Post by sythus on Mar 9, 2016 3:42:24 GMT -7
Description
A young, albeit weather-worn man dressed in an assemblage of tattered fabrics and styles from various ports of call. Two well-used boarding axes hang from his belt, both showing evidence of being pitted by the sea air. While he seems to carry himself gracefully, even a lowly commoner might find him lacking in charm. Though he seems both friendly and generous to those around him, the litany of off color remarks, and crude jokes that fly from his tongue seems to give others an uneasy feeling.
Background:
"They say that being at sea for too long can do strange things to a man, ya know, changes him, turns the mind inside out, and before you know it, he's a bit mad. Some say it's the sun beatin' down on the decks, maybe the lack of fresh water, others blame strange humors in the sea air, or the bite of the rats, but I know the truth of it. The sea is a Lady, and she aint no mortal lady you see. Every sailor courts her, but aint a one of 'em that gets her comforts. She's cruel that way, demanding all a man has, to give him little in return. Ahh, but she's wise, she understands that she can't give a man the comforts he desires, so she turns a blind eye, and lets him sew his wild oats at port..."
"I'm going to interupt you right there if you don't mind, can I just get my fucking coin? I just want to get off this fucking boat, and see the fucking city, okay? Yeah, thanks." Aldwick said to Stale Carl, as he snatched the purse containing his pay from the man's hand. He tipped his hat to his bewildered crewmates, and stopped half-way down the gangway, and turned for a moment, "Carl.." he called to the old man, who looked to him expectantly, "I'm sorry, I almost forgot to tell you to fuck off!" he smiled as he made his way down the plank. His time aboard the Valentina was at an end. He'd served the full term of his contract, and was finally free of that cursed, leaky tub, and the dour crew of self-serving sycophants. He'd been fighting to protect a cargo, for a captain who could care less about his crew. He was done doing that. It wasn't like the stories his pap had told him about sailing. He wasn't going to gamble on another contract, if he wanted to sail aboard a ship done right, with a crew with true camaraderie, he'd have to build it himself.
A young, albeit weather-worn man dressed in an assemblage of tattered fabrics and styles from various ports of call. Two well-used boarding axes hang from his belt, both showing evidence of being pitted by the sea air. While he seems to carry himself gracefully, even a lowly commoner might find him lacking in charm. Though he seems both friendly and generous to those around him, the litany of off color remarks, and crude jokes that fly from his tongue seems to give others an uneasy feeling.
Background:
"They say that being at sea for too long can do strange things to a man, ya know, changes him, turns the mind inside out, and before you know it, he's a bit mad. Some say it's the sun beatin' down on the decks, maybe the lack of fresh water, others blame strange humors in the sea air, or the bite of the rats, but I know the truth of it. The sea is a Lady, and she aint no mortal lady you see. Every sailor courts her, but aint a one of 'em that gets her comforts. She's cruel that way, demanding all a man has, to give him little in return. Ahh, but she's wise, she understands that she can't give a man the comforts he desires, so she turns a blind eye, and lets him sew his wild oats at port..."
"I'm going to interupt you right there if you don't mind, can I just get my fucking coin? I just want to get off this fucking boat, and see the fucking city, okay? Yeah, thanks." Aldwick said to Stale Carl, as he snatched the purse containing his pay from the man's hand. He tipped his hat to his bewildered crewmates, and stopped half-way down the gangway, and turned for a moment, "Carl.." he called to the old man, who looked to him expectantly, "I'm sorry, I almost forgot to tell you to fuck off!" he smiled as he made his way down the plank. His time aboard the Valentina was at an end. He'd served the full term of his contract, and was finally free of that cursed, leaky tub, and the dour crew of self-serving sycophants. He'd been fighting to protect a cargo, for a captain who could care less about his crew. He was done doing that. It wasn't like the stories his pap had told him about sailing. He wasn't going to gamble on another contract, if he wanted to sail aboard a ship done right, with a crew with true camaraderie, he'd have to build it himself.
 | Aldwick Bastion |
