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Fantasy Pirates - Character Sheets

Doctor Llamabean

Doctor Llamabean

*winks at Markus*
  • Welcome aboard, ye lost soul! And welcome to The New Age!
    So ye've come lookin' fer trouble, aye? Heh. Can't say I blame ye; this world's got more stories than the sea's got secrets. But let me tell ye somethin' before ye throw yerself to the tide... this ain't the world it used to be.

    They call this era the New Age, but don’t be fooled—just ‘cause the Hollow Epoch’s long past don’t mean its ghosts are gone. The sea still carries whispers of what was lost, and those who dig too deep into the past… well, they don’t always live to tell the tale.

    This world’s got Sorcerers, ones who pull power from the Source like it’s the very breath in their lungs. Then ye got Alchemists, speakin’ in tongues that make a man’s ears bleed, bindin’ the Tether to twist the world to their will. And then, there’s the ones no one speaks of, 'cause no one even knows what they are: Vessels, people with power flowin’ through their very veins, guided by voices no one else can hear.

    But it ain’t just magic ye gotta worry about. Pirates, kings, warlords, and secret orders—they’re all vyin’ for control, each one with their own vision of what this New Age ought to be. Some chase gold, some chase power, and some... some chase the truth. But ye best be careful...there’s some truths that ain’t meant to be found.

    So what’ll it be, stranger? Will ye raise yer flag and carve yer name into the world? Or will ye be another poor soul swallowed by the sea?

    Heh. Either way, ye best hold fast, ‘cause this world don’t take kindly to the weak.


Feel free to use your own code, but here is the code we have by gxxberkit gxxberkit !
You can change it around how you need to! And don't be afraid to throw down a WIP.
Code: 
[comment]
[font=Fondamento]fontcall[/font]
[font=Meie Script]fontcall[/font]
[/comment][border=0px; padding: 0; margin: 0 auto; position: relative;

     --character: url('https://i.pinimg.com/originals/11/d8/6c/11d86c2b3f3e53634361b7402f9363e2.png') no-repeat center center/150% auto;
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!! THE NEXT [border] IS THE !!! BACKGROUND !!! TO READJUST THE IMAGE, PLEASE FIND THE “BACKGROUND-POSITION” AND "BACKGROUND-SIZE" VARIABLES AND MESS AROUND WITH THEM UNTIL YOU’RE SATISFIED. !!

[/comment][border=0px; width: 110%; margin-left: -15px; margin-right: -15px; height: 220px; background: var(--bg); background-position: 2% 70%; background-size: 100%; display: inline-block; margin-top: -20px;][comment]

[/comment][border=0; position: absolute; box-sizing: border-box; width: calc(100% + 1px); left: 0px; height: 200px; display: flex; flex-flow: row wrap;  justify-content: left;][border=0; padding: 0; width: 60%; margin-top: 160px; margin-left: -7px; min-height: 60px; background: var(--paper); display: flex; flex-flow: nowrap; position: absolute; clip-path: polygon(100% 0%, 0% 0%, 0 12%, 8% 15%, 0 16%, 0 58%, 4% 60%, 0 65%, 9% 68%, 0 71%, 0% 100%, 100% 100%, 90% 97%, 100% 96%, 100% 73%, 93% 70%, 100% 68%, 100% 32%, 90% 31%, 100% 29%); color: #21261f; font-family: 'Fondamento'; font-size: 20px; justify-content: center; padding-top: 15px;][center][comment]

[/comment]Rank Firstname Surname[comment]

[/comment][/center][/border][border=0; background: var(--squigg); background-position: 70% 100%; height: 220px; width: 220px; display: inline-block; justify-content: center; margin-top: 2px; flex: 1;][comment]

!! THE NEXT [border] IS THE !!! MAIN CHARACTER IMAGE !!! TO READJUST THE IMAGE, PLEASE FIND THE “BACKGROUND-POSITION” AND "BACKGROUND-SIZE" VARIABLES AND MESS AROUND WITH THEM UNTIL YOU’RE SATISFIED. !!

[/comment][border=0px; height: 170px; width: 170px; background: var(--character); background-position: 45% 10%; margin-top: 2px;][/border][comment]

[/comment][/border][border=0; height: 189px; width: 50%; display: inline-block; margin-left: 10px; margin-top: -10px; flex: 6; font-family: 'Fondamento', sans-serif; padding: 0 25px 20px 25px; color: #dfe6f0;][comment]

!! QUOTE + CREDIT !!

Note: This part of the code will NOT expand with more text. The quote can hold about 15 words.

[/comment][center][size=5]
how many shrimps do you have to eat before you make your skin turn pink
[/size][size=2]Art Credit: bzzbzz

[/size][/center][comment]

[/comment][/border][/border][/border][border=0; width: 97%; min-height: 510px; background: var(--flower); background-position: 102% 50%; background-size: 150px 500px; display: inline-block; margin-top: 2px; font-family: 'Fondamento', sans-serif;][comment]

!! CHARACTER INFO !!

Note: The entire rest of the code WILL expand with more text :3

[/comment][comment]

[/comment][border=0; overflow-x: hidden; width: 85%; height: 600px; overflow-y: hidden; margin-top: 30px; margin-left: -20px;][border=0; background: var(--paper2); overflow-x: hidden; overflow-y: scroll; height: 560px; box-sizing: content-box; width: 100%; margin-left: 2%; clip-path: polygon(100% 3%, 96% 0, 95% 4%, 94% 0, 72% 0, 71% 3%, 70% 0, 49% 0%, 48% 3%, 47% 0, 36% 0, 35% 3%, 34% 0, 23% 1%, 15% 0, 0% 0%, 0 23%, 2% 25%, 0 25%, 0% 100%, 5% 100%, 6% 97%, 7% 99%, 28% 100%, 29% 98%, 30% 100%, 36% 100%, 37% 98%, 38% 100%, 63% 100%, 64% 98%, 65% 100%, 79% 100%, 81% 98%, 82% 100%, 91% 99%, 100% 100%, 100% 59%, 98% 58%, 100% 56%);][border=0; margin: 1px; margin-left: -2%; font-size: 16px;][comment]

!! POST !!

Note: This part scrolls!!

[/comment][border=0; font-size: 90px; font-family: 'Meie Script', sans-serif;][comment]

[/comment]Alias[/border][border=0; font-size: 30px; font-family: 'Meie Script', sans-serif; padding-left: 15%; margin-top: -60px;][comment]

[/comment]Rank (again) of Crew[/border][comment]

[/comment][border=0; width: 90%; min-height: 100px; background: var(--divider); display: inline-block; background-size: 90% 190px; padding-left: 7%; margin-top: -30px;][/border]
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[tab=010101010][B]Name:[/B]
[B]Alias:[/B] 
[B]Age:[/B]
[B]Born:[/B] 
[B]Crew:[/B] 


[B]Bounty:[/B] GꝞ number
[I]"By order of The Uphold, x is charged with x. They are to be captured dead or alive."[/I]
[border=0; font-size: 50px; font-family: 'Meie Script', sans-serif; margin-left: -10px;]Appearance[/border][border=1px solid #21261f; min-height: 120px; width: 92%; display: inline-block; flex: 2; margin-top: -37px;][comment]

[/comment][border=1px solid #21261f; min-height: 20px; min-width: 10%; display: inline-block; flex: 2; margin-left: -11px; margin-top: -11px; padding-top: 20px;][comment]

[/comment]X'X" || XXXcm[/border][comment]

[/comment][border=1px solid #21261f; min-height: 20px; min-width: 10%; display: inline-block; flex: 2; margin-left: -1px; margin-top: -11px; padding-top: 20px;][comment]

[/comment]XXXlbs || XXkg[/border]

Mauris in leo dignissim, semper quam quis, malesuada lectus. Praesent sed dapibus orci. Donec vulputate, tellus ut convallis aliquet, felis tortor auctor tellus, quis rutrum dolor odio eu diam. Aliquam erat volutpat. Suspendisse ut quam nulla. Vivamus rhoncus mi turpis, vel condimentum massa fermentum tristique. Ut a lectus tortor. Praesent id ligula accumsan, lobortis lacus nec, ornare mi. Aenean posuere, arcu bibendum rutrum rhoncus, est nisi lobortis felis, eu euismod neque quam non elit. Ut posuere ipsum vel laoreet consectetur. Donec congue sem venenatis metus pellentesque venenatis. Duis et imperdiet lacus, at mollis risus. Sed sed massa lorem.[comment]

[/comment][/border][border=0; font-size: 50px; font-family: 'Meie Script', sans-serif; margin-left: -10px;]Personality[/border][border=1px solid #21261f; min-height: 120px; width: 92%; display: inline-block; flex: 2; margin-top: -37px;][comment]

[/comment]Pellentesque risus nunc, interdum in dapibus eu, ultricies at mauris. Nulla luctus ipsum nec velit lacinia, in ullamcorper lacus iaculis. Aenean at lorem dui. Maecenas augue nisi, laoreet ac bibendum at, pulvinar nec metus. Pellentesque euismod lorem turpis, quis volutpat odio tincidunt id. Curabitur mi nulla, aliquet nec quam quis, laoreet vestibulum magna. Curabitur vel ex eu elit aliquam semper. Morbi quam elit, bibendum nec sem eget, luctus convallis lacus. Mauris purus arcu, convallis ut dolor id, consectetur molestie massa.[comment]

[/comment][/border][border=0; font-size: 50px; font-family: 'Meie Script', sans-serif; margin-left: -10px;]Record[/border][border=1px solid #21261f; min-height: 120px; width: 92%; display: inline-block; flex: 2; margin-top: -37px;][comment]

[/comment]Pellentesque risus nunc, interdum in dapibus eu, ultricies at mauris. Nulla luctus ipsum nec velit lacinia, in ullamcorper lacus iaculis. Aenean at lorem dui. Maecenas augue nisi, laoreet ac bibendum at, pulvinar nec metus. Pellentesque euismod lorem turpis, quis volutpat odio tincidunt id. Curabitur mi nulla, aliquet nec quam quis, laoreet vestibulum magna. Curabitur vel ex eu elit aliquam semper. Morbi quam elit, bibendum nec sem eget, luctus convallis lacus. Mauris purus arcu, convallis ut dolor id, consectetur molestie massa.[/border][/tab]
[tab=02020202][heading=2](Short description of abilities, along the lines of: 'Capable of (their Main Thing:tm: and/or their favorite crimes)'[/heading] 

[ex (delete this): Capable of feats of strength beyond typical human abilities and arson against orphanages. feel free to reword the template however you want tho]
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[/comment]Class:[/border][comment]

[/comment][border=1px solid #21261f; min-height: 20px; min-width: 10%; display: inline-block; flex: 2; margin-top: 20px;][comment]

[/comment]Weapon of Choice:[/border][comment]

[/comment][border=0; font-size: 50px; font-family: 'Meie Script', sans-serif; margin-left: -10px;]Abilities[/border][border=1px solid #21261f; min-height: 120px; width: 92%; display: inline-block; flex: 2; margin-top: -37px; padding: 3%;]Slightly more in-depth ability overview than the above 'warning' statement
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[/comment]Ability 1[comment]

[/comment][/border][comment]

[/comment]Pellentesque risus nunc, interdum in dapibus eu, ultricies at mauris. Nulla luctus ipsum nec velit lacinia, in ullamcorper lacus iaculis. Aenean at lorem dui. Maecenas augue nisi, laoreet ac bibendum at, pulvinar nec metus. Pellentesque euismod lorem turpis, quis volutpat odio tincidunt id. Curabitur mi nulla, aliquet nec quam quis, laoreet vestibulum magna. Curabitur vel ex eu elit aliquam semper. Morbi quam elit, bibendum nec sem eget, luctus convallis lacus. Mauris purus arcu, convallis ut dolor id, consectetur molestie massa.[comment]

[/comment][/border][border=1px solid #21261f; min-height: 20px; max-width: 41%; display: inline-block; flex: 2;][border=0; font-size: 25px; margin-left: -10px; margin-top: -20px;][comment]

[/comment]Ability 2[comment]

[/comment][/border][comment]

[/comment]Pellentesque risus nunc, interdum in dapibus eu, ultricies at mauris. Nulla luctus ipsum nec velit lacinia, in ullamcorper lacus iaculis. Aenean at lorem dui. Maecenas augue nisi, laoreet ac bibendum at, pulvinar nec metus. Pellentesque euismod lorem turpis, quis volutpat odio tincidunt id. Curabitur mi nulla, aliquet nec quam quis, laoreet vestibulum magna. Curabitur vel ex eu elit aliquam semper. Morbi quam elit, bibendum nec sem eget, luctus convallis lacus. Mauris purus arcu, convallis ut dolor id, consectetur molestie massa.[comment]

[/comment][/border][border=1px solid #21261f; min-height: 20px; max-width: 41%; display: inline-block; flex: 2;][border=0; font-size: 25px; margin-left: -10px; margin-top: -20px;][comment]

[/comment]Ability 3[comment]

[/comment][/border][comment]

