The Corsair Sea: Swashbuckling Supernatural Sandbox [Slave's & Males Needed!]

[Elizabeth Ecsed]

Tweaked a bit.

How does the Corsairs identify slaves?

Is there a method to free slaves?

[Vergil Tanner]

Generally they're either branded or more commonly given a collar or something to denote ownership. Freeing slaves is either done by contract - if they sold themselves into slavery - or if the captain is feeling generous. If you were captured or born into it and your owner doesn't want to release you...tough. Unless you're sold to somebody who does.

[ElayneTrakand]

A couple of questions.
1) Are you still taking aplications?
2) Any captain want either a prostitute or entertainer slave for thier ship?

[Vergil Tanner]

Hey there, Elayne! It seems that a wind is rising above the great cliffs of Wraithstone Rock. The wind is not the beginning. But it is a beginning.

1) Yes, we are! Always accepting!

2) I have no idea! xD Probably! Check out the Sailing Strong page and maybe prod some of those captains, if any meet your eye

[LightNight]

Would char that would be more of merchant than pirate be do able?

If it could was thinking of high captain rank as he runs merchant company from his islands?

[Vergil Tanner]

Oh, interesting! So more of a leader of an association of Captains that do shipping and whatnot to buy and sell across the Corsair Sea? That could certainly work! Would he also be running a black market of sorts, since...well, Corsair Sea? xD

[LightNight]

Yes association would sound like what I was think it would be as for the black market I see him as dealer in anything that will make profit legal or not.

[Vergil Tanner]

In which case, go ahead! Sounds like an interesting concept!

[greypsychman]

A couple of questions.
1) Are you still taking aplications?
2) Any captain want either a prostitute or entertainer slave for thier ship?

I would be glad to have another crew member.

[Deamonbane]

Y'all still looking for more characters? My thoughts are along the lines of a faithful, violent first mate:



And his stoic, but equally violent 'little brother':

[Mael]

Definitely still looking! ^^

[Vergil Tanner]

We are indeed always looking!

[Lynnette]

EDIT: Okay, still very in-the-works, but I ended up retooling her as a high captain.

Eileen Tyndall, "The Tower"


Race: Halfbreed
Sexual Orientation: Bisexual
Gender: Futanari

Race-based Powers:
Giant's blood - The key contributor to her height and her nickname. In terms of actual "benefits" that come with it, there's strength first and foremost. Her body is able to exert incredible strength comparable to her actual size, enough to carry heavy weapons and shields like they weighed close to null, or carrying things several times what the average man could. The main drawback to this strength is how much abuse her body can take. While it can by nature take a lot more strain than an average human, it does put high demands on her bones in particular, leaving that the limiting factor for how much of her strength she can actually use. No holds barred and if willing to break bones, she can make some solid dents in metal bare-fisted, but it would leave her with a broken hand. While limiting herself, she can pull, lift, or otherwise, roughly two to three times what a normal person would be able to without putting needless strain on her body, with some other benefits like being able to jump higher and further coming along.

Thick blood - Her blood runs much thicker than an average human, and is denser with air, leading to it flowing slower through her body. As a result, she can sustain a wound for longer without suffering too badly from blood-loss, and helps with her feats of strength.


Role: High captain
Faction: In Service To Reaver Captain Isabella Constantina Fioravanti of the Deadmans Cove
Face Claim: Original artwork
Player O/O's: If it breathes and has a pulse...





Appearance:

The most eye-catching aspect of Eileen's character is her height. She finds herself looking either straight at or down at most men, with exceedingly few women meeting her firm six feet. A no doubt imposing build, with broad shoulders and strong arms, decorated richly with pale black ink from her hands all the way up her neck, and a large navigation star across her back. While her primary tattoos were acquired at pivotal moments in her career of piracy, the skulls on her shoulders from beating Jack Dwight and taking control of The Dishonorable, and the navigation star on her back from taking over The Independent and leading Josephine Zul to a wet grave, the other small specks decorating her arms tell their own stories - Her right hand counting men and women alike, paid and unpaid, joining her quarters, while the right detailing ships boarded, though with the both of them reaching her neck she's uncertain where to continue.

Another distinct feature of hers is her eyes. Ever vibrant in their yellowish hue, though how she looks at others is perhaps more interesting. There's no hiding that her stare comes off as intimidating - As though she's constantly analyzing whoever she looks at, with a distinct lack of warmth. A stern, firm gaze, never cocky but always confident. For the rest of her body, it holds a certain masculinity without forgetting about its femininity - She has curves, she has breast and a nice round ass, but she's physically strong, unmistakably someone well adjusted to heavy manual labor, her back in particular showing a lot of strength. Her most feminine feature beyond her curves would be her hair, though often rough-cut it's usually kept just past her shoulders, giving a gentler tone to her face than what her eyes ever could.

Personality:

As far as work goes, Eileen has the ideal makings of a captain. She comes off as a structured and efficient woman, with little patience and enthusiasm in buckets despite her usually more stern demeanor. She's someone who calls shots very naturally, with an aptitude for the job. Someone who can always be relied on, with her long experience on sea coming as a nice asset for more open assignments or questions. Her piercing stare tends to be enough of its own to demand the authority required to uphold her position, so it fits her nicely.

