A one stop shop for character profiles, bios, and the like, for Tales from the Smuggler's Moon

Sarpents ye say?

Aye, I sup’ose there be tale now an again about sarpents in de waters. Big ‘ol sea beasts dat roil up out o’ de depths and be takin’ down any ship ‘nfortunate enough te be in der wake…

Nae? Nae monsters ye say?

Blowin’ de win’? Raisin’ whirleypools? Islands even? Sounds like dat be a force ye’d want on yer side. Ye be talkin’ ‘bout Navigators. An’ nae, I donna mean some sailor wit a compass. I mean does lads and lasses, although tis mer often den not a lassy, dat be blessed wit some ‘bility to tell de sea what to do, an have it listen.

Aye, I sup’ose dat they are linked wit sarpents now and then. I guessin’ tha’s bein’ to the de fact that many think their blessin’ come from the serpent god, Yig. But none warship ‘im no more, so I cannae say if there be a sprig o’ truth in dat.

Come te think o’ it there be a story I heard o’ not so long ago… but before dis here rum was brewed by de taste o’ it, so maybe longer den I’d care to admit… o’ a lassy navigator oot in the Iv’ry Coasts. In ehhh… Pilemire… er… Pikemare? Nae…. Pikebay… ehhh… sometin’ like dat at least. I heard dat de lassy was callin’ ‘erself a Sarpent. Gathered up quiet de followin’ o’ fishermen down der so I heard. Pro’lly jus some scheme to have ‘em pay fer protection ‘gainst the pirates dat be known to scully dem waters. Seein’ dat she twas rumored te have drowned wit de rest of ‘er crew when de was attacked by one o’ dem pirate boats I’d say she be a fake like mos’ de rest have been.

‘Course if she been smart she woulda given up on de fishermen an’ gone fer de big money. Gubernments be known fer hirin’ navigators, real good fer der navies an such. Kizmir and Rolland be known fer usin’ dem whilst de battle wit each ot’er, an anyone else de feel up te poking a stick at. I think dat fer awhile Kizmir mighta actually had a good ‘un, at least de was workin’ on blowin’ everyone else outta de waters… but den der luck changed an’ they’ve jus’ been ploddin’ long like everyone else now. So… maybe de didn’t.

Even better den the navies be private citizens, sometimes der pockets run much deeper. Some o’ de captains abouts here have hired dem one when things looked rough. I hear de demand a goodly sized pot o’ de spoils though, so it ain’t often worth it.

Person’lly? I donna think it’s ever worth it.

Ye ever hear o’ de Amythyst Reefs? An howbouts de little isle at de end o’ em? Amythyst Stop I thinkin’ they call it. Cannae get no boat to dat island, no matter how shallow yer ship rides. Cannae anchor off the coast neither an walk der, the reefs will tear ye feet te shreds after only a few steps. But ye ever ride pas’ it? See all de ships dat got tangled in dem reefs? Abandoned der… der ain’t no getting ‘em off once de get on der. Ye know why der so many of those bloody ships caught der?

Das righ’. Ye got yourself a map das o’er five years ol’… dem reefs and certainly dat isle ain’t on it. Use’d te be clear deep sailin’ der. I hear dat there’s one o’ dem navigators on dat island… Dat she was captured by de orcs someways. Heard they did many a nasty thing to her too. Messed her up good, ain’t the beaut she once was, nor nearly as sane… heard that she put dat reef der, an the isle to escape. They be the first to get stuck on it, died out der too, likely hauntin’ it still. But she got to the island somehows, and is livin’ out what is left o’ her life der, alone…

Jus be what I hearin’. Yer de one askin’ de questions. But I know one thing fer certain… I not be wanting no Navigatin’ Sarpent on any boat o’ mine… dangerous if ye ask me.

* * * * *

Name: Davian Passat

Age: Early thirties

Appearance: Davian stands about 5’8”. She is slender and has a small bone structure. Her hair is long and sun bleached blonde in color, falling in waves midway down her back, she usually wears it down or tied back with a simple bandana. Her eyes are a deep blue color. Like many on the sea she wears a deep tan although currently it has faded to a mellow golden color.

Distinguishing Marks: While very beautiful she does carry memento’s from her past on her body. A few scars mar her skin most notably of those are: an inch long line running across her right temple, a pattern of circular burn marks etched into her right bicep, and a long jagged line dancing from her left ankle to her knee, this one was certainly bad and still bears traces of tender pink skin common to wounds that have not fully healed. She also bears a tattoo that runs the length of her left arm: a serpent or snake. It’s head rests on the top of her left hand, eyes staring fixedly on anyone who cares to look at it. The rest of it’s spiney body coils up her arm, and the end of its tail curls up on her shoulder blade. The snake is inked in a green color and is her most distinguishing mark.

Attire: As she came aboard the Smuggler’s Moon with naught but rags she is currently dressed in one of Captain Hawks own shirts, tied about her waist with a belt with a dagger dangling off it.

Possessions: None

History: Davian was recently rescued from the Rapier. From her treatment there and the captains logs it seems that she had been captured by them in order to claim a reward from a rather rich citizen of Freeport, Vernon Wiles. Exactly what Wiles wants with her, or what she was doing before the Rapier caught up with her is yet to be determined. She seems to be very comfortable at sea, and claims to be married.

Played by: Merideth

“ Jer’cho ‘awkes... Jer'cho 'awkes...