[/comment]Pellentesque risus nunc, interdum in dapibus eu, ultricies at mauris. Nulla luctus ipsum nec velit lacinia, in ullamcorper lacus iaculis. Aenean at lorem dui. Maecenas augue nisi, laoreet ac bibendum at, pulvinar nec metus. Pellentesque euismod lorem turpis, quis volutpat odio tincidunt id. Curabitur mi nulla, aliquet nec quam quis, laoreet vestibulum magna. Curabitur vel ex eu elit aliquam semper. Morbi quam elit, bibendum nec sem eget, luctus convallis lacus. Mauris purus arcu, convallis ut dolor id, consectetur molestie massa.[comment]

[/comment][/border][border=1px solid #21261f; min-height: 20px; max-width: 41%; display: inline-block; flex: 2;][border=0; font-size: 25px; margin-left: -10px; margin-top: -20px;][comment]

[/comment]Ability 4[comment]

[/comment][/border][comment]

[/comment]Pellentesque risus nunc, interdum in dapibus eu, ultricies at mauris. Nulla luctus ipsum nec velit lacinia, in ullamcorper lacus iaculis. Aenean at lorem dui. Maecenas augue nisi, laoreet ac bibendum at, pulvinar nec metus. Pellentesque euismod lorem turpis, quis volutpat odio tincidunt id. Curabitur mi nulla, aliquet nec quam quis, laoreet vestibulum magna. Curabitur vel ex eu elit aliquam semper. Morbi quam elit, bibendum nec sem eget, luctus convallis lacus. Mauris purus arcu, convallis ut dolor id, consectetur molestie massa.[comment]

[/comment][/border][border=1px solid #21261f; min-height: 20px; max-width: 41%; display: inline-block; flex: 2;][border=0; font-size: 25px; margin-left: -10px; margin-top: -20px;][comment]

[/comment]Ability 5[comment]

[/comment][/border][comment]

[/comment]Pellentesque risus nunc, interdum in dapibus eu, ultricies at mauris. Nulla luctus ipsum nec velit lacinia, in ullamcorper lacus iaculis. Aenean at lorem dui. Maecenas augue nisi, laoreet ac bibendum at, pulvinar nec metus. Pellentesque euismod lorem turpis, quis volutpat odio tincidunt id. Curabitur mi nulla, aliquet nec quam quis, laoreet vestibulum magna. Curabitur vel ex eu elit aliquam semper. Morbi quam elit, bibendum nec sem eget, luctus convallis lacus. Mauris purus arcu, convallis ut dolor id, consectetur molestie massa.[comment]

[/comment][/border][/border][/tab][/tabs][comment]

[/comment][border=0; min-height: 40px; width: 100%; font-size: 25px; font-family: 'Meie Script', sans-serif; background: var(--paper2); pointer-events: none; position: absolute; top: 0px; padding-left: 20px;][border=2px solid #21261f; padding: 0; min-height: 100%; width: 100px; pointer-events: none; display: inline-block; flex: 2;]Bounty[/border][border=2px solid #21261f; padding: 0; min-height: 100%; width: 120px; pointer-events: none; display: inline-block; flex: 2; margin-left: 10px;]Warning[/border][comment]

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Captain Amadréas Divante​

"A beast that cannot be tamed, a blade that strikes without warning, and a man whose only allegiance is to his own whims."
Art Credit: mizuchi_kai on Twitter 𝕏

​
Smiley
Captain of the Abyssal Reapers

  • Name: Amadréas Divante
    Alias: Smiley
    Age: 29
    Born: Summer of 1436
    Crew: Abyssal Reapers


    Bounty: GꝞ32,000
    "By order of The Uphold, Amadréas, known as Smiley, is wanted for the grand theft of a merchant vessel, aiding and abetting fugitives, and destroying an official naval vessel of The Uphold. They are to be captured dead or alive."
    Appearance
    6'3" || 191cm
    200lbs || 90kg

    Amadréas is a tall, pale figure, boasting a lean, muscular form. His midnight-black hair is cut at a medium-length and wavy in style, framing his sharp features. His thin, icy-blue eyes and ever-present grin give the impression of a friendly stranger, but someone of keen observation wouldn't miss the glint of madness in his gaze, which paints him an unpredictable presence. His upper body, save for his face, is covered in tattoos of no particular pattern or coherent theme.

    At times, he dresses in flowing, black robes—loosely worn—like that of a royal; though a royal he is not. But most often, he wears fitted shirts and loose trousers, usually black in color and simple in style, for he is not a man concerned with fashion.
    Personality
    Amadréas is a walking contradiction—playful yet merciless, cunning yet reckless, and charming yet monstrous. Charismatic, he carries himself with confidence, his smile ever present and hinting at mischief. At his core, he thrives in chaos and enjoys leaving wreckage in his wake—unpredictable and utterly unbound by laws and morals.

    To call him wild is an understatement. His actions are dictated by his whims, which are often fed to him by the incessant Voice in his head. He kills without hesitation, his reasons ranging from a desire for amusement to necessity, and he finds enjoyment in disrupting order. However, beneath his apparent impulsiveness, every move he makes is deliberate, and every word chosen to manipulate or mislead.

    He may laugh and jest, but, at the end of the day, he is a predator—watching, waiting, and always plotting. His heart seeks destruction, riches, and power. Whatever he can do to leave his mark, he will do it. Amadreas is neither sentimental nor loyal, only forming attachments when it serves his interests.

    Despite his air of detachment, there is one obsession that truly consumes him—mythical creatures. Whether they are legends, half-truths, or something more, Amadréas is fixated on capturing or killing them. He has met only one, but it was an underwhelming experience that left him unsatisfied. To him, they represent the ultimate hunt, something beyond mortal prey and the predictable struggles of men. Additionally, he chases tales of mystical artifacts and treasures, hoping to claim them as his own.
    Record
    New Beginnings
    Amadréas was born in the Cimrian coastal town of Maelstrom, a minor settlement known for its bustling trade but vulnerable to pirate raids.
    In the Winter of 1442, when he was six-years-old, a notorious pirate crew—The Red Tide Rats—stormed the town, burning homes and slaughtering those who resisted. Their Captain, a Sorcerer known under the alias “The Rat King”, wielded the power to control the minds of an endless army of rats.
    In the raid, families were torn apart, and the streets ran red. Amadréas’ parents fled—left him behind in the chaos. They had always been disturbed by his unnatural strength. For them, the event was less a tragedy and more an opportunity to finally free their hands of the burden.

    In the chaos, Amadréas was swarmed by a hoard of bloodthirsty rats. They bit and clawed at his flesh, but he fought back, crying and ripping them away, scrambling to escape. It was then that a disembodied Voice called out to him—it seemed far away, but Amadréas understood. “Crush them,” it told him. “You are gifted.” And the boy listened. With his bare hands, he began to tear the rodents apart, feeling their bones shatter in his grasp. Eventually, he traded fists for a book, using the corner to smash the rats to mush until they just… stopped attacking. There was no time to question why, but Amadréas often wonders even to this day. Having escaped out of the back of his home, he disappeared into the night with his injuries.

    Lost and alone, Amadréas should have perished. Clutching only the bloodied, tattered book of adventure stories—his most prized possession that fed his young mind with tales of mythical beasts and daring explorers—he wandered aimlessly, leaving the charred remnants of Maelstrom behind him.
    Four days later, as hunger gnawed at his belly, he stumbled into a small village, too irrelevant for any map, and hitched a ride on the back of a merchant’s carriage, curling up between sacks of grain. As the carriage rumbled down the road to a distant city, Amadréas ate his fill of the merchant’s supplies.

    Upon arrival at the city, Somerdanza, the young Amadréas was met by a labyrinth of unfamiliar faces, having deserted the merchant’s carriage before his trespassing could be discovered. For the next several weeks, he survived alongside a ragtag group of homeless children, scavenging and stealing to get by. The kids became his family of a sort, and though they struggled, they also found comfort in each other’s support and company.
    One day, the group told Amadréas of a notorious guild of rogues—the Maleficent Reapers—the idea of which fascinated him. And so, in their reckless youth, they decided to sneak into the guild’s underground hideout, relying on Amadréas’ unnatural strength and agility, abilities that none of them could explain but all admired.
    Unfortunately, their plan did not go as expected, and they were swiftly discovered. Amused rather than angered, the guild’s leader—Morgana Blackwind—decided to test the kids, giving them a challenge…
    If they could steal a bottle of liquor from the home of the city’s General, she would allow the kids refuge in their hideout. Only there was one issue—the General had a fearsome reputation, known for beating street kids bloody, which made the task more than a simple theft. It was risky.

    Many of the kids backed out, fearing what would become of them if they failed, but Amadréas puffed out his chest, driven by the pride his companions had in him for his inexplicable strength and prowess. He took the challenge head-on, but not in the way the guild had expected. Instead of sneaking, Amadréas stormed the General’s home, grabbed the first glass bottle he saw (which, unfortunately, turned out to be vinegar), and ran. Faster than any man could catch him, he fled through the alleys before making his way back to the Reapers’ hideout to tell them of his victory.
    When he presented the bottle of vinegar, the guild roared with laughter, but Moragana did not. She saw something in the boy. Audacity. Talent. And so, they took him in.

    Morgana raised Amadréas as her own and, as a rogue, he flourished. She taught him to fight, steal, and deceive, sharpening his raw talent into skill and his recklessness into calculated chaos. Morgana took a personal interest in him, and under her watchful eye, shaped Amadréas into one of the guild’s deadliest members—a trained assassin—though not without a few bumps in the road, such as his first kill. The Voice had emerged for the second time then, a devious character that only he could hear. As he worked up the courage to slit his first throat, the Voice mocked him, laughing, driving him insane. It only silenced once the deed was done. At first, Ama cursed it, but it eventually grew on him over time, guiding him.
    By the time he was 17-years-old, nobles and criminals alike whispered his name, but none knew the face behind it.

    Nene | Little Bird
    At the height of Amadréas’ career as a rogue with the Maleficent Reapers, he was assigned a high contract by a noble—to kill two powerful Sorcerers, but Amadreas had never dealt with Sorcerers before.
    For weeks, he tracked them down, across land and sea. Then, when he finally found their ship, docked at a port while they replenished supplies, he snuck aboard under the cover of night, setting up his ambush. However, the battle that came was anything but perfect. He underestimated Sorcery. Reality twisted, illusions clawed at his mind, and wind tore through the hull like a living beast. Even for him, the fight was nearly his end. But Amadréas prevailed through sheer tenacity and willpower, and the Sorcerers fell, their heads Amadréas’ claim.
    As for the survivor… a child of nine years who had witnessed the massacre. But instead of screaming or wallowing in sorrow, it seemed that the girl had sealed her own memories away in an instinctive act of Sorcery. Amadréas caught on immediately. The girl no longer remembered her parents, their murder, nor her life before then.

    Amadréas could have left the girl behind, but he didn’t. Instead, he saw an opportunity. Power. For the next six years, he took Nene everywhere. She walked alongside him and sailed just the same, accompanying him on contracts, witnessing the chaos of the world firsthand.
    Then, in 1461, after a long series of contracts, the two of them returned to Somerdanza to find the Maleficent Reapers’ hideout in ruins. Everyone was gone, everything destroyed. There, in the hideout, Amadréas and Nene were ambushed by The Uphold, captured, and imprisoned.
    Due to Nene being a Sorcerer, she was separated from Amadréas, but, thankfully, the odds were eventually in his favor.

    Nyaali | Let’s Get Married
    Several days of interrogation passed—Amadréas endured trials of torture as the prison personnel questioned him on the whereabouts of Morgana, which told him that she hadn’t been captured. Taking turns, the tormentors showed off their varying methods of prying information from their victims—some were calculated and scientific with it; others were vicious and playful. But, rather than the pain, Amadréas could only wonder why Morgana hadn’t been found. Had she abandoned the Reapers? Did she know that The Uphold was coming?... Was it her who sold them out?
    “Abandonment. It is drawn to you. As your parents left you, so too did that wench,” his Voice told him, laughing. “Don’t get attached~” it purred. “Don’t trust a soul.”
    He needed to escape.

    One evening, after another brutal session of needles and hot irons, Amadréas was thrown back into his cell, battered and bloody, but unshaken of will. It was then that he met her. Nyaali—a woman he found much too pretty for shackles and chains, and one that he felt inexplicably connected to.
    “This one’s like you~” his Voice had told him; though, Amadréas didn’t know what that was supposed to mean until later.
    The instant he saw the woman—the moment their eyes met—he smirked. In her gaze, he spotted an opportunity. Staggering toward her, blood dripping from his split lip, Amadréas slumped against the bars that separated them, and he told her: “So, you found me… I thought I lost you forever, my love.”
    At first, the woman was confused, but understanding soon crossed her countenance, and she played along. They put on a show for the guards, weaving their lies until the guards had been convinced that Amadréas and Nyaali were fiancés prepared to marry.
    With that, the guards left in a hurry and, the next morning, when word had spread, the Prison Commander arrived, demanding answers. Once more, they spun their tale, having rehearsed overnight. Amadréas told the Commander of his journey for redemption—to cleanse himself of the Maleficent Reaper’s hold on him. He explained how he met Nyaali, and how she changed him.
    “We were soon to marry. I had only one thing left to do… cut ties, face-to-face, with the Reapers. But… as you can see…”

    Cimria’s laws allowed that sinners could be “purified” through marriage and ritual beside a fire. And so, the Prison Commander arranged that they marry immediately, which came as a surprise to both Amadréas and Nyaali, as they had expected to be released first in order to arrange for their marriage under watchful eyes. But no… that same day, the two found themselves in the courtyard, bound in chains, Amadréas bruised and dirtied, and they were wed beside a fire as tall as the buildings surrounding.
    “No hard feelings~” Amadréas jested as he pulled Nyaali close, giving her a moment to prepare for their kiss.