On the other hand, when the liquor starts running... It would be fair to assume most of her cuts and bruises come from bar-fights, not that she's the type to start them. But, when chairs start flying... Well, why not. She can maintain her calm and structured demeanor for a while, but what's a pirate without some excessive drinking, usually followed by waking up with a pounding head and women expecting coin. She definitely has a more wild side, though it's normally saved for closer friends or liquor.

History Overview:

Eileen's life has always revolved around the sea. Her younger years were spent at the coast, loading and unloading ships for spare coin, using her heritage to her advantage. As for exactly how her heritage worked... Well, she on her part doesn't even know about it, if it even is what it's claimed. Nevertheless, she was strong, and took direction exceptionally well for her age. She was born and raised in The Spires, though raised might be a stretch for being left on her own at a young age. She took work where she could get it, and as far as she's concerned she turned out alright. By the modest age of 16, she was carrying boxes of provisions that two or even three grown men struggled to even pick up, on her own. She made acceptable coin, enough to stay fed and have a drink from time to time, and while she was hardly a greedy person at the time, there was always room for more.

Her position with the peacekeepers came as a direct result of her work. She was physically strong, and despite her age was well acknowledged as someone you grit your teeth and paid when the work was done. She wasn't one to hesitate about dealing a good punch or two, or a surprise swim, to those who's coin-sack remained tied. The fact she could manhandle grown men like they were children, along with her stalwart demeanor made her an ideal image of what qualities were needed for the job. After all, it amounted to just that. She had what it took to deal with the drunken wildness that came with a godless place like the Corsair Sea, and after some training it turned out she was an exceptional pick for just that.

It was through her roughly five years as a peacekeeper that she originally earned her title as "the tower". She knew to take a punch like few, almost as well as she could deal them, with steady footing like few others. She did admittedly have a fairly lax attitude, generally favoring the region policing itself. Still, when push came to shove, she was ready to pick up whomever it might concern by the neck and let them kiss the street before pulling them away.

Her foray into piracy came through one who'd done just that, had a nice kiss with the pavement after having some unrequested intercourse with someone he probably shouldn't have messed with. A man by the name of Jack Dwight, a smooth-tongued fucker, less than eager to be holed up. While Eileen didn't care for what he had to say at first, the promises of great treasure and adventure eventually got to her. While her job paid well, at least compared to working the docks, to say it gave liberty wasn't fair. The moment she left her home, it was work. She had to walk the tight rope if she was going to tell others where to walk. While it was fine at first, it grew old fast. There was no excitement to it after only five years of it, and in a perhaps foolish mind, she decided to take the bribery. The journey went to the docks, and off they were, aboard "The Dishonorable", off to some island in the distance. When it turned out the smooth-talk had been just that and she found herself at the tip of a sword, she did the only reasonable thing and gave him a beating to rival few. She was used to having swords swung after her, and while he was far more skilled than the usual crowd, a few good punches was all it took to leave him in a state of unrest. She used his own methods against him and got the location to his treasures out of him, before doing the only reasonable thing to the lying son of a bitch.

Burying him where his treasures once were, along with whatever crew wasn't interested in joining her. She'd taken some fairly substantial wounds from the fights, so those who swore a new allegiance joined her back to the ports, and she got herself patched up, gathered her belongings, and off they were, with her newly acquired title, captain of The Dishonorable. She managed to recruit a few helpful hands through old friends at the ports, and another few who were just looking for coin and looked up for the task. She didn't know much of seafaring at the time, though through an elderly man by the name of Timothew, they did well for themselves. With the industrious region of The Spires, finding fitting offers hoping to save some change off their orders became a prime target in the region.

She kept her position as captain for a good while, in a mix of peddling wares as a shipper between regions, and having the occasional extra goods from cheapskates considered fair game. She started acquiring her tattoos around this time, initially getting the skulls on her shoulders after taking the status as captain from Jack Dwight, and claiming The Dishonorable. The smaller specks started at the same time, her left being the count of ships boarded and the right being the amount of men and women she'd pulled to the captain's quarters for some willing or unwilling fun.

She became high captain after what initially started as an accidental fight against high captain Josephine Zul, who already wasn't happy with some of Eileen's conduct on her territory. In a heavy storm, Eileen and Josephine had both mistaken one another's ships for merchanting ships. With the both of them angling their sails to prepare boarding of the other, the ships crashed into each other, leaving the high captain very unhappy, despite The Dishonorable taking considerably more damage. A fight broke out, at first bare-handed but it quickly turned into pistol-shots, swinging swords and what have you. With The Dishonorable rapidly taking in water from the crash, the only option was to board Josephine's ship. While it was far from a favorable fight for either party with the ship crashing down against the waves, Eileen pulled through after just enough close calls, piercing Josephine's heart with what was left of Eileen's snapped cutlass and pushing the corpse overboard, claiming what was to become The Independent as her new ship, with The Dishonorable quickly joining the other shipwrecks of The Corsair sea. With her position as high captain primarily accidental, she's not currently gunning for title as Reaver, though who knows.