Aye, I’ve ‘eard th’ name. Looks a human but drinks an’ fights like an orc, tha’ one does.

Whatcha wan’ ‘im fer? Cuz if yer lookin’ fer a berth outta here, it’s like th’ man c’n find ye a slip on th’ Moon, no warries an’ I’ll send ye right on yer way to ‘im, aye? But if it be trouble yer lookin’ fer outta th’ lad, I’d be warnin’ ye ta think diff’rent-like, cuz he’d be just’s ‘appy ta give ye tha’, too, an’ ye wouldnae be likin’ th’ outcome as well’s t’other, I g’rantee…” -- overheard in a dockside tavern in Freeport

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Name: Jericho Hawkes

Age: Mid-thirties or thereabouts as best he can figure

Appearance: Jericho is tall and solidly built, standing 6’2” and weighing in at just over 13 stone (about 190 lbs, or so); hard muscled and solid but not bulky. He is obviously human but his exact heritage is difficult to discern (he has mentioned from time to time that his parents were from Thalburg in the Ivory Ports). His hair is a somewhat wild spill of dark, coffee-colored locks (interspersed with seemingly random braided and beaded tendrils) that hangs past his shoulders and may hang farther if it weren’t so often restrained by the bandanas tied about Jericho’s head. His rather scruffy looking mustache and goatee are the same dark color as the hair on his head but are not worn long, braided, or beaded in any fashion. His skin has been tanned and weathered by years on the sea and, his eyes, often squinted by sun and spray, are a warm cinnamon color that sparks with an almost glittery golden light when he’s amused but can just as easily go black and cold when he’s angered.

Distinguishing Marks: Jericho is marked by numerous blemishes that tell the tale of his life – countless faded and pale lines across his back speak to past acquaintances with the lash and the crudely branded symbol on his right shoulder lets it be known that the whip which carved those lines belonged to a slaver. There are a number of other scars, great and small, old and new, here and there, that denote an unabashed acquaintance with violence of other sorts, as well. Aside from these and the distinctive manner in which he wears his hair, the only other truly notable thing is a “birthmark,” vaguely reminiscent of a dragon in flight, which marks the back of his neck. This dragon is often hidden behind the spill of his hair and the tails of the scarves it’s so often bound in, but, on occasion, it can be seen and is, perhaps, the one blemish that Cap’n Hawkes doesn’t have a story for.

Attire: Jericho’s typically wears dark colored breeches (his favored pair are actually striped a deep purple and black), the legs of which disappear into the tops of knee-high boots of supple black leather. About his waist is cinched a broad belt from which his blades are usually slung (and under which, from time to time, pistols are tucked) and above this, a loose tunic of a lightish color (calling it white wouldn’t be precise). He has also been known to wear a leather jerkin over all of this, on occasion, and customarily dons bracers of that same tooled leather on his forearms. It’s not unusual, aboard ship, for Jericho to go without his boots (bare feet are always surer on wet decks than boots are, after all) and it’s almost as common, particularly in warmer seasons, for him to go shirtless, as well.

Possessions: His most prized “possession” is, of course, Smuggler’s Moon, herself – although he technically believes that the ship belongs to his crew as much as it does to him. There is always a long-knife hanging from his belt and his favorite cutlass (which is more appropriately described as some sort of exotic scimitar) is never far from reach if it is not also slung from his belt or a baldric. Jericho also owns a pair of finely crafted pistols which he acquired from the Moon’s previous captain after having taken the ship. He seldom carries these while striding his own decks and would prefer to go blade-to-blade or hand-to-hand in a fight but doesn’t hesitate to carry or use them when the situation calls for it.

History/Present:
Early Years
Jericho Hawkes was born at sea.

His father, Jaherys Hawkes, was a successful merchant captain from the Ivory Ports who, having promised his wife, Jeyne, a trip to far-off Hamunaptra when next his ships sailed for that distant and exotic land, never expected her to be with child, let alone so close to bringing that child into the world, when that time for that trip came. Jaherys, of course, tried to convince Jeyne that there would be many more opportunities for her to see Hamunaptra and that the wiser course of action would be for her to remain in Thalburg where the impending birth of their child would be far less risky. Jeyne was astrong-willed and stubborn lass, though, and reminded her husband that Hamunaptra was a long sail and, should she do as he asked, their first born would be well older than his first year when his father returned and that the next float for those far-flung shores might not come for a year or more after that… No, she would come with him on this trip. She was sure the babe would wait until they managed a wayport on the journey, anyway. So it was that Jeyne Hawkes, large with child, came to accompany her husband aboard the Swan of Vallos when it set sail from Thalburg, Hamunaptra-bound… and so it was that, only three days later, Jaherys’ fleet found itself at anchor north and west of the Wyvern Isles as Jeyne gave birth.

The Swan, perhaps, hadn’t needed to anchor in order for the Lady Hawkes to have brought her Captain’s son in to the world and, it could be argued that the delay in the voyage was caused by little more than the Captain's desire to have the ship "at ease" for his wife's comfort while she delivered his son... “A day becalmed is little off our schedule, lads,” Jaherys had said, “The Swan skips the waves like a pebble on a pond. She’ll give us back the day we lose, Badessey bless us.” The Swan of Vallos was indeed a fast ship , perhaps the fastest to have sailed from the Ivory Ports in its time, and with the fair winds that would have followed that day, she would have more than recouped from the unexpected time at rest. Unfortunately, the delay happened to set the Swan in the sights of an orc pirate crew sailing from the Bone Lands and, before she managed to get under full sail, Hawkes’ ship was overtaken and beset by Bloodtusk. Jericho was born as his father and most of the ship's crew died. The handful of women and children aboard (along with a few surviving crew) were taken as "slaves and prizes" for the Bloodtusk’s crew.