    Eventually, after the cheers had died and the trial concluded, Amadréas and Nyaali were freed from their shackles and the Sorcery that weakened them. There in the courtyard, before the fire had even dwindled, Amadréas turned to face the prison fortress with searching eyes.
    “Now… where could she be?” Over his shoulder, a smirk showed itself to Nyaali, and he told his new wife: “There’s something I must find before I depart~”
    He sprang then—one, ground-shattering leap that sent him soaring high, blasting him through the reinforced walls of the prison where he commenced his search for his apprentice Nene. With him, Nyaali accompanied, and, together, the two of them led a two-man raid on the Somerdanza prison, eventually emerging victorious with Nene, and many freed prisoners, at their side.
    Amadréas led them to the docks with The Uphold in relentless pursuit, and he advanced the charge onto a large merchant ship docked nearby. Swiftly overpowering the merchant crew, Amadréas and the rest set out to sea, followed by an Uphold warship. Battle on the waters ensued. Amadrés, Nene, and Nyaali fought side-by-side, fending off The Uphold until the warship was nothing more than a roaring fire on the sea, eventually swallowed by the horizon as the merchant vessel raced onward.

    Nyaali | A Siren’s Deceit
    Days passed with Amadrés assuming leadership of the merchant vessel and its new criminal crew. He began pondering a new direction in life… His journey had begun with pirates, so, perhaps, it would end with them, too—only, this time, he would be the one calling the shots.
    Just like that, Amadréas decided to name himself a Captain.
    Over those few days on the vast, seemingly empty sea, Amadréas and Nyaali got better acquainted. As it turns out, the both of them were of a similar, unusual nature compared to the rest of the people in their lives. What to call it, they didn’t know, but it gave rise to many questions and mysteries that piqued Amadréas’ interest. Where did their strength and inhuman prowess come from? What were they?
    With Nyaali and Nene by his side, Amadréas pictured a future of triumph. That is… until Nyaali’s true intentions were revealed.
    She executed a crafty attempt at seducing him, all cards on the table, and Amadréas was swept like a hound drooling for a piece of meat. Had it not been for the Voice, she would have won. “She deceives you, you know?” it told him, but Amadréas ignored it, falling deeper into the woman’s trap. “Fool. You’d let yourself perish for a woman?” But she wasn’t just a woman. She was like him, and something about that was a poison for Amadréas—powerful, beautiful, cunning. “For a Siren?” Nothing.
    “And what about the girl?”
    Amadréas came to his senses then, putting a pause to Nyaali’s suspected seduction, and he chose his words wisely, making for a convincing display of genuine interest in the woman, as though he wanted to know her better before… consummating their marriage.
    In the end, his suspicions were confirmed, and his resolve solidified. Without a second thought, Amadréas pushed Nyaali to the sea and bid her farewell.
    “Such a shame, my love. We could have painted the world red together. If you see me around one day, be sure to say hello! I’d love to watch the life drain from your eyes as I strangle you cold.”

    Nyaali | We meet again… That was quick…

    Althaia | The Abyssal Reapers
Bounty
Warning
 
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Vice-Captain Althaia Marsalis​


how many shrimps do you have to eat before you make your skin turn pink
Art Credit: Min Songa (from the webtoon Nano List)

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Doll
Vice-Captain of the Abyssal Reapers

  • Name: Althaia Marsalis
    Alias: [Porcelain] Doll
    Age: Wouldn't you like to know, weather boy <3
    Born: Winter of ████
    Crew: Abyssal Reapers


    Bounty: GꝞ 5 Morbillion
    "By order of The Uphold, Doll is charged with being too sexy. They are to be captured dead or alive."
    Appearance
    6'5 || 195cm
    XXlbs || XXkg


    Althaia carries herself with an elegant, borderline unsettling grace, like a specter moving through the world, aware of her beauty but never bound by it. Her long, silver-lavender hair cascades over her shoulders in soft waves, catching the light just enough to look almost metallic. A few loose strands fall across her face, framing sharp features that hold a dangerous elegance.

    Her eyes, an unnatural shade of pink, seem to glow with something unreadable. Intense, calculating, and vaguely amused, she's always one step ahead of the world around her. There's confidence in her gaze, the kind that makes it impossible to tell whether she's about to offer a charming smile or something far more menacing. Just below her left eye, +BEAUTY+ is inked into her skin, not so much a declaration as it is a challenge, daring anyone to question it.

    Althaia's skin is porcelain-smooth, untouched by flaws yet eerily devoid of warmth, like a doll crafted with unnerving precision. Even the way she stands—shoulders relaxed, head tilted just enough to be playful but unreadable—suggests someone who knows exactly how much power she holds and exactly how to use it.

    She isn't just beautiful; she's hypnotic. And maybe just a little terrifying.
    Personality
    Althaia is the kind of person who commands attention without ever needing to ask for it. She is someone who knows she is always in control, even when it seems like she isn't. There's an intensity to her, something in the way she holds herself that makes people second-guess their words before speaking in her presence. She might be unreadable at first, her expressions calculated, and her emotions guarded, but there's a sharp wit lurking beneath the surface that is ready to cut through deception with a single glance.

    She's not just someone who plays by her own rules- she rewrites them entirely. Althaia is dangerous in the best way; the kind of person who can get away with anything, not just because she's lucky, but because the world bends around her. She walks into chaos and somehow emerges unscathed, leaving others wondering how she pulled it off. If there's an opportunity to stir things up and slip out before the consequences hit? You best believe she's taking it.

    Many are drawn to her beauty, but it's her presence that unsettles them, the feeling that she sees more than she lets on and knows more than she's saying. She enjoys that power. The subtle art of keeping people guessing, making them work for even the tiniest fraction of her attention.

    She's a menace in her own right, never pulling any punches, never sugarcoating a damn thing. If you aren't in her crew, she has no patience for you; she doesn't owe you anything, least of all kindness. She listens to no one unless she respects them, only considering the opinions of those she values. And those lucky enough to be adored by her have a force of nature on their side. It's a rare privilege, one not to be taken lightly.

    Beneath the composed exterior, though, there is something deeper—an intensity, a quiet rage, and an aching loneliness that she never quite lets slip. Althaia is a master of the mask she wears, but every once in a while, the cracks show just enough to remind the world that even untouchable people can bleed.
    Record
    Althaia was born and raised in the well-known port city of Solara, where power wasn't just measured in wealth or status; it was in the way people carried themselves, in the weight of their names and the secrets they kept. Her mother, Liliane Marsalis, a legendary courtesan of unparalleled renown, knew this better than anyone. She moved through the world with effortless grace, sought after by aristocrats, merchants, and politicians alike. She understood the game, and while she never intended for Althaia to follow in her footsteps, she made sure her daughter knew how to play.

    But Althaia was never content with simply observing. She watched the way people wielded influence, how they built empires with nothing but charm and carefully chosen words, and how they destroyed each other with a well-timed whisper. She learned early that admiration and fear were close cousins, and power didn't belong to the loudest voice in the room but to the one who could make others listen without ever raising it.

    All those around her tried to mold her into something convenient, something manageable- a future courtesan and a prize to be coveted. Althaia had no interest in being someone's possession. The aristocrats, with their honeyed words, made promises they thought she'd be desperate to accept- she just laughed in their faces. She had no patience for the games of the elite and no desire to be another carefully placed piece on their chessboard. So, she made herself untouchable. Untamed. She became a storm wrapped in silk, her sharp edges hidden skillfully beneath ethereal beauty. She learned how to make people work for her attention and how to make them want something they could never truly have.

    Her life was one of luxury—her mother doted on her when she wasn’t working or teaching Althaia the ways of their world and how to survive—but despite Liliane’s love, Althaia was often alone. She spent much of her time in the grand library of their estate, poring over books, absorbing knowledge about the world beyond the city’s walls. She wasn’t allowed to stray far from home, her mother fearing she may be stolen away because of her status, so the pages became her escape. Somewhere between the inked lines of history and legend, she found herself drawn to stories of pirates, of the boundless sea, of adventure and freedom.

    Althaia's adventurous spirit and rebellious nature only strengthened with age. By the time she was ten, she had perfected the art of slipping past watchful eyes, vanishing into the city like a shadow. By twelve, she had more than just escape routes; she had connections, ones entirely her own. She had woven herself into the life her mother had done everything to keep her from.

    Despite having fought tooth and nail to forge her own place in Solara, Althaia had always known she wouldn't stay. With all its splendor and secrets, the city had been a gilded cage from the start. She learned how to work within it and wield the influence she was born into, but none of it ever felt like hers. Not really. And the older she got, the more she bristled against the life carefully laid out for her.

    She wasn't naïve. She knew the world beyond their estate wasn't kind. She had experienced the darkness firsthand and knew more secrets than most could fathom. And she understood better than anyone that power didn't just protect; it devoured. Staying meant surrender, and that was something Althaia refused to do.

    At eighteen, she made her choice. Liliane tried to stop her, not with force but with words. With the kind of desperation, only a mother could have. And for a moment, Althaia almost wavered. Almost.

    Liliane had always known this day would come. And in the end, she let her go.

    Althaia traveled alone for a long time. She learned first-hand what it meant to survive without the safety net of wealth and reputation, but she adapted as she always did. She carved her own path with sharp wit and sharper instinct. Eventually, she found a crew. One that didn't ask questions and didn't care where she came from as long as she could pull her weight. Althaia respected that.

    - she's with them for years, until something happens idk what.
    - she was a member of the abyssal reapers BEFORE they were the reapers
    - she's their vice-captain
    - badabing badaboom, now we're here

Bounty
Warning
 
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Deckhand Ashan Rami​

how many shrimps do you have to eat before you make your skin turn pink
Art Credit: bzzbzz

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Ash
Deckhand of The Abyssal Reapers

  • Name: Ashan Rami
    Alias: Ash
    Age: 25
    Born: Autumn of 1440
    Crew: The Abyssal Reapers


    Bounty: GꝞ 4,500
    "By order of The Uphold, Ashan Rami is charged with piracy, destruction of royal property, and conspiracy against the sovereignty of the Cimrian Crown. They are to be captured dead or alive."
    Appearance
    5'10" || 178cm
    175lbs || 79kg


    A lean, wiry figure with sun-darkened skin, messy black curls tied back with a faded blue headscarf, and sharp amber eyes. He possesses a scar along the bridge of his nose and similar scarring across his chest. Ash mostly wears loose clothing well-suited to life on the high seas, comprising a plain white tunic and a ruby sash, and adorns himself with a silver keepsake necklace and silver earrings. He frequently wears plain, white gloves and always carries a simple cudgel on his back.
    Personality
    A charming, free spirited young man, Ashan is adaptable, quick to shift between wit, charm, and cunning, surviving through instinct and cleverness. He carries himself with an easy smile and a carefree demeanor, but beneath the friendliness lie something restless, something sharp—dry kindling waiting for its spark to ignite.
    Record
    Ashan Rami was born in the back alleys of Shahruhn, the grand capital of Azarheshan. Orphaned young, he survived by his wits, quick hands, and quicker feet, running with thieves, beggars, and those who had nothing but each other. He became a skilled pickpocket, a fast talker, and an even faster runner, slipping through the city's winding streets like smoke through fingers. He spent his youth eavesdropping in markets, gambling in dens, and watching nobles from the rooftops, learning how the powerful move, how they think, and how to avoid them.

    One night, Ashan’s luck ran out—or maybe, just maybe, it was never luck to begin with. He was accused of stealing from a noble, but not just any noble—a high-ranking member of the Council of Embers. The charges? Theft, conspiracy, and—most absurdly—treason. The Shahr-Sabers—the royal military of Azarheshan—came down on him like a rain of heavenly fire and judgment, flaming swords drawn, no trial, no questions asked.

    Faced with a blade or the unknown, Ashan chose the unknown. He fled through the city's underbelly, across rooftops, and finally to the docks, where he stowed away on a merchant vessel bound for the open sea. When the crew found him, he charmed his way into their good graces, proving himself useful enough not to throw overboard, only for that same vessel to get waylaid by pirates.

    After a rocky first impression, Ash eventually found a place for himself among these pirates, along the way learning a new kind of freedom. And in the two years that followed, he found that he liked it.
Bounty
Warning
 
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Doctor Qinglong​


when is the last time you had an orange?
Art Credit: bzzbzz

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Qinglong
Doctor of the Abyssal Reapers

  • Name: Qinglong (青龙)
    Alias: "The Azure Jewel" (previously)
    Age: ???
    Born: ???
    Crew: Abyssal Reapers


    Bounty: GꝞ 25,000
    "By order of The Uphold, Qinglong is charged with aiding the Abyssal Reapers. They are to be captured alive."
    Appearance
    5'1" || 155cm
    105lbs || 48kg


    "Despite the small stature Qinglong truly lives up to her moniker “Azure Jewel”. She’s a beauty hard to miss whether that be because of her striking mythical features such as the noble multi-pronged horns, pointed ears, and azure scales, the cool intelligent gaze or the fancy embroidery of her many dresses."
    - Hadal of the Raven Corsairs​

    Aside from her distinct features, Qinglong also wears a silver-colored pendent around her neck.
    Personality
    Qinglong is typically portrayed as a soft-spoken and well-mannered woman. She is a stark contrast to the average crew member of the Abyssal Reapers. As the designated doctor, she is very organized and thorough with her work, following up multiple times to ensure the health of her fellow crew members. Due to her quiet nature, however, she sometimes scares people as she's able to stealthily show up beside someone without them noticing. In addition to her being quiet, she dislikes loud and sudden sounds, and finds herself flinching around the captain and other boisterous individuals the most.