While originally positioned in The Spires, Eileen ended up relocating to the Deadmans Cove after her battle with Josephine Zul, as a simpler solution to duking it out over already claimed grounds in The Spires, currently controlling what's affectionately called The Steep Cove, best known for its mining and breweries, and the subsequent drinking that comes with hosting them. The island is tough to reach during low tide, with hidden reefs sitting just tall enough to make shreds out of low-sitting ships during low tide, though any local would claim there's more bodies hiding between the sharp rocks than ships, attributed to the city, built upon the cliff like the capital, having a long history of people falling off and taking an undesired swim. While not inherently interested in the mayor-aspect of her title as High Captain, she took to the job with a stride, doing her part through looking into topics like taxation and management, as well as a somewhat half-assed but admirable attempt to reduce the number of people going for unwanted swims.

The Independent

The Independent is Eileen's ship, an overall all-rounder, jack of all trades master of none ship. Good artillery for its two-deck design, regaining some of the lost cannons in maneuverability and speed, with good space to store goods while slender enough to pass through narrower waterways, while retaining enough size to manage rougher seas.

It's been in Eileen's ownership for the last three years, along with her title as high captain, and she's done hers to modernize the ship, enough to spend considerable money on the task.

[Vergil Tanner]

Oooh, I like her! There are no issues that I can see! Who were you thinking of having her be a High Captain under?

[Lynnette]

Oooh, I like her! There are no issues that I can see! Who were you thinking of having her be a High Captain under?

I think it's done!

[Vergil Tanner]

Ok, looks all good to me! PM me the Code, and I'll PM you with links and instructions on what comes next

[Mael]

Ransom, “The Nameless”


Race: Human
Sexual Orientation: Pansexual
Gender: Female

Race-based Powers: None


Role: Owner of The Undertow
Faction: Independent
Face Claim: Anna Christine Speckhart

Player O/O's: xo.
Character O/O's: Has specific ‘ons’ with characters that have certain relationships with her, so please be sure to inquire about it.





Appearance:

Ransom stands above the average woman, at a height of 5’ 9.5” without shoes. Most of the height she possesses comes from her pair of long, lean legs, though she has a general appearance of being quite proportioned. Her curves are slim, but present, and she flaunts them whenever she gets the chance. Her pert breasts are a firm C cup with each nipple pierced through with a silver ring. While some may try to take advantage of her lean, womanly stature, they would be making a mistake – Ransom is stronger than she looks, and her reflexes have been honed after years of practice. Dexterous, long fingers are nimble and adept at most physical skills, and her skin borders on the paler side, though one can occasionally catch glimpses of where the flesh is marred with burns or darkened with black ink. Most don’t point them out when they are noticed, however, as more than one poor soul who had wandered the seas with a missing finger or facial scar because of their words.

Her hair is a wild mess of inky black, often worn down and tangled. Similarly dark brows flex with her shows of emotion and umbrella her striking eyes, which are surrounded by thick, dark lashes. Those eyes are a crystalline blue – clear, sharp, and often unforgiving – like the thick layers of ice in the northern regions. If she dares to bother with any kind of additions to her face, it’s a dark kohl around the eyes to only further intimidate those who walked into her tavern. Full lips surround a smile of pearly whites, almost appearing sharp in the right light, and vaguely small ears hidden in her thick hair are adorned with an assortment of glittering silver studs and rings.


Personality:

Most are surprised when they find out that Ransom isn’t a pirate herself. She has all of the attitude of one: brash, confident, coy. Her vocabulary is expansive – and often filled with less-than reputable, colorful words – and accented with something northern, foreign, and often unrecognizable to the general patron. She’s hospitable to those who pay enough coin, and nice to those who are lucky enough to call her a friend. Ransom is loyal, almost to a fault, and when her trust is broken she is unforgiving. Many who walk through her doors respect her, and those who don’t tend to not visit often. She has a troubled past that is hidden behind layers of protective walls, her true emotions hidden deep inside and locked away behind clever words and a sharp smile. Only the luckiest knew who Ransom truly was – and they never breathed a word of it. Anyone who saw the interactions between her and those chosen few would understand; none were brave enough to take advantage of that information.

Speaking of information: Ransom was potentially the most observant person people encountered, just on the edge of being uncanny mingling with rumors that she wasn’t a human at all. These ideas were occasionally entertained, as Ransom neither confirmed nor denied any rumors regarding her or her business. Her connections from years at sea and subsequent years on land provided her a wealth of information. This information could easily be bought at a price, and Ransom never forgot who knew what. The web of information she weaved was intricate and thick, with her as the spider at the center of it all. And she knew it, too. Certain patrons only visited solely for information, and Ransom knew exactly how to get them that information, but only if it was in the best interest of all involved. She had learned a long time ago to trust few, but above all – only trust herself.

History Overview:

Though she currently preferred to be on land, Ransom had once been bound to the sea. Her lowlife parents had sold her to the slave trade when she was barely thirteen. She never missed them, but she hated them for their cowardice and weakness. She hated being forced upon a ship and taken to the open sea, treated as nothing more than a bilge rat meant to scrub up blood, sweat, semen, and puke off of the deck of the ship. The first pirate who had claimed her for a slave was older, rather unknown, and completely unmemorable. Even with her penchant for detail, Ransom wouldn’t be able to place the poor bastard today, if he was still alive. She imagined that with his love of rum and poor shot skills, he was probably dining with the Lady every night. Good. That was where he and the rest of his shit-eating crew belonged. Her hostile nature towards them had only blossomed into full rage every time one of them got too close to her. She did what she was told, certainly, but it was only to avoid being strung up and whipped with the cat o’ nines like the rest of the underage slaves on board. She was one of the eldest; she took more punishments for the younger children more times than she could count. She remembered every time one of their faces crumpled with fear the way their bodies shook and they slowly starved. Her anger grew, and it wasn’t long before she took it out the first mate – the one who typically dealt out the punishments on board – and pushed him overboard with his body skewered on a nearby spear. All hell had broken loose and she was lucky they only beat her, shackled her, and dumped her at the next stop. She had expected them to throw her overboard and into the icy depths – but they hadn’t. She wasn’t sure what had hurt worse: her back as it split open from the whipping when she went tumbling down the gangplank, or seeing the fear that remained on the rest of the slaves as the boat sailed away.