Why the infant Jericho wasn’t given over to the sea or the orcish cook-pots is unclear; whether it was because Jeyne managed to conceal the newborn, somehow, or made some hideous deal with Captain Krommush to spare her son matters little in the end. Regardless of the hows and whys of it, Jericho’s earliest years and first memories were forged on the decks of that orcish ship. Being a human child in the company of orcs, hobgoblins, and the like, those years weren’t exactly gentle. In fact, like those others who had been spared death on the Swan of Vallos, Jericho’s life aboard the Bloodtusk equivocated to little more than the miserable and brutal existence of a slave. Despite whatever deal his mother had made with Krommush, Jericho was pressed into service aboard the ship as soon as he was able to walk and, as is common aboard such vessels, service came with humiliation, beatings, and worse. As miserable an existence as it was, though, life aboard the Bloodtusk also planted the seeds of the toughness and cunning that are, perhaps, the larger parts of Jericho’s character to this day. Another of the larger facets of Jericho’s personality, tolerance, was rough-hewn into him following the birth of his brother.

By his best reckoning, it was in Jericho’s fifth year that, after having been raped by Captain Krommush (again), his mother gave birth to Khashnagob (or, simply "Khash"). Being the half-brother of the orc Captain's son improved his treatment aboard the orc ship; though it was not by much, it was enough to make a difference, opening Jericho’s eyes to the fact that, despite the sometimes misguided ways in which they went about it, it seemed that all folk (be they human, orc, or otherwise) simply wanted to be free to live their lives and that they all had the capacity for compassion of some sort… That realization went as far to improving Jericho’s outlook on life as the improved treatment among the Bloodtusk’s crew had. It wasn’t long thereafter, though, that whatever understanding had come of his brother’s birth became a moot point aboard the orc ship. Khash was less than a year old when the Bloodtusk was set upon by privateers operating out of Freeport...

Most aboard the Bloodtusk, including Jericho’s mother, were killed in that assault. A few were captured and brought aboard the Freeport vessel (among them, Jericho Hawkes carrying his infant half-orc brother) before the orc ship was scuttled. On the voyage to Freeport, the prisoners from Bloodtusk were “interrogated” and, based on those interviews, categorized and separated – the lot who had obviously been willing crew under Krommush kept in irons and relegated to the hold; those who had been pressed into service or kept as slaves were given the opportunity to join the privateer’s crew and, if they declined, were still allowed rations and a place to sleep on the decks until the ship put in at Freeport where they would be put ashore to find their own fates. Jericho and Khash weren’t offered a place on the crew, of course, and, since Jericho was viciously protective of his baby-brother, they weren’t allowed to freely roam the decks, either; instead, they were confined to a small cabin in the forecastle until they arrived in Freeport and thereupon were taken by the quartermaster to the Star of the Sea orphanage.

Jericho fought as viciously in the orphanage as he had on the ship to keep from being separated from his brother, too. Perhaps more so for, at the Star of the Sea, there seemed to always be someone who wanted to ‘adopt’ one of the boys but not the other – a hobgoblin wizard from Bloodsalt had come for Khash, at one point, and a tavern keeper from the Warehouse District for Jericho at another; both left empty-handed (and with a bit less skin) when Jericho violently refused to have either his brother or himself “sold.” The Hawkes brothers weren’t long for the Star of the Sea… they tolerated it only long enough for Khash to have grown enough to walk on his own and, in the middle of one foggy night, ‘escaped’ from the orphanage and disappeared into the labyrinthine streets of Freeport. There the Hawkes brothers raised themselves as best they could, begging and stealing and fighting and running and hiding, until Jericho, landsick and yearning for the sea, decided that Khash was of an age that both of them might find their way aboard one ship or another. So it was that Jericho and Khash Hawkes once more found their way back to sea. The brothers served (always together) aboard a number of different ships (merchantmen, privateers, and pirate and smuggler’s ships alike) in the following years and earned themselves decent reputations as sailors and fairly fearsome ones as fighters. Both of them were happy with their lot. On occasion, they joked and dreamed about one day having a ship and crew of their own but they likely would have been content to ship-hop for the rest of their lives and never expected such a thing to ever happen… and the truth of it is, when they did finally get a ship of their own, it was almost by accident.

Rise of the Smuggler’s Moon
The ever-shifting population of Eortis rests at five hundred or so lost souls, with a hundred swabs arriving every month to make up for the three to five that die every day. Few pass of from natural causes, unless you count a dagger in the back as “natural.” Sanitation is non-existent and you get to eat only what food you can catch. There is a grog shop owned by a retired brigand who answers to the name of LeVacher. He isn’t a big believer in credit and he places a great deal of faith in his twinned double-barreled pistols’ ability to keep his customers from getting unruly. There are no brothels, though there are a number of individuals who will gladly accept food or coin for sexual favors. Boarding and sleeping accommodations range from the beach to the rare unused cave. No honest ship ever docks at Eortis. The only way off is a pirate’s berth, which brings us to the beginning of the tale as to how Jericho Hawkes came into possession of the ship now known as the Smuggler’s Moon.