    It is very difficult to anger the doctor as she has years and years of practiced patience. However, if one wanted to incur her wrath, the easiest way would be to ignore her treatment advice and repeatedly get injured. She may not yell or get violent but she will not be gentle when providing future care.
    Record
    A wanderer with an unclear purpose, only a feeling — a pull — the Source guiding her in a direction unknown.

    Years of trained skills, a healer to those who needed it; those who could look past the horns and scales without hate or greed. Qinglong spent years offering medical treatment to the sick, alleviating back pain for the weary, and granting wisdom to the lost. Her time spent was mostly peaceful until a particular smiling man showed his face.

    Threatening. Ill-mannered. Lacked discipline.

    A single needle in the right spot to bring him down to a calm. Then the pull grew stronger, her purpose becoming clearer ever so slightly. With reluctance, she accepted his invitation to board his ship, wary and concerned for her horns.
Bounty
Warning
 
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Captain Beltorin Ullanor​


how many shrimps do you have to eat before you make your skin turn pink
Art Credit: bzzbzz

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Salt Dog
Captain of the Raven Corsairs

  • Name: Beltorin Ullanor
    Alias: Salt Dog
    Age: 50
    Born: 1415
    Crew: Raven Corsairs


    Bounty: 312,000 GꝞ
    "By order of The Uphold, Beltorin Ullanor is charged with piracy and plundering of Uphold vessels, plundering of coastal towns, kidnapping of state officials, destruction of property and harbouring enemies of the state. They are to be captured dead or alive."
    Appearance
    5'10" || 177.8cm
    170lbs || 77kg


    Beltorin is a well-groomed and handsome looking middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair and a penchant for finer clothing as well as good leather for his boots and gloves. Sporting a well-toned physique from his years on the high seas, the Captain of the Raven Corsairs' appearance is somewhat deceiving considering his innate strength is far greater than one would expect from someone of a fairly normal, well trained body. One major identifying feature is his thick Southron accent, as he comes from the land of the Jellari people - who are also known for their larger, pointed ears.
    Personality
    Beltorin is a rather relaxed man with a penchant for the finer things in life that one can afford from the treasures he plunders and steals. A serial womanizer and a silver-tongued smoothtalker, he is known to charm his way out of situations rather than fighting. But should it come to blows, he is no stranger to the sword as he is a more than proficient fighter - made only all the more potent by the innate abilities he is blissfully unaware of. He simply regards himself as the better swordsman. He captains his crew not as a strict regimen, but more as a brotherhood all united under the cause of riches and the freedom that the open seas provide, and thus is loved by his crew for his approach. After all, when you are out there in the open you can only rely on this who sail under your colors to get through the day.

    He also has the tendency for the dramatic, often times exaggerating his words or goading his enemies with a quick wit. It is both an irresistable temptation as well as a genuine tactic to throw his opponents off guard, often times insulting their manhood or their mothers. Beltorin also has a few quirks, chief among them is the insistence to carry a vial of sand on his person at all times as a good luck charm; essentially keeping the land with him no matter where he goes. He also believes that wasting rum is a bad omen, and thus demands that any bottle opened must be finished in the same day. Beltorin also has the tendency to act oddly sometimes, whether it is to move strangely or speak gibberish.
    Record
    It seems as though even from a young age, Beltorin was destined for a life of piracy. Born in the island town of Pearl Cove, a pirate haven known for all manner of illicit activities that one can imagine from the cutlasses and brigands that sail the seas, Beltorin found himself impressed at a young age watching all matter of pirates and sailors entering and leaving port all the time. His mother was often too drunk and dealing with other men to ever pay attention to him, and so he left at thirteen as a stowaway on a ship captained by the legendary pirate captain Theodus Aramand. When discovered, Beltorin asked to be a member of the crew - and while initially rejected and was to be dropped off at their next port of stop, he proved his worth in helping to repel an attack by an Uphold vessel.

    In the years following, Beltorin continued to rise through the ranks - garnering a reputation as well as wealth from the spoils he took part in - until he finally managed to garner a vessel of his own with his own crew. Since then, he has continued his career of piracy unabated: hounded by the Uphold as well as those rivals he had managed to accrue over the years. And he shows no signs of wanting to rest his sea legs permanently.
Bounty
Warning
 
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Vice Captain Angel​

“Exploration or plundering in the end so long as you’re with us be ready for a ride”
Art Credit: bzzbzz

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Hadal
Vice of Raven Corsairs

  • Name:Angel Blake Montgomery
    Alias: Hadal
    Age: 25
    Born: August 28th of 1439
    Crew: Raven Corsairs


    Bounty: 175,000 GꝞ
    "By order of The Uphold, Angel Blake Montgomery is charged with piracy, pillaging, assault, murder, malicious use of source, kidnapping, conspiracy against the government of Cimria, inciting mass panic, and defiance against the laws governing the seas.They are to be captured Alive."
    Appearance
    5'10" || 178cm
    160lbs || 72.5kg


    Hadal is a younger man who comes across as more intimidating to anyone outside of his crew. He is very hygienic but can come across as unkempt due to his lack of care for his own clothing, often taking little time between mending clothes before another fight has left his attire messy or torn or burnt. He has a strong physique as expected of someone who grew up in a life of piracy. He tends to mimic the speech of his captain trying to sound as though he is from Jellari, though more often the underline sounds do come off oddly as anyone who is familiar with the region can hear the clear Cimrian tones underneath. Though most don’t realize his his most notable sorcerer mark is the incandescent glow coming from his left eye. When using source more heavily his tattoos will also glow.
    Personality
    Hadal is a bit too passionate at all times. He’s too level headed to call a hothead but he has a love for adventure and the ability to hold strong grudges. Despite the overwhelming evidence that he should be more careful his love for hedonism and risk taking behaviors has put him in the hot seat many a time. Much like his surrogate father he has strong pride in his abilities and a willingness to mock his enemies. While he can come off as a violent little thug to those outside his crew he does still have the respect for his crew often being the last one back on the ship not letting his crew fall behind when danger hits. Though he didn’t get his father’s flair for dramatics he’s just as bad when it comes to exasperating the crew as it’s not unusual for the crew to have to roll with the consequences of him following his whims.
    Record
    Angel Blake Montgomery better known as ‘Hadal of the Raven Corsairs’ has been reported to have origins in the kingdom of Cimria. After numerous digging into small villages in the kingdom the uphold has managed to more or less get a picture of how ‘Hadal’ came into the life of piracy. Judging by all known accounts it seems as though Angel was “lost at sea” at the age of six. Rumors have been found that the parents purposely attempted to leave the then child Angel for dead due to his sorcerer’s marks and aptitude at a young age.

    Judging by accounts from sailors the child was seen with the notorious ‘Salt Dog’ after their disappearance. While no accounts exist from their young childhood of much note as the Pirate entered early adulthood they began to rank up series of crimes putting him into the Upholds eyes. There has been numerous deaths confirmed to be the work of ‘Hadal’. This individual is to be considered a highly dangerous threat to the monarchy of Cimria and the Uphold. Given this individual’s willingness to commit violent acts and use civilians as hostages we recommend not engaging with ‘Hadal’ but instead summoning the Uphold.
Bounty
Warning
 
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Cook Robin Hirscht​


'Gazing at those deep solitudes beneath my feet, I tread the mountain brink with deliberation...'
Art Credit: bzzbzz

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Leviathan
Cook of the Raven Corsairs

  • Name: Robin E. Hirscht
    Alias: Leviathan Levi
    Age: 19?
    Born: Summer of 1446?
    Crew: Raven Corsairs


    Bounty: GꝞ325,000
    "By order of The Uphold, the creature known as Leviathan, is charged with Treason for the destruction of several Uphold vessels, murder of several high-ranking and elite Uphold officials, mass murder of civilians, mass inciting of terror, destruction of both civilian and royal property, and defiance against the laws governing the seas. The beast is to be captured dead."
    Appearance
    6'0" || 183cm
    162lbs || 73kg


    Robin is a handsome, blue-eyed young man of above-average height sporting a long crown of wavy, deep lavender hair with jagged bangs, as if it had been sloppily cut by hand with a knife many times over. His expression is almost always droopy. He has one lazy, half-lidded eye and a perpetually disembodied look on his face unless interacted with, brought back into focus— forced to make the conscious effort to pick up his spirits. His complexion is lean and naturally athletic, uneven patches of harsh pearl white scales scattered across his pale skin, traits often hidden under his flowing robes and any fancy leatherwear he can toss himself into. His clothing style is plain and almost thoughtless, regularly wearing the same tattered robes under an equally worn watch coat, undone belt, knitted gloves and round-toed boots. He speaks with a noticeable lisp. This, due to the fact that his tongue bi-forks like that of a snake's or a dragon's.

    He is easy to recognize over a crowd not because of any of the aforementioned traits, but rather because of his most glaring one. Robin has a pair of thick, segmented white horns that burst forth from his forehead and curve backwards into his hair. When the obvious is pointed out to him, he simply retorts that he lost a bet with an alchemist.
    Personality
    "The wind goes where it pleases, arrives when it may."

    Robin has tried to live by these words since the moment he flew under the black flag, to questionable levels of success. To live a free man, untethered to everything but the waves of the ocean and the pull of the wind on his sails, to drift away from everything and everyone. And ever since Captain Beltorin took him under his wing, he has been a free man. But the past can't be outrun so easily. His usual demeanor often shows him for what he is: a boy still carrying the weight of his mistakes, dragging them everywhere he goes. He’s meek and aloof, with a bland, soft tone to his words that’s almost unbecoming of a pirate. Never the one to raise his words over others, even speaking without being spoken to seems like a foreign concept to him, he just stays quiet and stares— shy and polite, to normal standards, but a complete bootlicker to the standards of the seafaring thieves he hangs around. He's not socially inept, not entirely, he's prone to crack jokes and has the confidence to lead a conversation, if only with a hint of stiff awkwardness to his mannerisms. A confidence that he only shows around his crew, to the people he feels most comfortable around. To complete strangers, he just stares and holds his tongue until approached. Robin puts almost herculean efforts to act like both of his role models, his Captain and Vice-Captain. To say that he always fails stupendously at it is to say that the sky is blue.

    The skies may yet turn grey, some day.
    Record

    The Leviathan​

    Leviathan, the Scourge of The Seas.

    The Leviathan has been a living legend, a tale that has been whispered under the pleads of hopeless sailors and the wails of widows since time untold. Sometimes penned down as a sour memory in the diary of a seasoned seafarer, an old story from the marred mind of one of its few survivors. They say that it's older than the seas themselves, a gargantuan shadow that has always been lurking just beneath the waves, one of the first monsters written in story books to frighten the children, a sea dragon born of the primordial, abyssal darkness at the deepest depths of the ocean.

    It's name is to be spoken in hushed tones, for to speak of the Leviathan at open seas is to invite the wrath of the tides upon your vessel. It's visage is said to be a raging storm at sea given flesh. Scales, dark as the abyss. Pale, soulless eyes— and a maw large enough to swallow a vessel whole. For years, it's been told that the beast ravaged the split between the seas and land. Leaving nothing but gnawed ruins and brine-soaked, bloated corpses in its wake. All until a nameless hero of the Uphold slayed the foul beast in battle, brought its head for the whole world to see.

    This was said to have happened 50 years ago. For five decades, the seas were rid of the scourge.

    Until recently.

    Two years ago, at the coast of the capital city of Cimria, a beast that closely resembled the Leviathan rose from the depths and unleashed its fury upon a small fishing village's harbor. The creature dragged several military vessels to the depths, its roars roused a storm upon the remains of the village that lasted for weeks, and in its thrashing scape against the forces of the Uphold, it released a tidal wave of brine that flooded a sizeable portion of the capital. The village was destroyed, its people left scattered or slain, and the destruction brought upon the capital that day was not something to be simply overlooked.

    Was it a spawn of the Leviathan of old? One of its offspring? Or maybe the Leviathan himself, pure evil risen from the dead? There's no way to tell. All the Uphold knows is that the scourge is back, and that it must be purged again.