She’d never forget their faces.

Ransom was bounced through the slave trade after that, quickly earning a reputation for doing her job as given, but also being quite a problem. She was a fighter who wanted her freedom, who attempted escape around every turn, during any given opportunity. She was moved from ship to ship, sold again and again, and by the time she was seventeen – closer to eighteen – she had been sold to what would be the final ship in her long journey of slavery. Her final destination had landed her right in the Corsair Sea, farther from her home than she’d ever been, jaded and angry with the hand she’d been dealt. With her increase in age, she also found that she wasn’t just utilized for typical jobs aboard ships, either. This new ship that sailed the Corsair had a crew that was often bored and found their time better consumed with flesh than other things. She was a fighter, but she was no match for men who spent their lives at sea, corded with muscle and the ability to hold her down as she was chained with only one arm. After the first encounter, Ransom had sworn to herself that something like that would never happen to her again. Unfortunately for her, it did. It happened multiple times. The only thing she could do in order to keep her sanity was try and converse with some of the older slaves that seemed to be her age. There were a particular few she had gotten close with, ones that were passed over for trafficking opportunities whenever the ship came to port. One Ransom always remembered in particular was a striking blond named Lucilla. The girl was rambunctious and Ransom immediately liked her, finding similarities in their personalities from day one.

Nothing could have prepared the crew for the storm that snuck up on them all one fateful day. It hit the ship hard, knocking many of the chained from where they were sitting or resting, the shouts and cries of the crew echoing down from above them. The storm escalated in mere minutes it seemed, and it tore the ship apart as though it had been constructed with paper. Many people died – Ransom watched it happen – though she was lucky enough to be a survivor. She wasn’t sure how it happened, but she had been sucked out of the side of the ship when boards cracked and splintered. When she came to, it was in the harsh heat of the sun on the beach of a very small island. She had coughed up sea water, assessed herself for injuries, and stood on shaking legs. Her wrists were still bound, but her ankles were net, red and angry with sores from being behind iron for so long. She rubbed the salt from her crusted eyes and glanced around, trying to see if there was anyone else on the beach with her.

There was no one.

She started calling out on the first day, circling the island by most of its entirety before sunset. She slept on the beach that night with the moon as her only company. By dawn of the next day, she woke with the sun as it rose and began to explore with more purpose now that she knew she was alone. She was going to have to survive somehow; she wasn’t accepting death. Her and the Lady weren’t ready to meet quite yet. Ransom survived the next few days off of fish she managed to catch in small tide pools, coconuts she cracked with the aid of rocks and her iron chains, and the water inside. She wandered the island slowly, simply because the thick vegetation and rock formations that made up the center weren’t easy to traverse. One day, she came across an odd stone that was split in two, a V-shape pointing towards the sun. Two coconut trees – young ones – grew in the opposite direction of the rocks, so if Ransom climbed between the stones and looked to her right or left, she could see a tree. It was odd and made her curious, her eyes flicking around on the ground for some kind of abnormality. It took an entire day, but before the sun set, she found it. Thick brush and bushes had grown over a flat stone that was settled onto the ground, buried beneath a light layer of sand. Using what little strength she could manage, she began to budge the rock to the side, resorting to her back against the large stones and using her feet instead. Once it was moved enough, Ransom crawled over and peered into the dark hole to find a chest.

A fucking treasure chest.

Ransom whooped with joy, knowing full-well that someone would be returning for the chest. She couldn’t open it – no key – but she could wait around and see if a ship would be arriving. It was a slim chance, but it was one she could at least hold out hope for. And, much to her delight and surprise, she didn’t have to wait for long. Two nights later, a small ship set anchor nearby and she watched from the cover of the trees as two smaller row boats headed towards the island. She remained quiet and still as the loud crew made their way towards the treasure buried near the left side of the island. She tracked them through the trees quite easily, moving as softly as her heavy iron chains would allow. She kept her distance as they stopped and dug up their wares, opening the chest to remove only a portion of its contents. She glanced over the few members of the crew standing there, suddenly startled to realize there had been at least three or four others that had come up the beach with them…

”Well… what we do we have here?”

Ransom whipped around, the rock she had been peering over harsh against her back as she came face to face with the missing crew members. Three of them flanked the taller figure in the middle, who was crouched down with hands resting on their knees. The darkness made it hard for Ransom to see many distinguishing features, and she shifted as her chains rattled near her feet – bracing for a fight.

“A lost lamb, looks like, Cap’n.”

