweather name on all manner of transportation and mechanical patents, the name is best known for the antics and stories of the son.
Tall tales of impossible things, he is an explorer of the purest sort, savoring every step of the journey rather than simply looking to the destination. With a life touched by oddity, he is noted for his strange luck. Not necessarily good or bad, the improbable becomes decidedly more likely around him. Survival against harsh odds becomes a sure thing, while a trip to the stationary store can blossom into a horrific and wondrous adventure.
Possessing a fearless sense of wonder, in a "less enlightened" time he might very well have found his place amongst the magi of old. In this world of the tangible, he seems ever eager to test the boundaries, his latent skills applied to the disciplines of steam and exploration.
Canonized as a saint during an extended absence in which he was presumed dead (one of many), his optimism and curiosity are an impenetrable wall against the oppressive banality of this world less wonderful. It's hard to say whether this is entirely true or not mind you. That's just what people say...
You hear that a lot when Saint Baltimore is involved. "That's what people say..."
For instance, it's said that his mother was a tribal woman of one of the unnamed islands of man, and that he was conceived via an arrowhead that first pierced the left most family jewel of his father and embedded itself in the abdomen of his mother.
Nine months later he was born into the savage lands, born under a cosmic event that the natives took to be a sign that he was a much prophecied shaman. No crib could hold Mr. Bellweather Jr., and he would often escape to crawl through the jungles of his homeland, learning the secret languages of the wild world. By the age of three he had joined the hunters of the tribe, shooting arrows with deadly accuracy from atop his perch on the shoulders of older tribes men, falling his first Jungo bird at the age of four.
Precisely what a jungo bird is, is something of a mystery, but in hearing the story told, one can assume this was an impressive and rarely accomplished feat. At the age of six, he knew every inch of the island intimately, down to the smallest blade of grass and poisonous badger, and so he found the fires of wanderlust stoked in his breast for the first time. Lashing together the bones of grand serpents and lumbering behemoths, he fashioned a raft of surprising sea worthiness. It is on loan and can be viewed in the Castor museum of oddities, the structure possessing a number of unexplained properties that make it something of a mysterious marvel of savage engineering.
Washing up after three days at sea on the shore of Kaz, he was introduced there to the military edicts of the seafaring people. With his keen mind and tiny body, he became a steam runner, crawling through the tiny pipes of pressure ships at dry dock. Only there for two weeks, before he negotiated his way out of his contract, he developed a fascination for the vessels that would serve him well over the years of adventure. Accounts begin to vary at this point...
Some say he "borrowed" a Bellweather Shipping Vessel and took it joy riding around the mountainous northern shores of Amaranta, discovering fabled races long thought dead. Others say he joined the Ynndraegard's resource seekers, discovering a precious new mineral on the outskirts of Sud. There are also claims he tethered his vessel of bone to the back of an air whale, riding it through the skies all the way to Fazei before it shook him off. Despite the fact an "Air Whale" has never been catalogued as even existing, the larger part of the population still believes this story to be entirely true and accurate.
What is known for certain of the successive years is that Saint Baltimore has become a creature more legend than flesh, impossibly well known even by those untouched by human society in centuries. He has a strange beginners luck when confronted with tasks that rely on propability more than finesse, can speak to anyone (or thing) with varied fluency and is never entirely a stranger where ever he travels.
His infrequently lived in home rests in the capital of Castor, a cozy three room loft above a tobacconist shoppe in the merchant's area, just north of the steam vessel metroplex. More often he can be found in his extended steam locomotive, riding the railways of the world... even where there are no rails.