A few years ago, Jericho and his brother, Khash, found themselves marooned on Eortis after the trade galley they had been working on sank in a storm. They had been exposed to the island’s charms just long enough to have made a few acquaintances (most notably, a lovely half-elven bard named Saercyn Willow) and begin to go stir-crazy.

One night in LaVacher’s, Jericho, Khash, and Willow were half-drunkenly/half-seriously talking about trying to fashion a raft in order to get off the wretched island when Antoine Boissiere, a thug of dubious reputation, approached them with an offer. Antoine and his brother, Gerard, needed to swiftly acquire a few hands to help them deal with a windfall situation that had just come to their attention; a ship had been forced to berth in one of the islands tiny coves due to a recent hurricane and it was “ripe for the plucking.” They had canoes and some swabs, Antoine had said, but not enough experienced men to get the job done proper… Would Jericho and his mates be interested in a share of the prize and a trip off of this rock?

Desperate to put Eortis behind them, Jericho and Khash readily agreed to Antoine’s proposal. Willow agreed, too, but had some concerns (legitimate ones, at that) that Boisierre’s offer was just a little too convenient. So, while Antoine went to meet with Gerard, she and the Hawkes boys set about checking into the Boisierres’ past. They learned that Gerard was a bit of a lout but a leader of successful raids. Antoine, it seemed, had a distinct kinship with sharks and a wise hand wouldn’t show a back to the man. Neither of them were regarded as liars, though, and the rumor was that they needed experienced hands because their last raid, while successful, had gotten a lot of men killed. Those that survived had no complaint with their shares, though… and it seemed that the real truth behind the Boisierre’s desperation for hands on the double was simple: they believed that it was no mere passing merchant ship that lied in the cove, but a supply ship from the Ivory Ports. Such a prize was worth many risks, of course… including bringing on untried men.

Gerard, while an obnoxious individual, seemed to have a decent plan worked out. They had two long canoes and a pair of hourglasses to coordinate timing. Jericho, Khash, Willow and some of Boisierre’s swabs would take one of the canoes and row just beyond the cove while Antoine, Gerard, and the rest of their men would bring their canoe east of the harbor mouth. At four bells, as indicated by their hourglasses, they would row in and simultaneously attack both sides of the anchored ship, hopefully taking them by surprise in the pre-dawn hours. Jericho and his mates made a few suggestions where the plan was concerned (to which Gerard readily agreed in most cases) and set off soon thereafter to put it into action. It wasn’t long after that Jericho and crew discovered the reason why Gerard lost so many hands on his raids was simple: he didn’t show up on time.

The canoe carrying Jericho, Khash, and Willow reached the ship (named Isabella at the time) on time and alone, the Boisierres and their men nowhere in sight, and, in order to storm the ship before the alarm could be raised, could ill afford to wait. So, with muttered prayers or signs of luck, Jericho and crew boarded with little hesitation. Luck and prayers were favored that night, it seems; most of the Isabella’s crew was drunk or asleep when Jericho and his mates climbed on to the deck… it was a precious second for the Hawkes’ but, still, only a second… They were discovered quickly enough… shouts of alarm and pistol shots cracked the stillness of the morning dark… the clashing of steel replaced gunfire for a moment and Isabella’s alarm bell sounded. Jericho and his lot were outnumbered two to one by the merchantman’s crew already and the clarion call of that bell swayed odds even further from their favor as the rest of Isabella’s crew roused themselves and joined the fray. Gunfire erupted again when the ship’s Captain dove from his cabin, blunderbuss roaring to blast bloody chunks from two of Jericho’s swabs who had the misfortune of being closest to the man’s door… Isabella’s captain – a man named De Sosos, they would later learn – brought pistols to bear, then, and Khash (who had been charging the Captain even before the two salts died) roared as a lead ball tore through his shoulder… Jericho kicked a man over the gunwales and cut his way through two more trying to get to his brother and, in the doing, found himself blade to blade with De Sosos.

De Sosos’ skill with a rapier was considerable, no doubt. So much so that Jericho could pay attention to nothing else… he didn’t hear the gunfire resume when Gerard’s canoe finally showed up some three minutes later… he didn’t hear the tide of the battle around him shift in favor of his brigands again… He did hear Khash howling madly when DeSosos had him on the retreat across the quarterdeck, though... So did Captain De Sosos… and that was all the distraction Jericho had needed. One spinning slash of his cutlass took DeSosos’ sword hand and the next took his head. The merchant captain’s body hit the deck with a wet thud and the next sounds Jericho heard were those of steel clattering to the decks and pleas for mercy as Isabella’s crew surrendered… He was leaning breathlessly on the gunwales, assessing his wounds and searching for Khash and Willow among the ebbing chaos… he found Khash closing on an overly-exuberant Gerard Boisierre – he and Antoine were celebrating chortling out orders as if they had taken the ship themselves.

“Yer a scurvy cuttlefish o’ a coward, G’rard,” Khash had growled, lumbering menacingly toward the Boisierres as Jericho made his way to the maindeck.

“A mistake,” Gerard had tried to laugh from behind a mirthless grin, “A slight difference in the hourglasses we used to coordinate our efforts. We paddled as fast as we could once we heard the shots.”

“A bloody lie,” Jericho sneered in answer to that, sidling up beside Khash, then. “I reckon me wee brother’s got th’ right o’ it, mate. Th’ fightin’ was all but done ere ye slithered aboard, aye? There be more’n a slight discrep’ncy…”

“You dare call me a liar?” Gerard looked beyond incredulous, his face reddening with embarrassment and purpling from rage at the same time.