To Ransom’s surprise, the voice wasn’t as harsh or angry as she may have been anticipating it to be. Her glassy eyes opened and blinked towards the group, noting now that their weapons were sheathed at their sides and two of the four figures were women. Ransom swallowed thickly and opened her mouth to explain, only to have herself silenced by the Captain’s hand as it came up and revealed its palm in the dim light. That same hand reached out with confidence and grabbed onto Ransom’s chains, tugging them slightly to get a look at them without disturbing her position too much. Ransom almost missed the murmured comments, the sound of her heart racing in her ears almost too loud.

“Mmm. Traffickin’.”

“Poor li’l lamb.”

“What should we do, Cap’n?”

Ransom’s eyes shifted to the crouched figure in front of her, feeling as though beneath the brim of the wide hat they adorned, she was being watched. Her clothes were mere rags at this point, filthy and unwashed. She knew what kind of image she was portraying, but she hadn’t expected to hear sympathy in the words spoken by the pirates surrounding her. She had expected to be snatched up, brought on board the ship in order to be sold for a profit, tossed back into the system again. The idea made her sick.

“You look far from home, little one,” the Captain finally spoke, bringing Ransom to the realization that the Captain was also a woman. Her voice was husky and deep, mature, and oddly comforting. “How’d you manage to end up here, on this forsaken piece of sand in the middle of the Corsair?”

Afraid that patience wasn’t a virtue of these pirates, Ransom managed to grit out an answer – her voice rough and weary: “Shipwreck.”

It was good enough for them, apparently, as the Captain nodded and stood up, dropping the heavy chains. She turned around on the heel of her boots and nodded to the three crew behind her, stepping away and allowing them to step forward. Ransom instinctively winced from them, but clenched her fists as if she was ready for a fight. What if they wanted to kill her for knowing where their island was? Their treasure? Ransom wasn’t dying this way. She wasn’t ready to meet the Lady. One of the pirates soothed her with a soft cooing noise as they carefully helped her to her feet. The rest of her journey to the ship was a blur, her feet stumbling tiredly over the sand as they coaxed her into a row boat, draped a blanket over her shoulders and managed to get her on board their small ship.

The Captain never told Ransom her name or title, but Ransom never asked. Once on board, the crew treated her wounds and removed her shackles, throwing them overboard and into the depths. The sight had brought stubborn tears to Ransom’s eyes, which she wiped away with the sleeve of the new shirt she’d been given. In the time she was on the ship, the Captain coaxed her to open up, conversing with her and talking to her about anything Ransom seemed ready to discuss. It was on board that ship that Ransom received her very first tattoo – inked on a sunny day where the wind was dead and the crew had finished their tasks early. The Captain had approached her and asked what she wanted most out of her life.

“Freedom.”

There had been no hesitation when Ransom spoke, and before she knew it, the slave mark that had been burned into her skin at the back of her neck was now a fresh patch of dark ink that hid beneath her curtain of thick hair. It was large enough to cover the mark entirely, dark enough to mask the scarring of the burn. A spider – chosen by the Captain herself – rested at the base of Ransom’s skull. She had wept with the feeling of knowing she no longer bore the mark of a slave. A few more days upon the ship brought them to port somewhere in the Corsair, near the central hub of ship docks. The Captain had pulled Ransom aside and slipped her a satchel, telling her not to open it until she was able, and a few pieces of coin to get her a place to stay for a while. Ransom had no desire for the freedom a ship would bring her – she’d spent enough of her life trapped on the ocean.



No one is exactly sure how Ransom came about owning The Undertow – a tavern that quickly became one of the most well-known places for pirates and others to visit whenever they docked their ships. It’s odd build from the hull of an old ship with the shared name made it stand out, an eye-sore to some, but easily recognizable to those who cared. Rumors say she won the ship from a drunken Captain who eyed her cleavage more than his cards. Others say the ship was already there, Ransom killed the crew and took it over. Some say it was given to her by a mysterious Captain, who no one has ever seen or heard from again. Either way, it didn’t truly matter how it came to be: all that mattered was what it represented. The Undertow was Ransom’s home, her pride and joy, and she would defend it fiercely. New patrons were often surprised at the unexpected cleanliness and charm of it all, even when surrounded by some of the most seasoned pirates… or even some uniformed sailors. Everyone had their own selfish reason for going to The Undertow, often requesting to see Ransom herself, on the search for new information. It was always information that Ransom had – another mystery left unsolved – and was willing to share to the right parties, for the right price. Everyone knew better than to walk through that door and insult Ransom, her home, or her practices. Even those who worked for her fell under her fierce protection. No one questioned it when there was simply no reason to. Being constantly surrounded by pirates, Ransom had learned what she needed to do in order to get what she wanted, to come across a certain way, and how to appeal to almost anyone.

Most would assume she was a pirate herself. Who was she to try and correct them?

[Vergil Tanner]

Looks all good to me! You know what to do, Kitten

[Mael]

Hooray!
-throws muffins-

[PearlRuby]

Captain Nathaniel Roscoe Esquire,
aka "that dirty rotten scoundrel"


Race: Human
Sexual Orientation: Heterosexual
Gender: Male

Race-based Powers:

• Sea-Born: Nate claims to have been born at hide-tide under the waning constellation of The Lady. Though many might think this to be yet another of his tall tales, for once, he’s actually telling the truth. Just, don’t believe that part about being able to talk to fish though. The tutors at Bretstan Academy can confirm that he’s indeed a ‘wasted talent’ because of his sea-born affinity towards wind magic which neither they nor him were ever able to fully nurture or develop [see below].
  