    Robin Hirscht
    ​
    TBA
Bounty
Warning
 
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Captain Kurota Fanghook​

"What did you just say to me?"
Art Credit: me idoit

​
Omen
Captain of the Patchy Pirates

  • Name: Kurota Fanghook
    Alias: Omen (Would rather be called "Dolphin"; hates and threatens to curse everyone that calls him "Omen." His crew tends to just call him "Fanghook.")
    Age: 30
    Born: Winter of 1435
    Crew: Patchy Pirates


    Bounty: GꝞ 146,000
    "By order of The Uphold, Kurota Fanghook, known as the Omen, is charged with destruction of small towns, grand larceny, witchcraft against city guards, and resisting arrest. They are to be captured dead or alive."
    Appearance
    6'0" || 182.9cm
    185lbs || 84kg


    Kurota is a tall, muscular man. Over his many years out in the sun, he has grown a warm tan with stark tan lines beneath his clothing. He prefers loose, brown clothing, and often wears a scarf that loosely wraps around his head.
    Personality
    Upon first glance, Kurota is a kind and friendly man. He's an enjoyer of the cute, and a purveyor of textbook altruism. However, that can change on a dime. As soon as he perceives even the smallest slight against him, he flips into a cruel and spiteful man. He cannot handle anything less than the upmost respect from anyone, and anyone that dares to withhold that respect will either die or live to regret it.
    Record
    Kurota was born under the Fanghook legacy. Nowadays, those who hear the name might think of the menacing Omen, but a long, long time ago, the name belonged to but a small family of legendary fishermen. Kurota was raised to take on the namesake of his ancestors before him... and he did. And then he took it and morphed it into something to be feared and admired by a much broader audience than their little wharf village.
Bounty
Warning
 
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Lady Edelmira-Laure de Lisle, fille de marquise de Montbéliard​


how many shrimps do you have to eat before you make your skin turn pink
Art Credit: bzzbzz

​
Lady de Lisle
Prisoner of the Raven Corsairs

  • Name: Edelmira-Laure de Lisle
    Alias: Lady de Lisle, though some on the crew call her "Lady Mira Larry de little", a clear insult to the family name!
    Age: 19
    Born: 8th of July, 1446
    Crew: Raven Corsairs


    Bounty: GꝞ 30,000
    "By order of The Uphold, a reward will be handed out for the safe rescue of Lady Edelmira-Laure de Lisle, fille de marquise de Montbéliard. The Raven Corsairs kidnapped her during a daring prison break, likely to get revenge on the heroic Madeleine-Françoise de Lisle, marquise de Montbéliard. Madeleine-Françoise urgently wishes the healthy return of her daughter, and is willing to reward whoever can rescue her from the Raven Corsairs' clutches."
    Appearance
    5'4" || 162.5 cm
    110 lbs || 50 kg


    Unlike many pirates, Edel carries the air of nobility about her. Her skin is unmarred and soft. She carries herself and walks with elegance. Her voice is graceful and delicate. She keeps herself and clean as much as she can, sticking to a now limited self-care routine. Nobody would think her a pirate if they saw her, but a lovely lady straight out of a royal ball.
    Personality
    Pellentesque risus nunc, interdum in dapibus eu, ultricies at mauris. Nulla luctus ipsum nec velit lacinia, in ullamcorper lacus iaculis. Aenean at lorem dui. Maecenas augue nisi, laoreet ac bibendum at, pulvinar nec metus. Pellentesque euismod lorem turpis, quis volutpat odio tincidunt id. Curabitur mi nulla, aliquet nec quam quis, laoreet vestibulum magna. Curabitur vel ex eu elit aliquam semper. Morbi quam elit, bibendum nec sem eget, luctus convallis lacus. Mauris purus arcu, convallis ut dolor id, consectetur molestie massa.
    Record
    The High Marshal of Cimria, Madeleine-Françoise de Lisle, marquise de Montbéliard, holds a lifelong grudge against pirates. It was overseas marauders that slew her husband, taking away the father of her baby daughter and the love of her life. Edelmira-Laure de Lisle grew up comfortable in the safety of their wealth.
Bounty
Warning
 
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Vice-Captain Nyaali Divante​


"Come, show me your power! Let our ancestors watch with pride as we prove who the stronger warrior truly is!"
Art Credit: gxxberkit

​
Maneater
Vice-Captain of the Patchy Pirates

  • Name: Nyaali
    Alias: Maneater
    Age: 28
    Born: Spring of 1437
    Crew: Patchy Pirates


    Bounty: GꝞ 29,000
    "By order of The Uphold, Nyaali, known as the Maneater, is charged with Murder, Piracy, Looting, Robbery, Affiliation with the Siren peoples, and defiance against the laws governing the seas. They are to be captured dead or alive."
    Appearance
    5'8" || 172cm
    150lbs || 68kg


    A tall, slender woman with trained muscles hidden beneath soft, supple skin. Her black hair flows to reach the end of her back, with a single braid mixed in the front to reveal her large, almond shaped black eyes. Her visage is adorned with multiple piercings, all of which compliment the strong, confident smile she wears.

    Nyaali's most noticeable features are perhaps her large tattoos of multiple fire-breathing dragons, which coil around her long legs and span all the way to her cleavage.
    Personality
    Hedonism incarnate.
    Record
    Hailing from the small island of Ngao, home of the Sirens, Nyaali is the daughter of Imani, Honored Warrior of the Sirens, and an Azari General. Due to her parents' fierce blood coursing through her veins, she was destined to live and die by way of combat. Growing up, she was seen as a prodigy of sorts by her sistren due to her abnormal physicality, and was participating in raids by the time she was twelve years old. Because of her upbringing with the Sirens, and the voice in her head that she believes to be a warrior ancestor guiding her, Nyaali developed an insatiable thirst for battle and glory.

    When she was younger, she made a mistake. She attempted to use her Siren charm on the wrong person– a Guard of The Uphold, to be exact, and it got her thrown in prison. There, she met the man who would, very quickly, become her husband, Amadréas Divante. His plan was foolproof: exchange vows in shackles to cleanse their records, and they would rid themselves of their chains and be free once again. However, once they were released and Nyaali helped her 'husband' find who he was looking for (his daughter? sister? she doesn't remember), things began to quickly go downhill.

    Somehow, Nyaali found herself thrown off of her husband's ship, in the middle of the sea. Luckily, she was found and rescued by Kurota Fanghook at the peak of her exhaustion while trying to swim to nearby land. She took refuge on the man's... boat for weeks until she spotted the Abyssal Reapers' familiar ship. After remembering what they did to her, she fell into a fit of rage, destroying their ship with her bare hands and leaving them shipwrecked to officially claim her revenge.

    Now, she sails alongside the Patchy Pirates in hopes of exploring the world and proving herself as "Invincible Across the Seas".
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Warning
 
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Quartermaster Jeanne Céleste de Boufféré​

"Nothing is too rich for my blood."
Art Credit: Path to Nowhere

​
Dame
Quartermaster of the Raven Corsairs

  • Name: Jeanne Céleste Deschanel (de Boufféré)
    Alias: Dame
    Age: 45
    Born: Summer of 1420
    Crew: Raven Corsairs (Formerly les Raiders Sanguins.)


    Bounty: 300,000 GꝞ number
    "By order of The Uphold, Jeanne Céleste de Boufféré is charged with piracy, assault, murder, smuggling, forgery, treason, sailing under false colours, looting, poaching, brigandage, depravity, vandalism, impersonating a representative of the government of Cimria, arson, kidnapping, perjury, theft, and the destruction of Uphold vessels as well as other properties of Cimria. They are to be captured dead or alive."
    Appearance
    5'10" || 177.8cm
    150lbs || 68.0389kg


    Tall, for a woman, with long blonde hair, green eyes, and silky white skin. Athletic body, from years of work on the seas among her old crew, the Sanguine Raiders. Often dresses in a manner that draws the eye, but in a way that still looks regal and high class. Often wears makeup. Wears an eyepatch to cover her damaged right eye, earned during a raid on a Cimrian merchant vessel in her younger years. Has a long scar across her left cheek from a duel with a Cimrian captain, and has other scars across her body from other battles.

    Wears gloves to hide her miscolored fingers, which were affected by alchemical means over the years.
    Personality
    Jeanne has a rather commanding presence, standing tall among the crew with her flashy clothes and regal flair. Her posh style and attitude distracts you from the true rebellious outlaw beneath. She's calm, cool and collected. Completely level-headed when it comes to affairs of the ship and its crew, and aids the captain and vice captain with advice or ideas when requested or the need arises.

    In combat, she's a flashy duelist. She's more about embrassing her foe than she is killing them, but still wouldn't hesitate about putting someone down for good. She's prone to underhanded tricks, such as tucking a pepperbox gun up her sleeve to shoot opponents outside the range of her cutlass.
    Record
    Jeanne was born into the wealthy family of House Deschanel of Boufféré, situated in one of Cimria's many vassal states. A family full of powerful bankers, merchants, and artisans, wealth and sophistication came naturally to Jeanne. Hard to believe she turned into a pirate, right?

    Well, her descent into the realm of the outlaw began back when she experienced first-hand what it was like to be raided by a pirate crew while aboard a merchant vessel with her father. She was sixteen at the time, and was travelling with her father from one port to another to meet shipping clients throughout the Cimrian vassal states. The pirates, which she would later discover to be the now dead Jade Marauders of Serpent's Head Bay, surprised and excited her with their methods, charisma, and style. Sure, she was robbed, just like everyone else on board the merchant vessel, but it left a lasting impression.

    Over the years, the freedom of the open seas and piracy called to her. She wanted that. As much as she liked the lavish life of a high-class woman, she desired that kind of freedom. The desire was only hightened by the news that her father would be marrying her off to the son of another wealthy banker of House Leclère. A few days before the wedding was to occur, and just after her eighteenth birthday, she would flee her home villa. Disguised as a man, she slipped onto a trade vessel heading into pirate waters, and (as luck would have it) the vessel would soon be raided by another pirate band. This time, it was a crew called the Sanguine Raiders.

    She would join up with this particular crew, and prove herself over the years to be an excellent member of the crew as well as an excellent pirate in general. She would eventually be elected to become the ship's quartermaster, after which she would reveal herself to be a woman to the crew. The crew accepted her, based off her actions rather than her appearance. Later on, she would move up to the position of Captain when elections were held again.

    She would lead the Sanguine Raiders for several years, until a run-in with a Cimrian man-o-war almost destroyed the Raiders entirely. The Raiders almost called it quits, but eventually they would opt to fuse the Raiders into another pirate band. That band being the Raven Corsairs. She was selected to be the Quartermaster of this crew as well, which she dutifully accepted.

    Honestly, running the ship and dividing the spoils felt better than leading them into battle anyway. It felt right, too. Maybe it was her Deschanel blood.
Bounty
Warning
 
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Fighter Yinlong​


"You ready? Cause I sure am."
Art Credit: mugetsu2501

​
Yinglong
Fighter of the Patchy Pirates

  • Name: Yinlong（银珑）
    Alias: "The Silver Jewel" (previously), "Horsey"
    Age: ???
    Born: ???
    Crew: The Patchy Pirates


    Bounty: GꝞ 25,000
    "By order of The Uphold, Yinlong is charged with theft, several counts of disturbing the peace, destruction of both private and public property. They are to be captured dead or alive."
    Appearance
    5'1" || 155cm
    105 lbs || 48 kg


    She may be small, but don't let her stature or looks fool you. Behind her silver eyes and hair is the strength of a thousand men and her smooth skins hides the many battle wounds she's gained over the years. Her clothing composes of robes of varying length, composed of smooth fabrics with intricate patterns resembling a dragon. One thing that remains a constant is an azure-colored pendent around her neck.
    Personality
    Controlled chaos incarnate.

    Fiery, passionate, and foul-mouthed, Yinlong sees the world as one big oyster. Compared to her other half, her manners are far and few between and she isn't afraid to get loud. She never shies away from a challenge and gets competitive quickly, occasionally resorting to combative measures when in a quarrel or annoyed.

    Despite this, Yinlong holds a high amount of regard for the bonds she forms with those she considers close, and will offer any form of support to them. To receive Yinlong's genuine care and concern is a honor in of itself as she rarely hands it out to anyone.

    There are just a few things in life that would make Yinlong behave more seriously and collected; focused and calculating, but that's a secret she'll take the grave.

    Should you ever find yourself in a fight with her, you better count your blessings because she won't hold back for anyone. Yinlong is as aggressive as she is quick. And if her blade isn't breaking, whatever it's hitting will.
    Record
    For many years, Yinlong spent her days wandering, moving from one place to the next. She didn't have much to offer except for her brawn. Luckily, there was plenty of work for her that required those set of skills. Over the course of that time, she's gained notoriety among various kingdoms as well as The Uphold, earning herself a hefty bounty. That, unfortunately, made life complicated. Crews would rather turn her in for the gold than hire her. Except for one.

    For whatever reason, the captain of the Patchy Pirates welcomed Yinlong onto their boat. And since then, she's remained with them ever since, acting as their crews' muscle.
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Cabin Boy Nyskra Zipcyk​


"Oh you thought I was going to play fair? You are so funny, my goal has been to simply win by whatever means."
Art Credit: bzzbzz

​
Nesk
Cabin Boy of the Abyssal Reapers

  • Name: Nyskra Zipcyk
    Alias: Nisk
    Age: 25
    Born: Winter of 1440
    Crew: Abyssal Reapers


    Bounty: 175,398
    "By order of The Uphold, Nyskra Zipcyk is charged with 2 counts of assassinating navy rear admirals, stopping executions, sinking navy ships, property damage, thievery, attacking navy ships, killing soldiers, plundering, destroying navy property, illegal activity, attacking merchant ships, freeing prisoners, murdering innocent civilians, assassinating bounty hunters, sinking merchant ships, Infiltrating Restricted Government Areas, Piracy, Treason, Arson, Impersonating Government Workers, Infiltrating the Royal Palace, Stealing from the Royal Treasury, Stealing from the Uphold, Assault and Crimes against the Crown. They are to be Captured Dead or Alive."
    Appearance
    5'7" || 175cm
    111Lbs || 50Kg

    Nisk is shorter than the average guy being just a bit below average, with a sort of Lithe yet highly acrobatic build. He has messy black hair and unique multicolored eyes that he obtained due to the alchemy experiments he committed on himself. He almost always has a smile on his face, weather it be malicious, genuine, crazed or neutral, and typically carries himself with pride.