“A liar,” Jericho nodded, eyeing Boisierre’s hand as it eased toward the hilt of his blade, “aye…”

“An’ a coward, Jarek,” Khash added, “don’ fergit ‘e’s a lily-livered coward.”

“An’ a coward,” Jericho affirmed, not taking his eyes from Gerard, “Be ye denyin’ ye ain’t?”

Gerard was denying it, of course… so vehemently, in fact, that he insisted on an immediate duel to answer the ‘slight to his honor’ (as if he had any to begin with). Space was cleared on the deck, lanterns were hung for proper lighting, and the duel commenced.

Gerard Boisierre proved to be almost as good with a blade as Captain DeSosos had been… almost… The tide of the battle ebbed and flowed restlessly between the combatants for a long while – Gerard pressing, initially, only to misstep and find himself forced to retreat in the face of Jericho’s torrent of flashing steel ¬– and the cheering of the crowd, too, rode that same tide with most of Bosierre’s men lending their hoots and hollers to whichever of the duelers was winning at the moment. As the fight wore on, taking its toll on Jericho and Gerard alike, the crowd seemed to press closer in hopes, it seemed, of forcing a mistake from one or the other that would bring it all to an end.

It hadn’t taken much longer. Both men were weary but it was Gerard who succumbed to it first. Following a wild, sweeping slash that not only missed its mark but left him wide open, Boisierre took a kick to the chest that jarred his own blade from his hand and sent him reeling toward the gunwales. Jericho had seized the momentum and was advancing on him, cutlass poised to deal a final and fatal blow, when Gerard drew a pistol and leveled it at Hawkes…

… he never managed to pull the trigger… Khash, Willow, and Jericho all put blades in the man before his finger could so much as twitch.

“A liar, a coward, an’ a cheat, t’boot,” Khash grumbled as Gerard died, “I tol’ ye, Jarek…”

“Aye, Khash-mate,” Jericho breathed, nodding to his brother and wrapping an arm around Willow’s shoulders, “so ye did…”

“I suppose,” Willow smiled, then, “that means the ship is yours, my Captain…” Her honeyed eyes turned pointedly to Antoine, “Unless there’s another who might care to challenge the claim?”

Antoine raised his hands in submission; “Nay… Gerard deserved what he got… the ship is yours…”

Played by: Eol Fefalas

Name: Khashnagob "Khash" Hawkes

Age: Early thirties- ~five less than Jarek

Appearance: Where many assume Jericho to be a strong built man, looking at Khash often makes onlookers nervous. Standing 6'10'' he has easily shadowed over his brother for many years now, and he's the build and muscles to match (easily around 210 lbs); he's obviously strong, and it is no wonder considering the life the two brothers have shared. Dark, jet-black hair hangs in dreadlocks atop his head, held back from his black eyes with a simple bandana.

Distinguishing Marks: Khash is a storybook of marks, each one a reminder of either the harsh youth or the misadventures he has shared with Jericho; shot, stabbed, and bruised on multiple occasions he continues to be in good health. Most noticeable are the cuts along his arms from the many attempts at warding off enemies with his fists, and the missing tip to his left ear that offsets the hooped earring on the tip of the right.

Attire: Tending for style similar to his older brother, but without the finesse. Khash is often seen in simple coloured breeches, most typically a dark brown (and torn in places), which tuck into dark black boots. He often has a simple grey shirt on, again in similar design to Jericho's, but with the sleeves rolled up (if they are still there); whether or not he tucks it into his flat-black belt is anyone's guess. He has a sturdy leather vest he wears on occasion, and an old cloak for times when it isn't the best to be seen.

Possessions: Nothing matter's more to Khash than his brother; aside from Jarek he doesn't really need anything else. He does have a few signature items however. A black dagger sits tucked into the left of his belt for utility- and when he needs to throw something sharp. A heavy, well-used, mace hangs from a simple loop at his right hip, the flanges a darkened metal and the grip scarlet leather. More than one foe has died with a dumbstruck expression on his face when Khash brought his favorite weapon to a blade-fight.

History: ((Fer da basics ref'r ta da cap'n))

Why Khash and blades do not mix. ...to come

Played by: Tuned_Out

Name: Saercyn Willow, known to the crew of Smuggler’s Moon as Willow or Will

Age: Early Forties

Appearance: Saercyn displays a bit more of the elvish side of her blood then she does her human side. Nevertheless, she can’t pass for either. Her height is at 5’6”, and her medium body structure shows well toned muscle connected to a life of work. She keeps her sandy blonde hair bobbed short just below her chin, and dark honey colored eyes dominate her face. The only true human feature is her slightly hawk nose, which is how her true heritage is revealed. She is also left handed.

Distinguishing Marks: While not usually noticeable, Willow’s body shows a couple of ugly previous encounters. The right side of her torso show scars of deep scratch wounds, and it’s apparent that her upper left arm has been flayed open a time or two. Whether this was from miscalculation or a blocking maneuver for more vital areas is up to speculation for most of the crew. She also claims to have a tattoo, but it’s located somewhere the crew will never see unless they are really good. Again, no one is really sure if she serious or not.