  
• Novice Sorcerer: Despite being selected to train at the Bretstan Academy from an early age, Nathaniel abhorred being a student of magic, and never took his studies seriously. He therefore only possesses the skill of a novice (barely) which greatly limits his knowledge of spells and ability to cast and sustain magic in general. Whilst creating minor orbs of light, sparking a small flame at the click of his fingers, and clapping his hands to mimic the clap of thunder overhead are simple enough ‘tricks’ for him to master, his so-called ability to summon ‘great gusts of torrential wind’ or conjure ‘lightning from the skies’ are little more than overtly bold claims. He has the potential to develop wind-based magic, which he does in fact, have a natural affinity for, but some might also argue that it’s ‘too late’ to try. He also just doesn’t have the patience or dedication to learn. At most, he could conjure a sudden gust of wind to move or knock over small objects, which does have its uses, despite not sounding very amazing.
  
  
  Role: Captain of ‘The Salty Bastard’
  Faction: Independent
  Face Claim: Michael Yerger
  
  Player O/O's: Here
  Character O/O's: Sense of humour, suspension of belief and a wild imagination are all a huge turn on for Nate, aside from the obvious tits (any size will do), ‘lady parts’ … and a nice smile. He’s fairly vanilla, but he’s always open to trying more ‘adventurous’ positions, and can actually be quite the generous lover. Unfortunately, whilst he talks the talk, he doesn’t always walk the walk to the standards that his conquests expect, which is mostly his own fault for talking himself up too much. He’s generally the ‘love ‘em and leave ‘em’ type of guy... unless they leave him first. Or is he actually a closet romantic at heart? Now that would be telling.
  
  
  
  
  
  Appearance:
  
  Nate generally possesses a ‘roguish’ charm, which can either work in his favour, or go the opposite way entirely. Standing at 5’11”, he’s tall but by no means the tallest man who’ll ever make your acquaintance. Like many a Corsair rascal, his left earlobe is pierced, and usually adorned with a small silver hoop. He prefers silver in general, but does on occasion also wear leather bracers or thong bracelets. It’s hardly surprising that he’s never clean-shaven, preferring to have a sandpaper texture to his jawline, chin and above his upper lip. He has a habit of scraping his hand against his face, and it would just feel weird without the trademark beard and moustache stubble combination. If he’s out at sea for too long, his facial hair can get a little bit wild and overgrown, but in general, he keeps it trimmed. Despite being a Bretston native originally, his Corsair bloodline is thick. Like many of the darker haired Corsairs, he tans easily, especially out at sea, and generally boasts a natural, olive complexion. Contrasting his dark, chestnut brown mop of hair – which is always kept long enough to feel the breeze or better yet, the fingers of a lover running through it; are a pair of sea-green eyes, which often flicker with amusement or mischief, and certainly make his ‘sea-born’ claims seem like less of a tall-tale.
  
  Whether out at sea or land-lubbin’, Nate prefers comfortable clothes, and isn’t against showing a glimpse of his impressive splay of chest hair for the ladies. His shirts are often unlaced or unbuttoned, and it’s easy to catch him at the helm of his ship completely shirtless, with one hand on the wheel, and the other smoking on a cigar or roll-up. On a bad day – or good day, depending on your preference! – if he doesn’t smell like fresh seaweed mixed with rum, he certainly has a faint whiff of tobacco about him. He also tends to favour neck chains made of silver or leather, which of course, draw the eye to his chest even further. Years of tugging on ropes and hard labour out at sea, have given him a very athletic physique. He’s not overly muscular, nor is he the strongest man you’ll ever meet, but he is incredibly well toned and gives the illusion of being stronger than he is. On closer inspection though, his body does carry a handful scars in random places, of varying shapes and sizes, courtesy of his misadventures.
  
  In terms of weaponry, Nathaniel is a jack of all trades. He carries both a lightweight cutlass, a throwing dagger and a flintlock pistol, even though he’s not a particularly skilled swordsman or sharp-eyed marksman. When all else fails, he’ll happily resort to ‘fisticuffs’, but he’s more likely to employ dirty fighting and bar brawl tactics rather than show off his clumsy 'survive at all costs' wrestling moves.
  
  Personality:
  
  Nathaniel Roscoe is a liar, a cheat, and a dirty swindler… but he can also be one of the ‘nicest’ guys you’ll ever meet! He lives to laugh – often at the expense of himself or others – and his main motto is that life is too short to have regrets… or was it something like ‘you only live once, so live your best’? Either way, he has a dangerous habit of thrill-seeking, and you can always count on him to get you, himself, or anyone associated, into some kind of trouble. The fun part is, how he manages to scheme and weave his way out of situations that, might seem rather hopeless.
  
  Trusting a man like Nate is akin to willingly putting your life on the line, or joining his long list of enemies. Fortunately, he manages to counteract that list with an alternative list of ‘friends and other acquaintances’ who he can count on in a pinch… most of the time. He has a knack for telling lies, weaving incredible stories and ultimately blaming others for his own transgressions. That jerk who cheated on that game of poker that time and swindled the whole table? Nah, couldn’t have been him, he wasn’t even there! Oh, he has moments of genuine honesty. For instance, he always promises extra crew members and muscle for hire a wage that they ‘deserve’. It boggles the mind why they then complain and try to cut him to pieces when they only receive half of what they were allegedly promised.
  