    He typically wears regal or elegant outfits that follow a Yellow, Black or White color scheme, and can typically be found always wearing his favored half cloak on the left side of his outfit, which hides his flintlock underneath it. Despite being mostly right-handed, his Rapier is noted to be on his right side, despite this fact he still tends to draws his Rapier with his right arm, though he typically adds a bit more acrobatic flourish to it. In addition to all that he also typically wears a Black Glove on his right hand and Clawed Gauntlet on his left, seeing it as practical as it allows him to tear out a persons flesh or bat away a blade whenever he deems it necessary.
    Personality
    Nisk is noted to be very cheerful, energetic, nearly always on the move, and can typically be seen with a smile on their face. Nisk tends to be honest to a degree, only really telling lies if their either told to, joking or think it's in their best interest to be dishonest, though this honesty is only done due to the fact that they rather have an honest reputation than a dishonest one, so if they think that by lying to you will die anyways, then the truth may turn out to be not so true.

    Regardless even if Nisk does tell the truth, his choice of wording may make it turn out to only be half-truths or partial truths, though there is a possibility he may just try to dodge answering in general. Due to Nisks values on reputation he tends to also be very reliable making it so that if he genuinely gives you his word, then you can be assured that it will be done or that you are likely going to end up dead soon. Nisk at first glance may seem a bit naive, curious, kind of nice, very playful, pretty well mannered and a bit quirky with a hint of charisma that makes him a bit likable in his own unique way, as most people enjoy his ride or die attitude.

    But first glance appearances can sometimes be a bit misleading, as those who know or are close to him will be able to see the hidden madness that lurk beneath his eyes. He is bloodthirsty and brutal, while he tends to play dumb he is in reality very cunning and intelligent. He takes priority in his own ambitions and goals first and foremost, from his perspective everyone has their own little code that they follow, his just tends to be very flexible, mostly when certain conditions are met. His approach to most situations tends to be very tactical, weighing the pros and cons of most decisions, and remaining calm in what would normally be a high stress situation even going on to be thrilled by it occasionally, which can be seen as him succumbing to madness.
    Record
    Nisk was born in a small town to a middle class family, their mother was an Herbalist and their father was a noteworthy doctor, however after some financial trouble their father got embroiled into the art of piracy as their regular income wasn't as sustainable as expected. This eventually led to their father joining up with a pirate crew who promised wealth beyond imagination, Nisk however naturally stowed away with their father and was later found on the pirate ship. Due to the discovery happening at sea, they were simply accepted and allowed to serve as part of the crew, and as their fathers apprentice, going on to assist them in their medical duties while on the ship. On their last voyage however, Nisk had met a Criminal Alchemist who was able to see the potential they possessed and taught them the ways of Alchemy.

    Once the voyage was over, instead of returning how with their father, they joined the Alchemist as a sort of apprentice, for years they had traveled together with Nisk learning from them and assisting them in their criminal activities and helped them gather ingredients. However during one particular job, that involved Nisk infiltrating a Military Storage house, they were caught then blinded as punishment, thus severely hampering himself. When his Master had gotten him back, they had opted to try an experimental Alchemic procedure in order to restore and enhance his vision, after a few complications, the procedure ended up being a success though it left him in a somewhat corrupted state.

    With Nisks vision restored to even greater heights and abilities he had become way more effective at infiltrating areas and spotting rare ingredients for further alchemic research and creations. After a few years of working together Nisk eventually set out on their own where they later met a man who he ended up trying to kill, but fortunately failed to, impressed by each others prowess, the man introduced himself as Captain Basoka told him his vision of creating an elite warrior group and had offered him a spot in their crew. Naturally Nisk joined the small crew, that had went on to call themselves the Rokuhira Ring, the Rokuhira Ring had a small crew and a small ship, but more than made up for it in skills, and their leader was considered a monster when it came to navel combat being able to bring down ships almost single handedly. The crew became infamous for attacking Navy ships and other highly prolific pirate crews, earning themselves a fearsome reputation across the sea one that resulted in their Captain even reaching Emperor Status with their bounty, with Nisk being noted as one of the several important Pillars for the crew. But as time went on they had gotten more reputable obtained a bigger and better ship, along with a bigger crew, but unfortunately with a bigger crew the skill median of the crew had went down eventually, but it didn't matter too much as their numbers made up for the decrease in skill.

    While the crew remained fearsome for a few years things had changed exponentially when they had engaged a Legendary figure a man who was noted to be one of the top 5 most wanted person in the world. While the Rokuhira Ring was able to put up an amazing fight, they were eventually forced to make a retreat for it, as he was simply too strong to beat, after that fight the crew wasn't the same again as they had lost multiple pillars and a vast majority of their most skilled members with very little gained from the engagement and a few months after that defeat the crews Captain had retired from their role, leaving the fate of Rokuhiras Ring in their Firstmates hand. It only took a year before she eventually decided to disband the crew altogether, causing everyone to go their own separate ways.

    A month later Nisk would eventually join up with another crew who called themselves the Abyssal Reapers, eventually meeting up with their Captain in order to negotiate a deal for their services.
Bounty
Warning
 
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K1-54​

Free...I want...to be free...
Art Credit: Chenru Lee

​
Typhon
Boatswain of Abyssal Reapers

  • Name: K1-54
    Alias: Typhon
    Age: ??
    Born: ??
    Crew: Abyssal Reapers


    Bounty: GꝞ 85000
    "By order of The Uphold, Subject K1-54 is charged with multiple counts of murder, destruction of government property, stealing from government property, arson, aggravated assault on law enforcement, and robbery. They are to be disposed of."
    Appearance
    X'X" || 171 cm
    XXXlbs || 75 kg

    Subject K1-54 is recognisable by its unnatural pink hair and demon-like horns resembling a crown on their head. If those are somehow unidentifiable, its eyes are of an unholy green, surrounded by black sclera. Other identifiable features are its left arm and leg, which look to be constructed from chitin from the pits of hell itself. Like other monsters, it is incapable of proper human speech, evidenced by its halting command of the spoken language.
    Personality
    Subject K1-54 is a brutal murderer with no concept of morals. It will assault anyone in the dark of night, take your valuables, and leave you for dead, if not rip you from limb to limb. If you see this monstrosity, do not engage it, and instead report to the nearest authorities. Anyone who assists with the capture and execution of Subject K1-54 will be rewarded.
    Record
    Subject K1-54 was developed by Dr. Francis Graham Shteyngard, God rest his soul, and was one of the prototypes that he had been working on, based on his theory on Alchemy with regards to living weapons. Unfortunately for Dr. Shteyngard, he could not foresee what evils come from dabbling with the Source and what it could do to artificial bodies. He was killed by his own creation one fateful evening, and his compound was ravaged by the monster's cruel rampage. His research is now lost to us. As for his monster, it fled from the scene, possibly in what shame it had in its cruel heart. Though it attempted to disguise itself amongst the innocents, it was pursued by our brave officers for days on end, until it disappeared into the dark. The last it was seen was in the company of the Captain of the Abyssal Reapers. Naturally, as birds of a feather flock with one another, so too must an evil being such as this find cohorts in people such as him. Due to the confidentiality of Dr. Shteyngard's research, this creature must be put down post-haste.
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Deckhand Rosalia Laguardia di Fingere​

...How can they even dare to call themselves 'men', with such rotted souls?
Art Credit: bzzbzz

​
Soletto
Deckhand of the Patchy Pirates

  • Name: Rosalia Laguardia di Fingere
    Alias: Soletto
    Age: 23
    Born: Spring
    Crew: Patchy Pirates


    Bounty: GꝞ 444,444
    "By order of The Uphold, Rosalia Laguardia is charged with high treason, libel and slander of Uphold officials, embezzlement of government funds and evasion of justice. They are to be captured alive."
    Appearance
    5'7" || 170 cm
    151 lbs || 68 kg
    Blonde, green eyes. I'll draw her later. Noble knight lady but she doesn't have most of her armor anymore. There is a brand of the Ring of Purification on her ankle, put there rather than on her wrist by order of her parents so she might hide the nature of her birth from prying eyes.
    Personality
    An upright woman whose words are filigreed with the markings of prestige and refinement. With as little as a glance it is plain to see that Rosalia is of ill fitting for the company of the scurvy dogs that roam the high seas.

    Rosalia is a woman of resolve and purpose, who prides herself on possessing the ability to march forward through life no matter her circumstances. She was always the least prodigal of her siblings, content to serve in the shadow of her family and in her father's footsteps, ever more inclined towards the accruement of martial prowess rather than playing the games of the nobility and aristocracy. She is, regardless, well educated. She has an appreciation for the arts and an understanding for the never-ending machinations of the upper class, but only insofar was required for her to navigate upper society without bringing disgrace to her family name.
    Record
    A childhood is painted in colours. Feelings. There are few children who understand the exact narrative of their upbringings, and hardly any more adults who are ever truly able to translate those colours and feelings into words. Even then, Rosalia was always able to tell that her upbringing was one painted from a different palette than that of her siblings.

    The seventh of eleven children, Rosalia's birth by any means should not been anything of particular note. Born one of many middle children under the Laguardian name, hers was to be a life of privilege but not particular note. The fly in that ointment came quickly, and in the form of a colour. As she lay crying within her mother's arms, still wet with the blood of her birth the eyes that looked down on her were not the same warm, tender things that had welcomed the rest of the family into the world. In them lay fear, lit by the dim glow of her very own skin.

    Sorcerer.

    Growing up, that word meant little to Rosalia. It was a concept. Even less than that. It was a word muttered on smirking lips, a memory that seemed to belong to all but her, and something which she was not. While the new King's laws may have persecuted Sorcerers no longer, the same could not be said for the people that lived under them. The Laguardians especially, with their longstanding history within the Kingdom of Cimria, were not quick the change. Within the glistening bands of magic which ran beneath Rosalia's skin her mother saw only trouble. A curse upon her daughter and her blood, and so before Rosalia was of an age to ever truly know the circumstances of her birth, her magic was sealed. She was made into a child no different than any of her siblings, but she would never truly be without the shadow of what she once was.

    Rosalia's relationship with her mother was distant. She herself had no way of knowing what had been taken from her- ignorance is bliss-, but her mother never forgot. Even as she smiled at her, Rosalia saw shadowed in her eyes the memories of a sin she did not commit. It was only natural, then, that she found the most of her comfort as a child within her father's warmth. As busy a man as he was, when he had time to spare he would spare it to her. He would share with her the stories of his campaigns and she was soon possessed by the spirit of gallantry. Before long, the sight of her scampering across the estate with a wooden sword in her hand and a bucket helmet atop her head became a common one, and a lifelong dream was born.

    Rosalia had an exact image of the person she wanted to be when she grew up. A gallant warrior, stood on the front lines with blade in hand, her back only even seen by those who she'd sworn to protect and the only blood spilled that of hers and her foes'. At first her parents took it as just another passing fancy that any child had at one point or another. They had many children, after all, and this was hardly their first time seeing one of them being pulled into the folds of childish obsession. But as the years went on and her determination never seemed to wane, it became clear the her fascination was not a mere passing whim.

    As the years passed, Rosalia's mother made her disapproval increasingly clear. The moments they spent together were rare to being with and as she grew older more and more of them were filled with bickering. She relayed to her again and again that it was time to put aside her fancies, that as a daughter of their family it was her duty to grow into a fine lady of the Kingdom. Many of her siblings started to distance themselves from their ever-defiant sister, and there was no compromise to be found between the two.

    It was only with her father's ultimatum that the matter would be settled.

    Rosalia was to give up her fancies, but not without exchanging them for something else. Until she was a teen, Rosalia's father had been the source of her whimsy and the person whom she sought to emulate, but nothing more than that. He wished as much as her mother did that her pursuit of knighthood would be a passing phase, but as it became clear that she would pursue it regardless of their approval. So, rather than having her dash off to some faraway corner of the nation one day, he elected to took her under his wing. He would train her in the ways of the battlefield, but only so long as she kept up with her mother's teachings of higher society and the state too. If she fell behind her studies or he judged her resolve too weak to survive the battlefield, her training would cease, and she would be made to admit that her pursuit of knighthood was a foolish thing all along.

    Of course, determined as she was, Rosalia hardly saw her father's offer as a choice at all. Her eyes glimmering, she shook the hands of both of her parents and the next morning the course of her life shifted dramatically. In the early morning she'd be roused to train her body and hone her prowess, and by the time the sun hung at its highest in the sky she would join her siblings in their lessons on etiquette and the state.

    It was grueling, especially for a child who was barely even a teenager, but her determination held true. As the years on the flames of her whimsy began to burn low, but they never truly went away. What was once a dream had now become a goal. A purpose. Even in the ignorance of her youth, Rosalia had felt to some degree that she did not belong in the company of her siblings. She saw how her parents' looked at her differently, and how her siblings did so in turn. Some pitied her, while others maligned her as an outsider, but in either case it was clear that she was an other, set aside from them only by the brand upon her ankle.