Attire: Attempting to be true to her bardic nature, Willow wears a scarlet shirt in favor of the traditional marine colors. Her pants, or cropped knickers as is usually the case, are light brown, and she goes shoeless while she is aboard. She usually is bareheaded, but swears one of these days she’s going to get a hat of some kind, with a feather, and maybe a big pin…

Possessions: Rose, a well loved, well cared for fiddle, plus a rig for accessibility on the ship and a case rig for carrying it in town. Along with the bow for her instrument, she also carries a light rapier, and what she calls a ‘tool’ knife strapped to her right leg.

History/Present: Willow has been aboard the Smuggler’s Moon since the time when she changed from the Isabella. Much of her history is put to the wayside; telling her crewmates that her beginnings were less then exciting, and then by diverting them with a story of someone whose history was. Her job on the ship is plain: act as ship's sea shanty singer, keep the crew entertained and placated while on long voyages, plus she’s fairly handy in a sword fight. There seems to be an additional task that she performs for the Captain, but by the creepy nature of her seeing the truth of things, it isn’t too hard to guess for the quick witted. Will’s sense of humor is light hearted and crude, and the majority of the crew has yet to see her loose her cool.

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Song Credits

• Gaerlin Legolas JRR Tolkien from The Lord of the Rings, translated into Sindarin by Ryszard Derdzinski Translation found here. M.J. Holmes wrote music for the original poem (along with several other Tolkien poems), and the sheet music and be found here.Funnily enough, someone transcribed it to use on the Lord of the Rings Online, and recorded a video of it.Music Video w/o words here
  • Posted in Possession is nine tenths of the law by Merideth
  
  
• Long Long Journey Enya Music Video
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• Top of Cork Road Irish Jig
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• You're a Liar Traditional Bawdy Song, done in several variations
  Lyrics found here
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• Whiskey Johnny Long Drag Sea Shanty
  Music Video This is cobbed together from several different versions since I thought it should be extra long under the circumstances. The music video has the tune right though. ^_^
  
  Posted in Actually, yet to be posted. I just didn't want to forget.

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Played by: Celeste

Name: Vleryn

Age: late twenties

Appearance: Rugged, tanned man with black hair kept short, yet only roughly maintained.

Distinguishing Marks: A tattoo of a black rose coiled around a dagger, the flower blooming at the hilt on the inside of his left forearm.

Attire: Vleryn dresses true to his heritage. Depending on his mood however, he may dress in the colorful garb normally associated with gypsy people, or various shades of browns of blacks and grays. The style of his clothing seldom changes however, and he always seems to have daggers hiden away somewhere.

Possessions:
History:
((More to come as the character develops.))

Played by: NPC

To say that the Dwarven society is based on rules is like saying pirates enjoy the occasional drink. That is, a profound understatement that doesn't come close to describing reality. Dwarves are born into rules. They live for rules. They die by the rules.

Nearly every dwarf ever born has lived this way, and never had cause to complain.

....And then there is Askurt Maast.

Readily apparent ever since he was young, he was different. As he grew to manhood he stayed that way. And while he never broke any of his clan's precious rules, he did the next worst thing: he questioned them.

This stemmed, perhaps, from a rule thrust upon him nearly at birth. He had been, as all dwarf males are, part of an arranged marriage.

Many humans will roll there eyes at this point, mumbling under their breath about the cliche of an unwanted arranged marriage, and the predictable drama that must have been this dwarf's life. Being shortsighted and judgemental as humans are wont to be, they fail to comprehend the difference between the arranged marriages of human nobility, and the arranged marriages that are, truthfully, at the very root of dwarven culture. To even talk about walking away from such a thing, is as taboo to the Dwarves as murder. Perhaps moreso.

But walk away he did. After spending some decades learning the ins and outs of cannonry (and indeed, contributing to some of the newer designs and innovations), he packed up his few belongings, and made for the nearest dock, setting sail before anyone could find him.

Unlike most dwarves, Askurt Maast could not abide by all these rules. A rule to sit down, a rule to stand up, a rule to eat, a rule to sleep.... the list went on and on. Askurt went of search in something that he could not name, but knew he needed.

He was to find it, some years later, in the town of Freeport.

A dwarven gun master was always in demand, but Askurt Maast found himself shipless. He had sailed with 7 captains to date, and found no ship to his taste. The cannons of his people were pieces of art. Tools of destruction, to be sure, but art nonetheless. And as an artist, Askurt was passionate in his views of how and when they should be used. Seven captains had disagreed with him. It was hard for a principled man to find work in a pirate port. Doubly so for a pricipled dwarf, who might have been seen as rebellious among his people, but amongs humans was nearly as steadfast and immovable as a reef.

He continued his trade, building and repairing cannons for those captains he deemed worthy, although neccessity had forced him, bit by bit, to lower his standards. He had given up hope of a seafaring life, and was considering returning to his people, ready to accept any punishment or ridcule they would mete him.

And then he met Jericho Hawkes.

A pirate in name only, a man guided by principles. Different than Askurt's, to be sure, but just as firm. He offered his services one last time, and Hawkes accepted. His expertise with cannons quickly had the crew trained to be one of the most quick and accurate... and deadly.... that sailed from Freeport.

And so it was that Askurt Maaast became a longstanding member of Jericho's crew. Although he took issue to the half-orc at first, he eventually grew to to trust him. Askurt would never be truly at ease around him, but he could at least respect Khash. He argued incessantly with Willow, to noone's surprise. The Dwarves' distaste for humans and elves was well known. However, as time passed there was less and less sting behind his words, and he now considers the young half-elf something of a kid sister, although he won't admit it to anyone, even himself.