  Whilst Nate would like to think that he’s a lothario extraordinaire, he doesn’t have much luck with women either. Actual women, not the whores you can buy in any old brothel – they only love him as far as his coin stretches, which is ultimately disappointing, despite the magic of his silver tongue. Word of advice: Never ask a whore if she wants to see a magic trick, unless you can pay for her wasted time. His odds might improve if it weren’t for the fact that he’s (almost) completely adverse to the idea of female crewmembers – he keeps a crew of only two other men, and firmly believes that women are bad luck at sea. There have been exceptions made in the past, but those exceptions have yet to prove his theory wrong. How the Corsair Queen and all those lady Reaver Captains survived thus far is beyond him! He certainly won’t be pledging his loyalty to either one of them any time soon though, that’s for sure. He was once loyal to Captain Jakartha, until Captain whatshername Fioravanti muscled her way in, and he’s in no rush to swear to her patronage either.
  
  As an Independent Captain, Nate still has a certain ‘code’ of honour. He’ll smuggle, cheat and steal, but he won’t kill, unless he absolutely has to, e.g. to save his own skin. For the most part, he’s actually quite a simple man, who just seeks to sail by, making enough coin to know that he won’t die a premature death of something terribly boring, like starvation. If he’s going to die, let it be whilst fighting a giant sea squid, having saved the damsel in distress who actually likes his debonair smile, or at the very least; after proving that the Corsair Queen isn’t the only thief who can get a five finger discount from a Reaver Captain!
  
  History Overview:
  
  There’s no denying that Nate Roscoe has Corsair blood, but he wasn’t actually born to the Corsair Sea. His journey in fact began along the Western Coast of Bretstan, which is as close to the sea as a ‘foreigner’ can get. His mother made a very poor living making and mending fishing nets, and occasionally offering her home for ‘bed and board’ to the passing fisherman and other sailors. It came as no surprise then, when her belly started to swell, that she had no idea who the father of her unborn child was. She tried in vain to eat the right herbs to ‘quicken’ the pregnancy, but she was no expert on the matter, and through either fault or nature, she actually had a lengthier pregnancy that usual. It was well past the nine-month mark, when she couldn’t wait for the little… or rather, fairly big bastard, to just get out already!
  
  ‘Nathan Roscoe’ spelt trouble as soon as he was born. He was a loud babe, constantly wailing and screaming, as if to punish his mother for ever trying to prevent him entering the world to begin with. Throughout his childhood, he was a raucous and rambunctious handful, always causing mischief around the nearby fishing villages, only to try to lie his way out of trouble and cast the blame on one of the other children. The result was having very few friends, and gaining his first ever title as ‘the local troublemaker’ otherwise known as ‘that annoying little bastard’. He was nine years old and out of control, when a saviour arrived at the village. His uncle, a very stoic and experienced sailor, who’d spent the last ten or so years seeking out his fortune around the Corsair Sea. He brought with him a sack of bronze coins to see his younger sister through the harsh winter, along with an offer to ‘teach the boy a thing or two’ aboard his rather successful ship.
  
  In the absence of a real father, Uncle Roscoe was the closest Nate ever had to a positive father figure. He took to life at sea like a fish to the water, and despite the potential claustrophobia of being stuck on a ship for months in the endless ocean, his uncle always found ways to keep him busy. Not wholly out of trouble, but occupied enough not to cause mischief out of sheer boredom. He was taught not only how to fish, handle a ship and read maps, but also the hierarchy and traditions of the Corsair Sea. For the young and impressionable Nathan, these were some of his fondest memories.
  
  Unfortunately, most good things come to an end, and for Nate, this happened as he entered puberty. A strange and awkward time for any young person, but for him, it brought on clumsier and… certain inexplicable ‘incidents’. Once, he clicked his fingers after finally winning a poker game, and suddenly produced a stray spark. Now that might sound incredible, if it weren’t for being on a ship, made of wood… highly flammable wood. Then there was the time where he sighed so hard, he sent all the paperwork on his Uncle’s desk flying at his Uncle like a giant paper bird. At least that was both amazing and hilarious, even though his baffled Uncle needed more time to see the funny side. Needless to say though, the crew were starting to feel uncomfortable with the idea of an untrained magic user aboard the ship, especially one as volatile as young Nathan Roscoe. The Captain had no choice. Whilst spending some time on land to visit his sister, he wrote to the nearby Bretstan Academy behind his nephew’s back. Telling the boy that his time at sea would be at an end, for now, was quite possibly the worst discussion he’d ever had, and it caused an irreparable rift between Uncle and Nephew. Nate felt betrayed, by both his uncle and his mother, who was ecstatic with the idea that her son might actually make a future for himself. Her son… a sorcerer! No one could have ever guessed that the annoying bastard was actually worth something after all. She harped on about how he was ‘sea-born’, but he really couldn’t care less. All he wanted was to go back to sea. He liked the sound of the waves crashing against the deck, not the idea of spending his teenage years locked up in some boring tower.
  