    This, she knew, was somewhere she could belong. If she had not a place beside her family, then she would serve under them. She would pick up the same blade her father had and protect them. She attended both her lessons and classes dutifully, her childish obsession slowly transforming over the years into a steely sense of duty and discipline. By the time she came of age, it was hard to recognize her for the tomboyish child who had once galavanted about the estate covered in mud and with a wooden sword in hand. Through her mother's persistence and her father's hammer, she had been made into an upstanding lady of her house, ready to serve in both the battlefield and the ballroom.

    Her father's training has been especially harsh, designed as much to try and discourage her from the path of knighthood as it was to prepare her with the skills she need to survive. She was made to match her blade against opponents many times her size and age, and in any given year she could likely count the number of victories she'd claimed in her spars on her fingers alone. She was to become a warrior who could hold her own against foes who held every advantage over her, or she would not become one at all. That, her father said, was the bare minimum required of her to serve as he had. Sorcerers, Alchemists, and Vessels, to them even a grown man who had dedicated their life to his craft was as much a babe as she was to him. To stand against them was to stand as a child armed only with sticks and stones, and then to take them and slay giants.

    But despite his hopes, not matter how many times she finished her training sessions battered and defeated, she would always rise the next morning ready to do it all again. Her skill with the blade steadily blossomed, steeled against the ever steepening wall of opponents who he had her matched against. Eventually, there was no more denying it. He and her mother discussed the matter once more, and on her twenty-first birthday they gave to her their blessing. They would permit her to earn their family the honor they were owed, not as a political agent as her siblings would, but as a warrior of their name.

    Before she was permitted to go to the front lines, Rosalia would first serve as her siblings' blade. She played the role of an escort, responsible for the safety of her kin when they would depart on diplomatic missions beyond their family's territory. She served in that role for two years, continuing her training at home and matching her blade against assassins and in duels in their place when she was afar. The results of her long years of training showed themselves clearly. She had become a tool just as useful to her kin with a blade in her hand or a dress on her shoulders, all with a loyalty imbued within her that ran ever deeper than the blood they shared.

    After so many years, Rosalia had finally felt that she'd found her place. Even those amongst her siblings who held her at the furthest arm's length began to come to her for her services, and for the first time since childhood she began to feel something within her mother's presence other than shame. The fruit of her efforts had finally begun to bloom, but it would not be long before they fell to rot.

    It had not been an evening of particular note. Rosalia had recently returned from a diplomatic mission alongside one of her brothers, and it had been one of the rare days when every member of her family was present on the estate. Most of them were exchanging pleasantries within the ballroom while she had retired to her quarters early, still used to the early nights and earlier mornings of her childhood. It was then that envoys from the Kingdom appeared before the estate, all armed to the teeth. A river of steel marched through the night, down through the forests which surrounded her family home and onto the manor grounds.

    It wasn't long before the pleasant atmosphere of the night descended into panic, but before she could rush to her family's aid her father came to stand in her path. They stood accused of treason of the highest degree, and whatever action they took against their persecutors would only serve to deepen their guilt. That night, he told her not to pick up her blade nor stand for their family's honor, but to run. Most of her siblings had already been detained, and her father himself intended to go along with their captors without a fight. Only she and the scant few of her siblings who had eluded immediate arrest stood a chance of clinging to their freedom. She argued with him as much as she could, but this time it was not a matter of her childhood fancies or dreams for the future. He gave her an order and as much as she loathed it, it was her duty to follow.

    With one of her brothers and sisters each, Rosalia stole into the night. They rode for days, until the came to the border of Cimrian territory and each went their separate ways, each sworn to prove their family's innocence in whatever manner they could.

    Dubbed 'The Night of Pruned Thorns', the day of her family's arrest was an incident that made news across the nation. Wherever she went Rosalia found tell of another crime her family stood persecuted of, and before long she began to see her own face plastered alongside the wanted posters of criminals for whom she felt nothing but contempt. In but a single night, everything which she had striven for had been plucked from her hands, but she would not accept that as her fate. What she once had, she would have again. She would not allow her family name to go down in history as that of traitors who had sought to steal the crown. Rosalia swore upon her name; she would prove her family's innocence, or she would die in its pursuit.
Bounty
Warning
 
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Deckhand Ulric Fiske​


Hand over the dough if ya know what's good for ya!
Art Credit: 947kyoukou

​
Razor
Deckhand of The Raven Corsairs

  • Name: Ulric Fiske
    Alias: Razor
    Age: 21
    Born:
    Crew: Raven Corsairs


    Bounty:     GꝞ 250000
    "By order of The Uphold, Ulric Fiske is charged with tresspassing of royal grounds, and the theft of an incredibly valuable possession of the King. He is to be captured alive."
    Appearance
    5'11" || 180cm
    137lbs || 62kg


    Ulric is a man of a somewhat lanky build, his face adorned with a large scar across his left cheek, and ash brown hair that flows down to his lower back. His face is generally percieved as scary and unfriendly, bolstered by his uncanny sharp teeth and eyepatch (He claims to have lost his eye in battle, although some crew members swear by him lifting the patch from time to time, someone claims he must wear it to have one eye ready for dark environments). He usually wears comfortable clothing of dark or muted colors, however, his attire is always a notch or two above what one would expect of your average sea dog.
    Personality
    A street rat born from the slums through and through. Ulric is an unfriendly and conniving individual. His phylosophy puts him first, second and third on his list of priorities at any given moment, and is not afraid to resort to unsavory methods in order to get things done. He's got a knack of lying, or at the very least, twisting the trust just enough to help his narrative or escape from a sticky situation. Having embraced the bandit lifestyle, his view of the world aligns with the ideology of dog-eats-dog, and thus is untrusting of anyone, even those in his own crew. And should someone dare to place their trust in Ulric are at risk of being on the recieving end of a betrayal down the line. He is also a bit of a coward, well aware that the pirates sorrounding him oft are of supernatural nature and could end his life in a blink, straightforward combat is only an option when the enemy has been deemed manageable, otherwise it's either escaping or exploitation of any chance available to him.

    Hoever, not everything about the man is completely despicable. He's generally not an instigator, and his days of actively robbing people on his own are behind him, or at the very least in hiatus. He is also in dire need of real friendships, even if Ulric himself is not aware of it.
    Record
    Even in the most thriving of kingdoms, there is always room for the poor and helpless. For every castle there is a slum, for every duchy there's a black market or backwater gathering place for lowlives. Ulric was unfortunate enough to come from the womb of a woman who lacked the funding or care to give him a decent upbringing, or a short-fused father who would impart some "tough love" whenever he returned home empty handed. Well, at least he had it better than his brother, whose carelessness found him getting his decapitated head put on a spike. Life was shit, but what can you do.

    It would be a surprise to no one that such an environment bred a young man acclimated to its ways. Ulric stole, pummeled, lied, threatened and blackmailed his way through life, his morals only marginally above that of your average slum criminal, but with a remarkable amount of ambition. "I'm tired of clawing my way to the end of the day, I'll take a loan and win big through gambling."

    It was such a shame that Maned Dingo #4 wasn't quite as good that day, only a couple feet behind the lead. Oh well, the young man was now GW5000 deep in debt, and from one of the heads of the underground criminal, Fallows the Cruel. Ulric was then given three options by the kind and open-minded criminal Mogul, the first was to renounce his human rights and work as a slave until the debt was paid, a goal he would see done in a few decades time. The second option was a little more...extreme, to swiftly end his life and throw his flesh at the hounds to feast upon, arguably the most useful Ulric wold've ever been in his pathetic existence. The third option cast a ray of foolish hope upon the hooligan: Sneak into the royal chambers, and steal the golden bracelet with an engraved hexagonal ruby. The man didn't need a proper education to know what was the better choice.

    Days of preparation took place. Of getting his hands on the blueprints of the castle, of performing social engineering on guards and servants alike,and of procuring that every needed tool was in his possession before any attempt. On night five, nearing the deadline of his agreement, he made the plunge. Sparing the details, Ulric made his way to the King's private chambers through an uncomfortable amount of close calls, dexterous lockpicking opening the upsettingly luxurious cabinet, at last, his hands gently cradled the coveted bracelet.

    The man successfully escaped the building, bringing back the strange artifact to Fallows, and clearing his debt for good, he made his way to the tavern and drank and cheered the day away in celebration of his recovered freedom...Well, that would be how the story went, if not for the fact the bracelet engulfed Ulric in a vortex of pure Source, revolving lights blinded him, and thunderous whistles echoed through the halls of the castle. Then, it all went silent.

    Opening his eyes, Ulric noticed everything had returned to normal...save for one little, teeny tiny detail: The bracelet was gone, the golden artifact on his hands poofed out of existence. Standing in shock, he was ill-prepared when guards busted through the door, shouting at the thief with their readied spears.

    It was borderline miraculous how he had managed to make an escape from the castle, tailed by a dozen steel clad soldiers ready to skewer him. It was only back in the slums, having lost his pursuers, that he noticed from a lone puddle's reflection, that the sigil of the royal family was engraved into his right eye.

    He was now a wanted man, not only by the kingdom and its people, but by the criminal entity that he used to rely on in the past. Companionship was never Ulric's strong suit, but for the first time, he was truly alone, and the enemy of the whole world.

    "PLEASE SAVE MY FUCKING SKIN!" He begged at the captain of the Raven Corsairs, the two men crossing paths by mere happenstance only a month after the incident. A makeshift eyepatch now covered the true nature of his crime.
Bounty
Warning
 
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Powder Piggy Porkley​

You look down on me now, but just you wait...
Art Credit: Lennguine

​
Porkley
Powder Piggy of The Patchy Pirates

  • Name: Joseph Fairfield
    Alias: "The Scourge of Cimria", "King of Fort Marius", "The Greatest Gunman of Every Sea" (All self-proclaimed)
    "Dinner", "Porkley" (Not self-proclaimed)
    Age: 29
    Born: Spring, 1436
    Crew: The Patchy Pirates


    Bounty: GꝞ 300,000
    "By order of The Uphold, Joseph Fairfield is wanted for piracy, the capture and sinking of multiple Uphold Vessels, and the murder of multiple Uphold Officials. He is also wanted in relation to the attempted takeover of Fort Marius. They are to be captured dead or alive."
    Appearance
    5'11" || 180cm
    2'4" || 70cm


    oink oink. To be added.
    Personality
    You'd be hard-pressed to find someone more proud of their career choices than Fairfield. For every scenario that comes up, he has a tale to tell from his time with his former crew, and he always happens to be the strongest, the wittiest, and the most victorious in his retellings. The fact that he does have the bounty to back up some of what he's saying makes it a little harder to figure out which parts are embellishments, but he takes any suggestion that he is lying as a huge personal insult.

    That being said, many people don't even believe he could be the infamous Fairfield because, y'know... the whole pig thing. Anyone who comments on his form is often met with the full strength of his fury, which is not particularly strong. He does like to leave a lot of threats for the future and has a long list of people to crush once he is restored to his human form. This includes his former crew, much of his current crew, the entire population of Fort Marius, and most people they come across nowadays.

    Fairfield remains fully convinced that the moment he can break the curse, it will only take a short amount of time before he regains the power he once held over the seas. Right now, he has his eyes on the Patchy Pirates and the potential he could be using far better than the current Captain. The degrading nature of his rank is growing increasingly difficult to tolerate, however.
    Record
    Joseph Fairfield was born on Fort Marius, a former island outpost belonging to the Cimrian Kingdom despite the island being far away from the rest of its territory. Over the years, the Uphold presence on Fort Marius lessened, and the island became a popular stop for small-time crooks and pirates operating in the region. Fairfield was born to a family that moved to the island from Cimeria years prior, simple people who sold various goods at a market stall near the island's main port. Despite the best attempts of Fairfield's parents to keep their son on a good path, the future laid out for him bored him when he saw such a wide variety of people constantly coming and going. When he was 12, he begged an older pirate who docked at Fort Marius often to give him a job on his ship. This pirate was Captain of the Vermilion Birds, who were then small-time pirates with large ambitions.

    It wasn't quite as glamorous as he thought it would be, and the food was horrible, but he quickly showed potential in the pirate life. By the time he reached adulthood, he was considered as much of a crewmate as anyone and quite a reliable one at that. At this point, he found a poster of his face in a tavern - the Uphold placed their first bounty on him. It was one of the proudest moments of his life, but things only got better from there. The crew continued to find success, growing stronger. They assimilated more vessels and people into their possession and seemed unstoppable for a time, but a large change happened when Fairfield was 26.

    Stormy seas, enemies around them, and the captain and first mate obliterated into pieces strewn across the deck. The situation seemed dire until one man stepped up, and somehow led the crew to live another day. Following that, the majority of the crew supported his ascension to Captain, and his confidence grew to dangerous levels.

    The entire crew became bolder under his leadership, going for bigger targets, daring to face off against the Uphold more frequently, and earning a bounty that put the entire crew on many people's radars. An idea floated around the core members of the crew, to find somewhere to settle down, and this gave Fairfield his stupidest idea yet.

