Jamil Kadar

Name: Jamil Kadar

Age: No one's really sure, but it's estimated to be something slightly under or around 30

Bounty: 15.000.000

Species: Human

Occupation: Torturer..... and he's good with animals?

Allegiance: Revolutionary, former World Government

Home Village/Ocean: Nanohana, Arabasta, Grand Line

Appearance: Jamil used to be a very pretty child, with dark skin and black hair and eyes, always glittering with joy and excitement.
Now though, his face is always covered in bandages, except for his right eye, which is still black, and if it glitters, it does so in anger or hate. When he changes bandages, something he only lets those closest to him see, it's revealed that his whole face was burned and is now scarred, and he doesn't have a left eye anymore. His hair regrew over time, in small patches at least, and some streaks always stick out of the bandage. He doesn't care enough to fix it, he knows it won't make him look any better anyway.
Jamil's about 5'5'' tall and atlethic. He wears a black, sleeveless shirt (his arms are also bandaged, all the way down to the fingers) and loose sitting white trousers, with a beige sash seperating them.
He always wears a wide coat, of course with a hood, even though he already has his face concealed. He still insists to have one. Some people might think it makes it easier to hide some of his smaller... tools. They might be right, especially seeing as it would be enough to just wear the traditional revolutionary cloak, but Jamil specificall wanted one with loose fitting arms, like the ones worn in his home, Arabasta. No one believes it's just for the nostalgic look.

(Horse: a noble arabastian steed. No one knows where he got such a horse. He won't tell, either, or rather, no one has the courage to pry. It's quite beautiful, with it's slender frame and the dark brown fur, the long, black, shining mane.... Anyone who knows the first thing about horses can tell someone takes good care of it, and Jamil won't let anyone even close to it, which rather limits the choice of who it must be.)


History:

