TwinStorm

dang Ksauce, it'll be good to have you back long live the Skybreaker* duo

you know what's my favorite part of SE is? When their is a role that fits your RP character wonderfully, but then the role you get is basically the opposite

pre-game beef is wild

okay one more than I really should sleep Forged by the Sea: the Triumphs and Failures of Thaylenah's Greatest Pirate, by Shemyn the Accused Page 44 It is time to address Vorlin. My greatest rival, some might say. The most legendary pirate to brave the storms, others would tell you. A thief, a scoundrel, and a monster, most would relate. All these are true. All these things I realized too slowly, too late. At first, he seemed an ordinary fellow. We found him floating in the wreck of a ship, clutching for dear life to driftwood, half dead. After everything I've said thus far, it seemed we'd let him drown. Turns out, the only man who deserved to die at sea, was the man we spared, we pitied. The one man I regret saving. Yet save him we did. We recovered him, nursed him to health, not knowing his identity. We did not yet know that he had sank the merchant ship and done unspeakable things to the prisoners. That he disgusted his associates so much, criminal they might be, that they left him to die. My first conversation with him was extraordinary, to say the least. He played the part of an innocent merchant, victim to savage brigands. A good actor, Vorlin was. Played me like an Azish harp. Had me dancing like a puppet on strings to his tune. So it was I adopted him, if that is the right term. Took him in, gave him a place. A fresh beginning, I had called it. It was. A fresh beginning for him, and the start to my troubles. I gave him a home, saved his life, and he repaid it by whispering his serpent tune to the crew. It took months, but he poisoned them. He was a patient man. My greatest vice, his greatest strength. He was willing to wait.

welp I double my chances at winning one of them by doing this . . . . .

ooh, a veteran returns spicy then you have forced my hand sorry in advance

aw thanks bro thanksss, this is rly inspiring me to write more -- Forged by the Sea: the Triumphs and Failures of Thaylenah's Greatest Pirate, by Shemyn the Accused Page 39 Admittedly, those early days we did not do much plundering of merchant ships, having all to recently been one of their stock. Indeed, the Whitehound was not a ship yet fit for war, and, although we had raided a few coastal villages and ports, we had not yet stooped to that level. Stooped to that level? These thoughts crossed my mind all the time in those days, and yet I never questioned hanging a harbormaster or sticking a guard like he was some sort of chicken. The code of ethics as a brigand is strange. You do what you can to survive, and write it off as justified, yet often go to far in those acts, but you will not board a merchant ship. Storms, I wish I could go back and see myself. Young, proud, head full of thoughts of glory, and yet so foolish. So storming foolish. I'd probably not be able to bear myself. Thinking myself so moral, so honorable, one moment, before setting fire to a home the next. That is the greatest penance I pay for those years. Shame. I don't go a moment without thinking of it, thinking of the days I justified heinous acts. It nearly drove me to seek the sea's heart before, to end the pain. That is part of why I write. To unveil my shame, and in doing so, unburden myself.

Forged by the Sea: the Triumphs and Failures of Thaylenah's Greatest Pirate, by Shemyn the Accused Page 32 Evidently, the port did not hold much respect for me, a fledging captain of seventeen years, and suspected I had been the one to kill Captain Vlsk. An easier story to swallow, by far, than the truth itself. So we sat there, in port, for days on end, unable to leave the ship, or gather food. The Watch was on us constantly. It is certainly stressful, for within eight weeks of your command, to be trapped on a ship with starving sailors. The last of the food was mouldering, and the supplies seemed to be racing with the morale to the bottom of the barrel. A unique position for a lad like me, and one I look back on and know not whether to curse or smile, for it shaped my life. It was these days, trapped aboard a boat, with every man looking to me for salvation, that we turned to piracy. The decision was complicated, to be sure. My First Mate, Swana, proposed it to me on the fourth night, and I was conflicted. I'd been raised to hate pirates, and we'd set fire to a fair few of their vessels in my youth. Yet the harbormaster refused to speak to me, or give me supplies, and thus, he created his own greatest enemy. He forced crime into my hands, not knowing just how capable these calluses were. I vividly remembered the night I made my choice. Sickness was beginning to spread, and a deckhand by the name of Matoro had fallen ill. I had been at sea long enough to know it would spread if we could not treat it. I gathered my closest allies, Swana, my second mate Barst, and the helmsman and quartermaster. I told them the plan. We were all capable fighters, having dealt with scoundrels in the past, and we knew our way around a knife. So it was with little persuasion, them knowing our plight better than any, we left the ship. I still remember the screams. I remember the acrid smell of smoke, and it haunts my dreams. I don't regret it. Part of the price of a brigand's life, is the loss of conscience. Regardless, it made me a good leader. I saved those men. Now, looking back, I wonder what savage spirit drove me, what Odium haunted my soul, to take the harbormaster and cut him open. More of that night does not need to be said. Regardless, the Watch scattered, we seized the supplies, and took to the seas. Matoro had been left behind,, tossed overboard in the chaos. Later I learned it was Swana's orders. A necessary sacrifice, she said. The first sacrifice in exchange for glory. ---- guys writing fragments of a pirate memoir is addictive lol help I hope y'all like it