  That’s exactly what Bretstan Academy was, for young Nathan Roscoe. Boring. Oh, don’t be mistaken now – the higher-level spells for the more advanced wizards and mages, were utterly incredible to witness. The professors, however, knew from day one, that the fishing village bastard would never have the aptitude for real magic. He was insolent, impatient, and an infamous trouble-maker. Time and time again, they tried to explain to him that magic takes dedication and life-long study. One can’t just snap their fingers and produce an awe-inspiring spell out of thin air. He was beyond frustrating, for he had the potential to be so talented! All that sea-born talent, wasted on a young man who’d much rather return to the ocean. Oh yes, he was a sea-born alright. The Lady beckoned to him, and he was enraptured by her siren’s song. It came as no surprise to the Academy when, after only a year and a half of study, Nathan was completely absent from his lessons. They eventually found his dorm room bed stuffed with pillows rather than a living body. His meagre belongings missing… along with some items of interest belonging to his dorm mates, and a note that said, “I’ll pay you back, promise!”
  
  He never did.
  
  The Corsair Sea never discriminates. It can be cruel to any age, gender or culture, and Nathan was no exception. As a teenager trying to walk in breeches that were far too big for him, he only found mediocre employment from one ship, to the next, as the lowest of the low. Errand boy, deck scrubber, cook’s assistant… he did it all, some jobs better than others, until he eventually used his low-level knowledge of magic to swindle his way aboard ‘The Siren’s Kiss’. It would be his worst nightmare now, to take orders from a lady Captain, but at the time, he’d practically died and gone to the Lady’s Hall! She was vicious, and cruel, but by The Lady! She was utterly beautiful. As his first true crush, she could tell him to do almost anything, and he would, in a heartbeat. He became a man on that ship, but a man living a foul lie, and eventually, that lie caught up with him. When the Captain realised that her so called ‘wizard’ wasn’t worth a grain of salt, she sent him on a fool’s errand, hoping that his lack of magic would force him to learn a very valuable lesson – one that ended in death. Fortunately for Nate, he survived the ordeal. He did, also, learn a very valuable lesson: ‘Never, ever, trust a beautiful Captain’. Also: ‘Put a woman in charge and there’s no telling what she’ll do’. Last he heard, that Captain got too big for her own corset and met a pretty nasty fate at the hands of one of Mendoza’s High Captains. Pity… He never got to thank her in the flesh for saving him from the same fate as the rest of her cursed crew…
  
  Nate would continue his misadventures at sea. He won some, lost some, and lost some more, until eventually, he managed to ‘inherit’ his own ship. The story varies according to his mood, and often involves a series of random objects, which eventually have no actual real bearing upon the tale. The reality is, he was simply at the right place, at the right time, and managed to say all the right things to the former, dying Captain of a very small and insignificant ship. To celebrate, he declared himself ‘Captain Nathaniel Roscoe Esquire’, which does sound hilarious on his incredibly common voice, which in another world, could be compared to a mix of Irish and Scottish. Unfortunately, one out of the two other crewmembers didn’t quite share his enthusiasm, which resulted in Nate’s first (and hopefully last) ever mutiny. He only won the fisticuffs because the other, mute crewmate found him slightly less annoying than the one calling the mutiny. Nate would be forever grateful to the large, burly but silent man, who’s true past is anyone’s guess. Something involving a cut out tongue, a parrot, and a sweet tooth.
  
  It was impossible to Captain the small ship with only one other crewmember though, so Nate was forced to take on a series of ‘disposable’ men under varying contracts, until eventually, he found and kept ‘the cook’. A native from Hai Zhī Huā, supposedly exiled from one of the islands there by a High Captain with a vendetta against outstandingly cooked pufferfish. For once, Nate isn’t lying when he admits to being fearful of The Cook’s proficiency with a knife, and does genuinely believe that the man probably sliced and diced a few victims as thinly and effortlessly as he slices up fish. Fortunately for the crew of ‘The Salty Bastard’, he’s far more interested in taste testing and recording new recipes. Funnily enough, the rest of the crew don’t mind.
  
  And there you have it. The condensed misadventures of Captain Nathaniel Roscoe – an ongoing tale of mischief, strife, and clumsy mishaps that would make anyone wonder how the in The Lady’s name the bastard scoundrel is still breathing! Well, until The Lady sees fit to welcome him into her hall, he’ll keep on breathing, keep on surviving, and most important of all; finding ways to make life at sea just that extra bit more entertaining than it already is…
  
  

[Vergil Tanner]

Ok! I like the looks of him! Rakish buffoon rogue xD There is one small thing:

‘Captain Nathaniel Roscoe Esquire’, which does sound hilarious on his incredibly common voice, which in another world, could be compared to a mix of Irish and Scottish.

That line...I'd rather you take it out. The Corsair Sea isn't on Earth, and these bios are meant to be in-universe and sort of in-character, so that's leaning pretty hard on the fourth wall. It just...feels out of place.

But beyond that, I can't see any issues at all!

[PearlRuby]

Aaaarrrrr! Noted    Edited and posted in archives ^.^

[greypsychman]

My character Espen de Ruyter is available for game play. The player who was going to be my first mate quit responding.  Does anyone want to pair up somehow? Just send me a PM.

[Vergil Tanner]

Are you part of the Discord? There's a Plotting Thread there that might be a better route to plotting! If not, head on over, or post in the OOC and I'm sure people will bite!