Askurt Maaast found what he was looking for aboard the Smuggler's Moon, although he still couldn't quite put a name to it. A life of his own. A trade he enjoyed. Even a "family" he had chosen.

Askurt Maaast, though he didn't realize it, had found freedom.


Name:Askurt Maast

Age: 87

Appearance: A bit shorter than the average dwarf perhaps, but even stockier. His complexion was at one time light, but years on the sea have given him a deep tan, although not so deep as the rest of the crew. His hair is a dark brown, and his beard kept shorter than other dwarf's. No dwarf, after all, wants to experience a beard fire, and being the cannonmaster...

Distinguishing Marks: Discolorations and scars all over his hands, as well as an interetingly placed one on the tip of his nose. It is assumed they were garnered when Askurt was still a fresh hand before the cannon.

Attire: Askurt dresses the same every day: Plain gray shirt and dark trousers that disappear into his boots, which are black and of obviously dwarven make. Everything that he owns is faintly discolored with powderburns, except for the boots, which he keeps well in order.

Possessions: Other than the few clothes he keeps, Askurt owns a fine set of leather armor, which he carefully maintains so as to be presntable should the occasion call for it, although he only wears it on ship when about to engage in battle. He carries on him at all time twin hand axes, his weapon of choice not for thier lehtality, but for their utility outside of battle. He is often heard to say, "If something is only good for one thing, it is as good as useless, whether be it steel, man, or beast."

History: See above.


(((It should be noted that while none of Askurt's history is hidden or secret, its not known to anyone but himself, although the Captain and Willow may know bits.)))

Played by: Chessicfayth

Name: Lyriandel Evermoon, aka Lyri, or "Damnable mouth"

Age: 26

Appearance: Having spent the majority of her life working the fields with her foster family, Lyri's 5' 7" build is well-toned, with a creamy bronzed complexion. Her waist length auburn hair is worn loose, and decorated with two long, thin braids at her temples. Lyri's eyes are expressive, showing not only her youthful exuberance at life but also her emotions, and are a vibrant spring-green.

Distinguishing Marks: Typical childhood scars: Small scar on left knee from an unfortunate pitchforking accident, small bovine-teeth scar on right arm from a calf bite, several almost imperceptible scars on both knees from various falls. There are, however, three small round scars in a line on her abdomen, from having fallen on a pitchfork.

Attire: Lyri's clothing is the typical eccelctic look of the poor, that is to say anything she can find. Presently, she prefers her teal vest with vivid violet silk ribbon edging, over a once-white thigh length tunic and rawhide laces that she tucks into a pair of dark green leather breeches. Her black sash belt with purple and gold tassels and fringe hide a metal belted dagger and pouch, which is occasionally filled with a few gold piece, bits of colored yarn, and pretty shells. She also managed to find a well-fitting pair of knee high soft soled leather boots that lace quite prettily, the laces having been replaced with various colored bright ribbons.

Possessions: Very few. A dagger and belt she was able to liberate from a drunkard at a tavern one evening, a pack with a length of rope, a flint and steel, and a small box containing a necklace reportedly belonging to her elvish mother, and a ring that may or may not have belonged to her human father. She also keeps two books from home, a flute she is teaching herself to play, and a change of clothes.

History/Present: Lyri's elvish mother and human father were killed by bandits at so early an age she does not remember them, or the attack. Clerics from the village they were near found the girl and sent her to a lovely couple in Hexworth, where Lyri was treated well and educated. However, a farmer's life is quite dull for a young and beautiful half-elf, and after her daily chores, she could be found out back in the fields, practicing swordplay, acting out scenes of battle heard from travelling bards, or generally daydreaming about being anywhere but Foster's Grove.

At twenty-four, an adventuring party with a bard came through town with stories of pirates and seamonsters, fortune and glory, adventure and romance. It was inevitable, really - Lyri packed her bags that night and sent off with them.

Unfortunately, her poor impulse control and constant questions took the party into many hairy situation, and they parted ways after several months, though not before she was able to pick up many skills. Left to her own devices, Lyri procured a horse (well, i suppose that sounds better than stealing) and made her way to a famed distant port, there to seek her fortune.

Presently, she resides in a back room of a tavern where she waits tables while waiting for fortune and glory. She's about sick of the scene, and is ready to make her mark in the world, which is hard to do from a tavern.


Played by: Lady Dark

((Bio in the works))

Played by: Dragonblood

((Bio in the works))

Played by: Skye

Jean Gusto was not your stereotypical deckhand he was taller than most, with a slight figure and feline hands. Most deck workers had hardened hands, the friction of the ropes and rough decks saw to that. Jean had styled hair, it had short sides with a long matted top to hold its shape, his face was that of a land which most have little knowledge of... Kizmir. His red eyes gave this heritage away, they changed with each emotion that spread across his face, they blazed when he was angry and became a dull colour when he was sad. He had travelled most of the world, freelancing on different vessels and on different oceans, he acted as an uneducated labour worker, reality was much different he was a well educated man who had studied at the greatest college in all of Kizmir. He was looking for something away from his studies, he wanted adventure, danger and most importantly an escape.

The land of Kizmir was a dangerous one, but being an Azhar was much more dangerous in the other kingdoms of the world. Jean sought refuge in Freeport, a society which accepted any culture. It was a cold winter when he escaped from Silverus, a town in Ivory Ports. He was imprisoned there by Prince Attis Galba, although Jean himself couldn't see any reason for the imprisonment the prince and his subjects clearly did. The charge he was deemed guilty of was spying, and to be fair they did have evidence. Jean put it down to personal curiosity, he snooped around the palace and the city streets eavesdropping on nobles. He picked up a lot of information and thought he could make a fortune telling his lord, the sultan of Kizmir.