    They headed into old waters, to take over Fort Marius and the small islands dotted around it. With the islands being neglected for so long, it wasn't too difficult, and the Uphold presence was easy to take care of by means of murder, or corruption. Though the townsfolk weren't particularly pleased by the raucous crowd, they were more disappointed by what this would lead to - The Uphold coming back and putting the island under much tighter control. Fairfield and his crew didn't consider this, and the old fort in the town's centre for which the outpost was named was soon inhabited by the "Pirate King of Fort Marius". In the days that followed, rather than enjoy what he had, Fairfield led a small crew to explore the islands around Fort Marius.

    Some of these islands were inhabited by up to a few hundred, but many were entirely empty, and for good reason. Fairfield vaguely recalled the stories from his youth about the dangers that lay and the many people who never returned from their voyages there. They were so close though that it seemed preposterous. The crew docked at dawn, and while his men patrolled the coast, Fairfield ventured through thick forest. He didn't expect to find a clearing after wandering for miles, and by that point, his crew were too far to call over. All he could hear was the sound of exotic birds chirping, and a lady calling to him from the door of a house in the middle of the clearing.

    "Oh, won't you stay for a while? I don't get visitors very often."

    What happened afterwards is the only story Fairfield doesn't like to recall. For a few hours, he greatly enjoyed the strange woman's company and didn't question why she was here alone, especially given the old stories. He had made up his mind that this would be the place of his new fortress, and she would be his Queen. He didn't notice the changes until it was far too late for him to do anything. His skin itched, he felt smaller in his clothes, and his jaw began to ache. That was only the start. He didn't realise that this woman was an alchemist, a particularly powerful one at that, who had lived in exile for decades. He also didn't know that her speciality was placing curses on the foolish people who dared to set foot on her island. By the time the sun set, Fairfield appeared to have lost all traces of his humanity, sitting on the ground as a Common Striped Wild Pig. The woman threw him out, into the dark. The only things intact were his mind and his speech, but he was too disoriented to do anything but cry.

    His crew left the next morning after waiting out the night. None dared to go find him in the dense forest. Fairfield didn't see them leave.

    For weeks, perhaps months (he had no way to track the days), he wandered the island after realising there was nothing else he could do. The island was filled with wildlife, but none like him. He wasn't sure if they were truly animals though, or once people like him. It wasn't something he wanted to find out. He learned to live as a Wild Pig, though he still tried to break down the woman's door every night to no avail. When he did see her, she'd usually pretend she couldn't hear him yelling. Sometimes she'd simply smile and then go about her day. This would just be his life now, or so he thought.

    One night, Fairfield slept by the water as he usually did, as he was used to the sound of the waves. He didn't wake as a new boat docked, and a new crew disembarked. Thankfully, they did not suffer the same fate as him, but they did do some hunting before departing. Wild Pigs were an easy target, especially the plump ones on this island who had few natural predators. They killed some but kept a few alive to butcher later.

    Fairfield awoke in a kitchen that reeked of fish and pig blood. He was in a box, but the familiar swaying made it easy for him to figure he was on a boat. For a moment, he had hope that the Vermilion Birds had figured it all out, and were bringing him back to Fort Marius. His dreams were quickly shattered as he realised this was something entirely different. He wasn't a captain, he was dinner.

    "Let me outta this box right now!"

    At this point, he was used to yelling, and after several minutes, the crew realised that he was not a Wild Pig, at least not a normal one. Some believe he's a human, others a magical pig. Only a few believe he is Captain Joseph Fairfield, but the story does match up with news of his disappearance. Though he wasn't super appreciative of it, Fairfield was fortunate to find out that the Captain of this vessel was an Alchemist with a speciality in curses, and so he stuck around (not like there was a better option anyway).

    Since then, he's served as the powder monkey / menial tasks / swabbing the deck boy. Despite his demands to at least be Vice-Captain, he quickly realised that he couldn't do nearly as much as he could before. He works with his resentment growing every day, and all he wants is a chance to rule again and get his revenge on all who have wronged him, starting with the people who gave him the new nickname of "Porkley".

    As for the Vermilion Birds, the Patchy Pirates haven't come across them, but the group splintered following Fairfield's disappearance. As expected, the Uphold reclaimed Fort Marius with ease, and were able to make several high-profile arrests. Despite the setback, the remaining Vermilion Birds are aiming to work their way back up to their former strength.
Bounty
Warning
 
Rank Sable Fairweather​

how many shrimps do you have to eat before you make your skin turn pink
Art Credit: bzzbzz

​
Alias
Rank (again) of Crew

  • Name: Sable Fairweather
    Alias:
    Age: Twenty-four years old
    Born:
    Crew: The Abyssal Reapers


    Bounty: GꝞ 0
    Who tf is this guy
    Appearance
    5'10" || XXXcm
    XXXlbs || XXkg


    Mauris in leo dignissim, semper quam quis, malesuada lectus. Praesent sed dapibus orci. Donec vulputate, tellus ut convallis aliquet, felis tortor auctor tellus, quis rutrum dolor odio eu diam. Aliquam erat volutpat. Suspendisse ut quam nulla. Vivamus rhoncus mi turpis, vel condimentum massa fermentum tristique. Ut a lectus tortor. Praesent id ligula accumsan, lobortis lacus nec, ornare mi. Aenean posuere, arcu bibendum rutrum rhoncus, est nisi lobortis felis, eu euismod neque quam non elit. Ut posuere ipsum vel laoreet consectetur. Donec congue sem venenatis metus pellentesque venenatis. Duis et imperdiet lacus, at mollis risus. Sed sed massa lorem.
    Personality
    A meticulously cultivated appearance of diligence and sharp focus. A scholar with a quiet intensity and professionalism, speaking carefully and deliberately. Maintaining a cool, enigmatic aura…that is quick to crumble by virtue of his natural clumsiness, blatant reactions, and a cursed-by-the-gods-luck betraying him at every turn. For all that Sable tries to replicate the valiant and mysterious protagonists in the fictions he reads, it has only highlighted what a bumbling fool he actually is.

    His failures are almost cartoonish in nature. Slipping while he’s mid-sentence, missing the wall in an attempt to suavely lean against it, his sword flying out of his grip when he tries to strike an intimidating pose (he does NOT know how fight). He is his own worst enemy when it comes to acting out the dramatic moments he plays in his head. He is alive be sheer accident, fate seemingly undecided between making him the unluckiest or luckiest man in the world.

    Sable’s expressions shine when he’s caught off guard. An embarrassingly high-pitched scream when startled, a tomato-red face when embarrassed, a blur of hands swatting the air through a nervous explanation. He’s a rambler, at that. Both with himself and anyone willing to listen. He could go for hours talking about the nuances of alchemy as much as he can talk about the intricacies of the romantic relationships budding in the latest novel he’s reading. When annoyed or angry, you’ll usually find him scowling in the corner muttering things to himself, looking like whatever task he’s performing has personally wronged him.

    Sable secretly relishes moments where he can showcase his knowledge or skill. If someone asks about a topic he’s passionate about, he’ll immediately perk up, launching into an impromptu lecture. He tries to be humble, but there’s a small part of him that enjoys proving he’s competent, especially when underestimated.

    Sable is incredibly self-disciplined and stubbornly dedicated to his work. Once he starts a project, it is nearly impossible to pull him away from it, even if it means skipping meals or staying up far too late. He thrives on structure and focus, losing himself in the fine details of alchemical experimentation. Even when his role on the Abyssal Reapers became that of a glorified “maid,” he approached it with the same diligence he once applied to scholarly pursuits, making himself indispensable through sheer persistence and skill. It’s one of the few things he takes pride in, though he’d never admit it out loud.

    In this tangled catastrophe of unluck is a deeply romantic heart. He still clings to the idealized, heroic stories he read in his youth: tales of grand adventure, star-crossed love, and dashing rogues. As much as he insists upon being a realist, it’s plain to see when optimism makes a vessel of him. All starry-eyed and bated breaths.
    Record
    Sable was born into nobility, the youngest son in the Fairweather family where expectations were high, and success was mandatory. His parents, unsatisfied with his progress compared to his far more accomplished siblings, deemed him an underachiever. He was the only one in the family born with The Echo yet had nothing to show for it. They sought to remedy this by placing him under the tutelage of a renowned alchemist mentor, paying an exorbitant sum for his education. To them, it was an investment—one that, if successful, would make him someone worthy of the family name.

    However, Sable’s mentor was not the benevolent teacher one might expect of such a prestigious figure. He was strict, cold, and utterly indifferent to anything outside of his experiments. His acceptance of Sable was based purely on the wealth his family provided, not on any personal interest in the boy’s potential. Rather than a student, Sable found himself treated as a glorified servant, tasked with mundane chores and menial labor rather than receiving proper instruction. Lessons were scarce, guidance was practically nonexistent, and mistakes were met with sharp reprimands or outright dismissal. If he wanted to learn, he would have to do it himself.

    Determined to prove himself, Sable immersed himself in alchemical studies the only way he could—through books, trial and error, and sheer stubbornness. He endured burns, small fires, and occasional explosions, forcing himself to understand alchemical reactions through hands-on experience. Since much of his duties revolved around maintaining the laboratory, he began developing alchemical solutions for cleaning—remedies to scrub away stains, purify equipment, and remove hazardous residues. What started as a necessity eventually became a craft of its own, and though it wasn’t the kind of groundbreaking work his family had envisioned, it was something uniquely his.

    Life within the estate was lonely. Trapped by both his self-imposed discipline and his mentor’s oppressive authority, Sable rarely ventured beyond its walls. Over time, he turned to fiction as his only solace—romance, fantasy, adventure tales of daring heroes, grand quests, and love that defied all odds. He devoured these stories with an almost desperate hunger, yearning for something beyond his rigid, joyless reality. His longing for achievement, for excitement, for companionship, was confined to the pages of books he read by candlelight.

    In his pursuit of excellence, he also found himself turning to a stimulant called Icebrine that sharpened the mind and kept exhaustion at bay. What began as an occasional aid became a necessity. Small doses at first, just enough to get through long nights of studying and experimentation. He told himself it was temporary, just until he mastered the knowledge he sought. But time passed, and the reliance on the drug never faded.

    Then, one fateful day, Sable made a rare decision to step beyond the estate’s walls. He had ordered a novel—a romance, though he would never admit it aloud—and went to town to retrieve it. That was when he met Hadal.

    Or, more accurately, that was when Hadal stole from him.

    The pirate took his wallet and his book in one swift motion and ran. Indignant and unwilling to let such an injustice stand, Sable gave chase. He managed to reclaim his belongings, though not without a heated argument and a great deal of amused teasing from Hadal. There was something infuriatingly charming about him—his confidence, his devil-may-care attitude, the way he seemed so at ease with himself. It was everything Sable had dreamed of in the stories he read, and despite himself, he found the man both irritating and enthralling.

    To his own surprise, he asked if they could meet again. To his greater surprise, Hadal agreed.

    Thus, an unlikely friendship formed. Sable would sneak away whenever he could, slipping from his mentor’s grasp to steal moments of freedom with Hadal. They bickered endlessly, with Hadal delighting in needling reactions from him, yet the camaraderie was undeniable. Hadal was adventure personified, a glimpse of the life Sable had always wanted. And though he would never dare admit it, Sable found himself hopelessly smitten.

    But his brief reprieve would not last.

    Back at the estate, his mentor was changing. The man who had once been merely detached had become something worse. Obsessed. His fixation on unlocking the secrets of immortality consumed him, and in his desperation, he turned his estate into a prison. Sable was no longer just a servant; he was a tool, forced to work tirelessly on formulae meant to extend life beyond its natural limits. The alchemist’s demands became relentless. Sable was isolated, overworked, and drowning in the drug-induced haze of sleepless nights. He scarcely had the strength to think beyond his immediate tasks, let alone visit Hadal.

    Then, disaster struck. His mentor, impatient and unhinged, rushed an experiment meant to grant eternal youth. Instead, he transformed into something monstrous.

    Sable barely had time to comprehend what had happened before he found himself trapped within the estate, hunted by the very man who had once held him captive in a different way. Three days of terror followed, during which he navigated the house with desperate caution, scavenging what little supplies he could. He managed to escape, barely, fleeing with whatever notes, ingredients, and tinctures he could carry. He did not know if his mentor had survived the experiment, but the guilt settled in his chest like lead, because in the end, it had been his recipe that had completed the transformation. And he could not even remember what he had put into it.

    His addiction had clouded his mind. His exhaustion had dulled his perception. Whether or not it had been his fault, he could not escape the feeling that it was.

    From there, he ran. Desperate to find Hadal, he sought out the name of his crew, but his memory failed him. Instead, he found another crew with a name close to the one he remembered, the withdrawal symptoms of his abandoned drug use skewing his memory. By the time he realized he’d joined the Abyssal Reapers, it was too late, and Amadréas was not the kind to allow deserters. Leaving, he quickly learned, meant death.

    So Sable stayed. Not as an adventurer, not as an esteemed alchemist, but as the ship’s reluctant "maid". But even in misfortune, he refused to give up entirely. He survived by doing what he did best—cleaning, preserving, repairing. He found new ways to adapt his alchemy to ship life, making himself indispensable. And though he was far from the hero of an epic tale, he was still here, still breathing, still waiting for the day he might finally reclaim the adventure he had once dreamed of.
Bounty
Warning
 
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