Jamil Kadar was born second son to an arabastian middle class family living in Nanohana.
He had one older brother, one smaller sister followed when he was two. His father was in the guard, his mother worked as a seamstress. No one knows when everything went wrong.
Maybe it started when Jamil came to visit his father at work for the first time, even if it was just to bring him lunch. Jail isn't a good place for a child to be. There was just something wrong with letting your prisoners know you had a little son. Very wrong. Not all of them might like you.
The one who broke out didn't. In fact, he seemed to hate Jamil's father to the core. Why, the child didn't know or understand. What would make him hate them so much that he'd det their house on fire? And though it's been officially proven that his family were victims of the escapee, even today, even through the hate obscuring his vision, Jamil has his doubts. He claims to have known the man better than that, that he had been terribly afraid of fire. Or used to claim it, until he realised people didn't listen to little traumatised children. From then on, he mostly claimed to punch them if they dared ask him about that day again. The threats were refined, but the general idea stayed the same until today.
Jamil and his parents escaped, but noticed only when they were outside that his sister wasn't with them.
It was Jamil who ran into the house to save her. It was also him who got burned while attempting to do so. In the end, his sister died in the flames, and he almost did, too.
It took three months for him to wake up, a few seconds to find his whole body was covered in bandages, four minutes to take them off, and until today to accept what he saw. What for? He hadn't done anything wrong! He didn't deserve... this! Not to look like a monster, or be in neverending pain!
And that was when he started to hate criminals. He spent the next years of his life at home, being taught by a private teacher, partly beause his parents knew how he felt about looking the way he did, in larger parts becaue they knew how others felt about it. People don't have to say anything to be hurtful, looking is enough, and Jamil could feel the eyes on him, wondering, scrutinizing. At first, he'd turn his head, but after a while, he started glaring right back, and people turned away and stopped looking. He found he preferred that. His parents had high hopes still for him. Maybe he'd become a marine? He had an intense hate fo ciminals after all, it should come in handy in such a job.
But Jamil didn't want to be a marine. He didn't want to protect. He wanted to destroy. And he wanted to be on the front line while doing so. Protecting wasn't personal enough.
So he became a torturer, a work he found great satisfaction in. Every scream payment for his sisters' sceams when the flames ate her, every cut revenge for the way clothing felt on his skin now, every humiliation, every wrong done to him was done to them thousandfold, and in the dim light of the dungeon, every face turned into one he hated. The pyromanic fo causing this pain, his father fo not going after him when he went back in, his mother for the shame she felt he was, his sister for burning, the woman who sold cabbages on the markets for the looks she gave him, the little girl in his old school fo turning on him the day he turned, the world for not caring. After a time, he hated all of them, hated every one of them, and the faces stopped changing so much. He didn't need to poject his hate for others onto the prisoners anymore, he just hated. He was twenty at the time. And with his growing hate, his bloodlust grew as well. First, he tortured only the people the king told him to. The convicted criminals. But that wasn't enough for him. It wasn't just enough for him. All criminals should have to suffer. No, all people should have to suffer. Every single one.
In the next months, there was a number of people suddenly disappearing. The bodys of some were found, others not so much. Those he didn't leave for them to find, as a warning or for show, would never be found. He burned them. Took them out into the desert, where no one would be watching and stayed until there was nothing left but the stink and the ash, and the ash mixed with the sand and was blown away. In such times, Jamil had time to think, away from the haze that normally clouded his mind. Watching the flames was unpleasant. No. It was horrifying. It brought him back to that day always, and looking into the flame he could remember the screams, the smoke, the bite of the red. No one had gone after him. Why? He never got his answer, and his hate grew still.
The actual number of people Jamil claimed was much higher than those identified as victims of the spree, but luckily for him, the now-yonkou Anubis was having a little revolution at the time. Jamil cared little for such things. Who ruled over what and in what manner didn't matter, they'd always want people suffering, the duneons would alwas be full, especially in times of turmoil. And times of turmoil they were, he hardly ever put his blade down, when he wasn't working, he was out looking for someone unattended, all alone in the night, maybe drunk. You shouldn't be alone in such dangerous times, alone at night, drunk, easy prey, they only had themselves to blame, ridding the world of such stupidity was almost too easy. Of course, people talked. Some even pointed to him. The ones who had any sense did. He had never made a secret of his hate after all. Little he cared. They were mostly denounced as crazy though. He was working day and night, when would he have time to be a serial killer? Safe to say though, in those times, serial killer or not, he made quite a name for himself.
The killing spree stopped abruptly when the people from the government came for a visit, some time after the whole nasty revolution business was done.
They had come to visit the king, or at least they'd say so. They wanted Jamil to work for them, and to his knowledge, that meant he was a kind of famous person in the right circles. Fools, all of them. Admired what he did, maybe. Looked at his skill and whispered "Oooh", and looked astonished. Torture wasn't art. Torture was dirty, bloody, and those who admired it were the worst kinds of people. Jamil favoured those who openly showed their disgust with him, he'd never do anything else with them after all. He knew the governmental workers to be anything but honest and up front, but he had to admit, later, that he had been wrong to think them fools. Scum, yes, like everyone else, but not fools.
Insofar as they left him no choice. They knew who was responsible for the murders, and they were prepared to use it against him.
And so, Jamil started working as an agent for the world government in Impel Down.
He build up a reputation there that was... horrifying, to say at least. Some people'd rather be executed than left in his hands. Of course, that wasn't going to happen... Soon, he got a high position as one of the head torturers.
He really enjoyed his work, to say the least. Found the place pretentious, of course. And the guards working in it, the other torturers, the prisoners- all of them were equally scum and equally loathsome. What people would do to other people disgusted him, despite the prisoners calling him the worst of the lot. Those other torturers, some of them seemed to enjoy their work there, and it filled him with so much anger to hear them brag. Sick, sick people. That anger had to be vented, and he vented the only way he knew: using a prisoner and a sharp blade. Now, Jamil was a smart man. A highly disturbed man, but smart. He knew the hypocrisy in calling them disgusting and himself just, and for some time, he fought with the concept, until he finally, finally realised what he had somehow known already. He wasn't just. He was just like them. Disgusting. He wasn't special. He talked of justice and meant egomania. He was a monster. To his own surprise, it didn't take him long to accept this. And once he did, he embraced it. He was a monster, everyone could see, literally, since he had the decency to look the part as well. He wondered, sometimes, if the monster had been there first in looks or being. Couldn't for the life of him recall. Didn't fight it anymore. Acted the monster now, whole heartedly. No friends, no mercy, no hope left for those in his hands, no love.