His flight was untimely, but there was never going to be a more prosperous opportunity. He fled from the Princes dungeon, his emotions swirling, he chose the docks to be his best bet. He sprinted through the empty streets, the wind blew hard at his back, pushing him forwards and rain pelted down on the cobbles beside him. Within a few minutes he was drenched and was struggling to will himself to the docks shivering in the cold. A stray dog darted across an alley way and his head turned sharply to his left, his heart stopped and thoughts of the torture that would result in his capture flickered in his mind.

Finally Jean reached the top of a rise and took a deep breath, partially because of his exhaustion, but mainly because the ocean was in sight he was nearly there.

A lot of ships were docked, and Jean didn't recognise any of them. One ship however stood out, it was a traditional Kizmirian Ship. Jean looked through the pelting rain, jumping as a bolt of lightning cracked on a rooftop a few metres away, he saw the name... Rapier. A pretty name he thought, there were two guards, but they would be disposed of easily. A wry smile creased his lips, he hadn't had the thrill of danger in quite some time.

Jean crept stealthily, crouching almost to all fours, he drew himself up against the side of the hull, listening for the impending footsteps of the watchman. The deck creaked above his head and tapping sounds followed off to the left of him. Now was the time to go, quickly he jumped, his fingertips searching for the deck above. It was slippery but he held on, he shifted his hand until his wrists were on the deck. There he eased himself up, his muscles ached, he had tried to stay fit during the long dark weeks in the dungeon but a lack of nutrition had left him weakened. Nevertheless using sheer will he got onto the deck, he laid flat, listening and looking for the two watchmen. He heard voices and a sloshing of liquid, Jean couldn't believe his luck. They were drunk and clearly arguing.
“The storm is the result of the gods, they frown upon us!” The first man said in a hushed tone.
“Don't be stupid man, weather is weather. The gods don't care for it” The second man replied.
“Desecrate the gods at your own wish, Brice. But do not include me.” The mans face had registered shock at the blatant blasphemy.
“C'mon lets get back to our watch if Cap'n deHertsbergh catches us, we're dead men!”

It was time to move, Jean had got caught up in the two sailors conversation. Sliding across the deck on his front Jean squirmed towards what appeared to be the entrance to 'down below.' Peering down there was some steps, and apparently no voices apart from the snoring of the crew swinging in their hammocks. The smell was rancid and burnt his nostrils as he climbed down the ladder leading to the lower deck, he moved carefully and was not sure what to do next. He had to make a choice, confront the captain? Or act as a crew member? Both were flawed, but he had to choose. There was little option, surely every captain knew almost all the crew. Jean headed for the main cabin.

Jean fiddled with the lock, using the tools he used in the dungeon of Prince Attis. He heard the familiar click, took a moment to muster his courage and entered the room. “Captain de Hertsbergh, I need to talk. As a fellow Azhar I am sure you can understand-”
“Guards!” The captain barked.
“Now now, captain there is no need for that.” Said Jean calmly.
There eyes locked to the pistol resting on the desk opposite the bed. Quickly they both jumped, Jean had the benefit however he was standing, whereas the captain was laying down. Inevitably Jean got there first, and in one smooth action he grabbed the pistol and cocked the trigger, aiming between the eyes of the captain.
“I ask but one thing noble captain, I want to be the lowliest deckscrubber.” A plan was forming in Jeans mind. “I want to be treated no different than anybody else, I just ask for you to let me on your ship, feed me, cloth me and pay me. Now I know that your sorts are not trustworthy so I could always kill you and take captaincy of this ship. But I am no Captain.”

A stern look crossed Jeans face, trying to show no fear.

DeHertsbergh laughed, “You've got balls sonny, aye I'll give you that. Come aboard ya useless maggit.” The captain rose then, clapping a bemused Jean on his shoulders.

Jean hid out on the Rapier for the next few days, waiting for the storm to end. He traveled on the ship for the next few months, doing basic labour and menial tasks. He gained respect of crew members and the captain quickly after saving the ship three times. Once was through bad weather, Jean had seen the storm coming and advised the captain to change course, the captain had argued at first, the best catches of merchant ships lay west, but the advised course was the barren east toward Freeport.

Jean had ulterior motives though, he had to get to Freeport. It was the only place that would harbour him even his own kin, the Azhari, had rejected him.

He arrived at Freeport, sickened by the level of piracy all around him. Filthy men broke into fights spontaneously, drunkenly swinging at each other. He strode through the streets, and dirty women with seductive voices called to him from balconies. He craned his neck looking up, seeing there short skirts and dirty faces he spat with disgust. These people were utterly horrid, it was by far the worst place he had ever set foot in. He had to leave, he saw a boat drifting in to the harbour. This was his next vessel, maybe he would meet people of at least some calibre.

Played by: The_Haruspex

A young swabby from Kismir.

for a pending character

for future reference

Epidii - A stout, black-skinned man, with a shaved head and white eyebrows. Fairly quiet most times. Navigator/Helmsman.

Fezzy "Halfpenny" Coinpinch - A halfling. Male. Smuggler's Moon's acting Quartermaster.

LeBirna "LeBoom" Stonehollow - A dwarven female. Gunner's Mate.