The story of Hercules Alighieri is one of chance. One of old gods and dreams.
Crossing the vast ocean in search of something was all anyone could get out of Hercules. He was always drawn to the sea. A well built man with hair looked to be underwater in the wind, his steely gaze put many at pause. A sort of lone wolf, he hated the constraints of society (Anticapitalism 1.01) and was ostracized for his thoughts on the ways of the world, thinking he had a deeper insight into the old gods (Omniscience - 1.20) that would visit his dreams in flashes. In one such dream, he was visited by a great tencacled one, who knew his true name, and showed him a vision of a great light in the dephs. He thought he heard the sound of cheering...
His dream was so clear, so vivid; the vision so true. "Find the place where the sun sinks into the ocean, there you will find your purpose." He awoke, feeling the chill of the old gods (Coldness 1.14) realizing that in his palm was a piece of driftwood, cool to the touch, shaped like a trident. His fist, separated from his arm, was connected by a blue frozen flame. Frozen to his palm, he pulled the effigy away and tossed it into the fire (Pregame Ritual: Burning an effigy). However, the memory of the light, the thrilling cheers, never left him. So too, would not the effigy. Always back in his hand the moment he wakes, a chilling reminder of this brief encounter with the gods, and his call.
Years later, he found himself in the bowels of the ship, constantly thinking. Never being the center of attention, he would keep to himself, skipping the nightly drinks (Indulgence - 0.63), instead considering the nature of the universe. He didn't think he was special (Divinity - 0.50) but he knew he was meant for greater things. He rose quickly in the hierarchy of the ship (Moxie - 1.09) always doing the hardest jobs, and well. Ne never felt sorry for himself. Never felt lost. Always knowing he was on a mission, albeit, not sure for what. He knew he wasn't meant for this world, at least not the one on land. The shining light in the depths always in the back of his mind.
One dark night, he woke in the fury of a storm. Water poured into the lower decks, chaos raged as screams and commands were drowned out by the winds. He raced to the decks, wiping the stinging rain from his eyes to see his ship battered with hail the size of fists and wind pulling the mast closer and closer to parallel with the water. Grabbing a pegleg from a fallen comrade, he batted away the hail crashing against the crew and the boat. The ship listed, mast slowly dropping being pulled by the gusts. He knew what he had to do for the sake of his crew and his ship. He climbed the mast in what seemed to be an instant, the only light to guide him were the flashes from the lightning that riddled the sky (Musclitude - 1.11). He knew must cut this sail, or all would be lost (Martyrdom - 1.19). The pegleg splintered as he knocked the last ice ball away and sunk his knife into the fraying ropes that emprisoned it. The ship righted itself, but Hercules was on the top of the mast. As it righted, the force sent him flying into the ocean like a stone in a catapult. Everyone knew what he had done, but he was lost to the sea now.
He sank fast (Buoyancy - 0.52).
His effigy frozen to his palm protected him from the frigid waters. The deep seemed to not affect him (Pressurization 0.21) as he finally felt the ground meet his feet.
A sound. Cheering...
He was immediately drawn to the light and cannons of The Bubble deep. He approached the park, effigy clutched in one hand, the broken, splintered pegleg in the other.
The moment he saw the lights, the roar of the crowd, the booms of the cannons, and the way the ball sailed in the air after the crack of the bat sealed his fate.
He was Atlantis Georgias now. His story written by the gods. His luck given by the effigies he burns. His skill his own.
With every swing comes the will and memory of his comrades, the chill in his hand steadying his resolve to make the dark waters echo with cheers.
NOTE: This is a story about how and why he became a slugger for the Atlantis Gerogias based on his stats and his pregame ritual. I think it matters to have them play a role. Calling him a pitcher when he is a batter is the same as ignoring the stats to make him something he isn't, going against canon (stats/in-game performance).