Of course, he couldn't run forever, love has a way of catching up to people as soon as they thought themselves above it at last. There was a girl imprisoned there, Hanna Clark. She was only in level one, and a revolutionary.
He liked watching her from far away, even when she was in pain. A face distorted in pain was still the same face when it was peaceful, only with a different twist to it. It started as simple that, and nothing else.
The other guards started wondering why he, who normally spend most of his time in the deeper levels, would be in level 1 all day, but none of them guessed. And Jamil, as he alwas had, didn't really care all that much.
Weeks passed, and still, Jamil'd come to watch her, and even listened to the speeches she gave the other prisoners about how all the pain was worth it, since she suffered for the revolution, and how if they died, they'd die as martyrs, that there was good in what they suffered, that it'd safe the lives of others no matter how pointless it seemed. In his experience, pain had never helped anyone, it certainly hadn't helped him, and he wasn't such a fool to think his work helped others. Please. If they wanted to rid the work of criminals, just shoot them and be done with it. What he did wasn't necessary, and it wasn't helpful, in the least. So he didn't understand. But the concept, yes, the concept was new to him, and fascinating. He wasn't exactly sure why.
One day, he approached her, asking her about the revolution. Everyone else'd have backed away in fear, especially the prisoners, but she gave him a long speech about how the likes of him were unjust.
He listened carefully, greedy for whatever she had to say. Fascinating. Not the speech, not really. But the way she looked him straight in the eye, glared, almost, not wincing when he returned the glare, the way she stretched her neck and kept her nose high, how she stood so straight, not protecting her guts or her throat from his alwas ready, always sharp blades. Was she insane? Why didn't she cover, didn't she want to protet her worthless little life like everyone else?!
In the following months, he talked to her often. The guards were just as surprised about this as the prisoners were, but what did they care if he had a weird fetish for passionate bookworms in chains? Seriously, they'd probably not have thought him above anything, the notion that he was.... able to connect to people on such a level was what was confusing, he could tell, he could also tell that they thought it too absurd, and settled for it being just another way he was going to torment her. Draw the whole ordeal a little longer maybe?
It was none of their business anyway.
Soon, the day she was going to be executed came. Jamil often took the duty to bring the prisoners to their execution, not because he cared for them, but because he wanted the last thing they saw in life to be his face, the face of the man he had taught them to fear, and he wanted them to know that there was no mercy for them in this world.
This time, too, he accompanied her. He stood in her cell with her tied to a chair, just looking at her like he always had. He was anxious, and didn't know why. He was scared, too, and that made him even more confused, angry, even. He had never felt this way aout anyone, much less any prisoner. Then, he had never actually talked to another prisoner, or at least not to do more than tell them how worthless they were and how hopeless their situation was. Not that he'd said any more to her, she just spit right back every time, and with time, his remarks lost their bite. Hers never did. There was so much anger in her, so much defiance- he had half expected her to beg, back then, on the way to her execution. She never did. In fact, she was awfully quiet, her eyes fixed on something, or nothing in the distance. Jamil stood watch, waiting for her to break down, maybe tell him to help her, to free her, that she wanted to live. Not one word. In the end, Jamil never knew what made him help her like he did. It was quite humiliating. But what did it matter? She was free, and he was obviously out of his job now. She did not seem too thankful, but she did not exactly fight to be executed either.
After that, they spend much time hiding from the people looking for them, of course. It was a mutual understanding, or at least he'd like to think it was. She didn't want him around, understandably so, but she didn't know what to do, she had fully expected to die in Impel Down, and his somewhat heroic rescue had been far from anticipated. She had nowhere to go, and maybe, looking at him, she could tell that it was the same for him. She always had an incredibly gentle and caring heart, he remembers. No matter what he had done to her, she must've somehow felt sorry for him, underneath all the understandable spite. Gentle and strong both. And Jamil? Jamil did not even understand, fully understand why he did what he did, why he freed her. And even if this renewed identity crisis hadn't swept him away, there was still that issue with him never having been anything but a torturer. In the end, Jamil never knew much about the ways of the world, and so, he found himself with nowhere to go, no one to turn to. Not that that was a problem.... not a big one anyway.... not a really big one anyway.... let's just say he decided to hang onto Hanna some longer, "For her own protection", he said.
At least the world government wouldn't tell anyone about his murders, or they'd admit that they let a serial killer work for them. Still, he got a bounty for freeing a criminal. Not big enough to draw attention to him, but big enough to have people hunt him. Hannas bounty was also raised a bit, but that was hardly as much of an impact to him.
The time the spend hiding and saving each others hides on a daily basis formed a somewhat shaky, capricious sort of bond between them, which might have been called an actual relationship by some. Whatever it was, there were strong feelings involved, strong enough for her to be able totalk him out of doing some pretty heinous things, strong enough for her to not murder him in his sleep.
Now, of course, with all the time they had, Hanna did what she could do best often: told him stories, mostly stories that were supposed to show him the need for a revolution. Jamil cared little for revolution because he cared little about helping people, but one time, she told him about a revolutionary named Johan Frideswide, who had sacrificed his own family for what he believed in, and that story did interest him a great deal. Again, just like with Hanna, he found himself fascinated, though on a level less moral than the one his fascination with Hanna was based on. This man had killed his family, for his cause. Jamil had never heard of such cruelty, and the sound of it rang in his ears. Over the next few months, he'd ask about him again and again, inquiring after his past, the ideals for which he fought, why he sacrificed his family for those ideals, where he was now.
It was him who came up with the idea to join him, unsurprisingly. And thanks to his unceasing questions about him, Hanna wasn't even surprised anymore. She supposed Frideswide was as good as any man to follow, and he was known for protecting his own well, while not being too choosy who became his own. A good place for an escapee to go.
Johan'd gladly take them in, a fools errand, or something speaking of true courage and compassion. Jamil was moved to see it as the latter, and he worked hard to earn this mans trust. What a man. Such an insecure and gentle exterior, hiding such a strong and cruel heart. No one else might ever see, but him and Johan, they were more alike than anyone else he'd ever met.
For Johan, he'd do anything. He wasn't fascinated by him anymore, he was obsessed with him. He became a largely important part, the most important part of Jamils life, more important, even, than Hanna. The woman knew that, and try as she might to just see it as no big deal, it hurt her. That Jamil would just get over her like that. They'd had a really close relationship, she had been the one person to ever, ever get to look underneath the bandages! And now all that was worth nothing? But this isn't Hanna's story, it is Jamil's, and Jamil was quickly giving the place in his heart that had been hers to Johan, as easily as if he was replacing an outdated machine for the newer model. Did he really not mind, did he really not think about her feelings? Not really. Had he ever? Jamil is not a compassionate person, once someone doesn't interest him enough anymore, he's not reluctant to drop them without warning. At least in Hanna's case it was more like a slow lowering to the ground instead of a drop.
The last decision in Hannas life was made by him and showed the eventual end lf that process: When faced with the decision to either save her life, or help his captain, he left her for dead on the battlefield, and saved Johan from an attack instead. He doesn't seem to regret it. Hanna isn't needed anymore.[/spoiler]