wait are we serious rn also wdym I had no thoughts of "fabulous rewards" at all in the writing of this, it was purely motivated by my love of the game, my love of rp

Shemyn stared at the blank piece of parchment, first of many bound tightly in the book, hesitated, then dipped his quill into the ink. Yes, he could write. One of many his sins, and not nearly his greatest. Yet these words he would put to paper would shed light on many more. If this is to be my story, my memoir, penned by the outlaw himself, the shifty and dangerous Shemyn the Accused, bane of a dozen armadas, Accursed of Kharbranth, you must understand a few things about me. First, I never set foot on dry land till I was twelve. My first experience on stone was disappointing, to say the least. I found it lacking change, lacking danger. The earth is not aware of danger, nor does it offer it. It does not progress. It merely holds firm, stubborn to the storm. My parents kept me on the ship I was born on all my life till then. When asked why, they always told me, "The sea is your home. Embrace it and become the greatest sailor ever to live. Maybe even an admiral." Well, I looked that admiral's badge in the eye, and spat on it. In many ways, I am grateful to my parents. My father, the first mate, and my mother, the quartermaster. They kept me in the sea's grasp, and through the ocean's constant tutelage, a sailor was forged. Yet, that is not all to be said. When I was sixteen, a mutiny took place. I did not lead it. That may shock some of you, but I keep my oaths. And I had swore one to the captain. The second mate, who needs not be named, killed my father and our commander, and gave my mother to the storms. They locked me away, in the brig, to starve. Yet, that is not all to be said. They thought hunger could claim me, yet I am forged of sterner stuff. The mutineers were too trusting, too loyal to themselves, and suspected no betrayal. Ironic. I was freed within the day by the cook. Yet, that is not all to be said. The simple cook, loyal and true, pitied me, fed me, and freed me. With the help of a few true sailors, we took to the deck, and slaughtered the lot of them. I hacked the second mate's arm off, and fed him to the greatshells beneath. Then I was elected captain. Why, I do not know. Perhaps they saw the sea's influence in me, or merely respected my victory. Whatever is to be said, I avenged my parents. That is all to be said on my childhood. Most will be shocked. They expect me to go into the death of my parents, the mutiny, and the revolt in savage detail, visceral description. I will not. I need not relive those memories. That is not the story to be told. This memoir, my tale, is the truth of the matter. Of my years of piracy, of my numerous sins. The blood of countless foes stains the hands penning this book. This is the tale of my rise, my triumphs, my fall from grace, and my later reformation and return to glory. Shemyn leaned back, satisfied. It was a start. It would do. Then, he blew out his lantern, and went to sleep.

Put me down as Shemyn the Accused (the wanted poster was supposed to say Accursed, but the writer was unfortunately dyslexic), a former ex-pirate who won his way onto the council through remarkable methods of persuasion, but since then has genuinely reformed and wishes to see Thaylenah succeed. He's wanted by every nation between Shinovar and the Shattered Plains, including Thaylenah, but thats a mere technicality. --- Also really cool mechanics Jo, always fun to see a game mode like this, I'm excited --- are PMs open? Edited to Add: LORE

generally tho you dont need to get a game approved until you know your running it next

sign me up as TwinStorm, playing Rane Cauthon, a gambler

welp, thats what you get when you spend a cycle firing shots in the dark still, its nice to be cleared nice shot elims XD better luck next time