Here's the short form:
-born in Arabasta
-lost sister and got burned horribly in fire
-became a torturer for the king because of his extreme hate for criminals (and possible sadism)
-torturing prisoners wasn't enough, so he started a killing spree
-the government knew, blackmailed him into working for them
-he became an agent of the government in Impel Down, but quickly moved up to one of the head torturers
-fell in love with Hanna, a prisoned revolutionary
-fleed with her from the ship that brought her to her execution
-got a bounty
-learned about Johan, joined him with Hanna
-became obsessed with him

Personality: Jamil seems to be abrasive and curt all the time, not to mention extremely rude. He even keep it up in his sleep, or possibly he does, he is a sleeptalker, but since he has the habit to sleep with a dagger in his hand which he'll swipe at anyone who comes too close (heaven knows how he trained himself to do that), no one will ever know if what he says is actually rude at all. It's largely anticipated to be though.
He's hard to approach, since he's very mistrusting and, as mentioned before, not a nice guy to hang out with (why would you try and approach him anyway?), but if he sees you as a important, he'll do anything to protect you. Anything. There only ever seems to be space for one important person in his deep, dark heart though, and that is in the firm grasp of Johan, not that the captain himself is aware. When it comes to Johan, Jamil tends to see what others often miss in him because they are focused on his insecurity, his manners, his appeareance, or on the skills those conceal, the intelligence, the charisma that comes out sometimes. Jamil doesn't care about any of them, in fact, he often seems to miss them. He sees the cruety in the man, the unwillingness to compromise, the extremism and the pain. Maybe that's what draws him to he man so much that he heads his every command without question, that he'd never let him out of his eye if he could, and that he'd lay down his life for him without a hint of hesistation. Or, since we're at sacrifices, that he'd willingly stay withing a ten meter radius of Zuzen without just cutting his throat (best buddies, right).
He's not reluctant to actually hurt people , and can be very coldblooded in what he does, to say the least. If him having been a serial killer and a torturer hadn't been enough to tip you off, let's just make it clear once more: Jamil is, without a doubt, a stone cold sadistic psychopath. If anything gives him any joy, it's probably the suffering of others, though even that is hard to tell with the bandages obscuring what's left of his face, and his one eye only ever glittering with hate and anger. When people say he never actually ever smiles, they might mean it figuratively, which is somewhat correct, since Jamil is very much capable of positive emotions, he just doesn't feel them often, at all. But him not smiling could just as well be meant literally, since he can't, really, it hurts. Every facial expression hurts. And no one'd be able to see them anyway, what's the point? Though particularily perceptive people might point out that it doesn't keep him from frowning or snarling. Maybe perticularily pereptive people should have those good eyes and that smart tongue forcibly removed? Will only take a few minutes...
And now for something completely different: he also gets along with animals well, they trust him for some obscure reason. Why anyone would trust Jamil, most of all animals, is one of the greater mysteries of the universe. Maybe there's something there that people don't realise? haha, come on, how cliche would that be?


Ship: “Anika“

Ship Flag:

Devil Fruit: None

Special Abilities:
Famed torturer
Extremely good at riding (for some reason)

Learned Techniques (Keep it 1-25):
Uses two swords to fight, as well as several knives and some very painful little tricks


Weapons/Items:
Two simple swords, many throwing knives, some smaller devices that, if used right, can hurt like hell, and Jamil knows how to use them excellently

Goals:
Simply to serve Johan until he dies, or at least until someone more interesting comes along.