Peace with Spain was signed in February 1720. In late April its news arrived to the West Indies, so all the Navies got allied against the common foe – pirates, making their trade more difficult to survive. Which side are you on?
Be ye a pirate, a naval officer, a slave or a lady, you will find a place aboard one of our four ships or live on a paradise island. Men aboard any ship are strongly recommended as first characters, and civilians as secondary ones. No more female sailors are allowed.
We are not the usual sandboxy RPG, neither a narrative-driven one, but a story-focused writing community where each actively writing character can make a difference and an impact on the overall plot. We are writing collaboratively a coherent story with many sideplots aside of it. We also have guides to help you with the time setting, and are more influenced by historical events rather than following them by the history books!
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Port de Paix dwellers
The inhabitants of Port de Paix
, a French colony, are now busy with celebrating Saint Jean d'Ete
and a wedding
among the highest nobility. Time for everyone who happens to be in Port de Paix to know them better… and to add your personal flavour to the holiday!
Master gunner aboard the "Twilight Shark"
Location: No Information
Born: No Information
Website: No Information
Joined: 8-January 14
Last Seen: Nov 13 2014, 05:37 AM
Local Time: Jun 28 2017, 10:54 PM
88 posts (0.1 per day)
( 0.65% of total forum posts )
Nov 8 2014, 08:47 AM
Date: February 17, 1720
Place: Aboard Hermione
When he wasn't needed, which was often, Adoracion went below, where others in his predicament gathered. There wasn't an excessive amount of room below deck - Hermione was a small ship and she was currently obscenely overstaffed - but the men didn't have to sit shoulder to shoulder. If she was being crewed, than there was at least half as much room more below deck for the men off-duty to occupy themselves comfortably.
Some laid on the floor, napping. Others sat against provisions, reading, talking, or playing cards. As for Adoracion, he was occupying himself with a knife.
The Spaniard sat with his back to the hull, and his knees drawn up on either side of him. He was taking the knife in hand, holding it by the tip of its blade, and flicking it towards the floor between his feet. It would stick with a "thunk,"
and then Addie would tug it out and start all over again. The repetitive occupation may have appeared the product of boredom, but Adoracion was concentrating on it fully - this wasn't idleness, it was practice!
He threw the knife again, but this time the flick of his wrist hadn't been quite right. Rather than sticking, the blade bounced off the wooden floor, and the knife fell onto its side. With the help of the ship's heel, the it skid away between Adoracion's feet, making a skittering
noise as it slid towards starboard.
Sep 26 2014, 06:04 AM
Date: 14th of February
Place: - Street by the harbor
Adoracion turned his head to follow the sudden progress of a small shadow in the gutter. Its fervored movements were highlighted by a scuffling sound coming from its direction. And then, sound and shadow were gone. Rats.
Looking away from it, the Spaniard turned his eyes back to the woman who walked beside him. The woman he'd come, in all honest, to roll in bed with, but who he now only chastely accompanied down the wharf. He'd gone to Nicole's shop early today, about noon, and it was still early enough now that the dockside was still hard at work, with men bending over in the spotty shade of bowsprits to stack goods, or to load goods, or to shuffle goods around.
The horses at the head of carts bobbed their heads and cocked their legs, resigned to standing in one place for so long as their burden was loaded up. Adoracion caught the animals' eyes with a sense of empathy. He, too, was resigned.
They were walking still, in this place abuzz with business and loud with the clanking of cargo, the creaking of ships and the yelling and cussing of men, when a sound that wasn't as loud as it was vastly different, caught Adoracion's ears.
First it was the screaming. Not the yelling of business being done - but screaming
. A man's scream. Or several men's screams. From... somewhere. Behind them? And then, as though it had just reached audible range, a great scraping and bashing, as though some small ship had been steered full-sail onto and across the cobbles. Adoracion turned as the sound of hooves, scrambling and slipping on the stones became clear, and eyes wide, he turned in his tracks to look behind them, down the street.
" men screamed. "Loose horse!
" others yelled. But who needed to hear all that when they could see what Adoracion now saw - what any blind man could have seen? The road was clearing of people and, coming faster than seemed possible, given the circumstances, a team of four horses, dragging a cart that had long ago flipped onto its side, the animals spooking and slipping and scaring themselves into running even faster as they continued to gallop down the street. They hadn't gotten as far as Nicole and Addy yet, but they were coming, the the horses' hooves and the cart flinging sparks as they went.
Aug 24 2014, 02:40 AM
Date: 14-th of February 1720
Place: - Herborist's Shop, Port de Paix, Hispaniola
February 14th. The streets were not cast in red and white, pink and gold. The stores were not bursting with Hallmark cards or last-minute roses. No one was dressed in red - not purposely, anyway, and every grocery store, general store, gas station and other place of business wasn't throwing chocolate in their patrons' faces. But it was Valentine's day all the same.
In the church where he'd grown up, the day had been merely the sacred observation of a saint's martyrdom - entirely uneventful. But on ships, among men who - some believed and some did not - the pagan tradition of choosing a lover had been mixed in to the celebration... and Adoracion found the fun in the day much like many others had. The piety of it stuck with him, but more so, the thrill of wooing...in the name of saints, of course.
He'd woken up on the beach with a disgusting hangover and a unsatisfied craving raging in his blood. The night before had been a long one, full of promises to be a better person, and the exact refusal of those goals. One minute he's convicting himself for being a common rake, and the next he was lying between an irish woman's legs, trying to convince her to let him in.
She hadn't let him in. She'd worked him into a lather and left him on the beach with nothing but the memory of her red hair, shapely body and fiery personality - and a strong need to be tended to by a woman properly. God, if she wasn't a siren, then he didn't believe they existed. He would never forget the irish lass...
He stumbled off the beach, her scarf wrapped around his hips and the knife she'd forgotten tucked in to it.
He'd spent some time by the docks, in the shadow of the ships as he nursed his hangover until finally, about noon, he felt reasonably well. As he had considered during his quiet time, the Spaniard changed his clothes and headed for the place where "his girl" lived and worked - an apothecary off the main street.
He entered the shop without knocking and, shutting the door behind him, looked around in search of his lover.
"Where is the girl with the beautiful face?
Jan 9 2014, 12:55 AM
Adoracion de San Ignacio de Loyola Reynardo Francisco deChuchoAliases:
Thirty-Eight - November 27, 1682Gender:
Master Gunner (Former all-hats sailor on smuggler/pirate/merchant ships)Current Location:
Aboard Twilight SharkCharacter PB:
Eric BanaGeneral appearance:
Despite a life full of high-stress and death-defying life decisions, Adoracion has managed to age into a healthy, albeit rugged, appearance. Actually, for a man who has lived as a pirate - and then a legal pirate - Adoracion is actually quite cleaned-up. He's got a scruffy beard, sure, but ain't nobody got time for shaving every day (besides, the ladies like it, am I right? Or am I right?). And although his hair is a little long and starting to come in grey at his temples, he keeps it cut at collar length in the back, and combed into "respectable style," as he would say.
All of this and it is safe to say, the Spaniard has not lost culture to the Lady Sea. His dark looks have thrived in the sun, painting him tan, and the work of many years aboard various ships has toned him to a lean figure, muscular despite his deceptively slight stature.Clothing:
He adamantly refuses to wear anything even resembling a uniform. He prefers shirts with open collars, from which, yes, some chest hair does make an appearance. He prefers swarthy greens, reds, browns, oranges and even purples when he can get his hands on them, and usually, Adoracion's is the boldest wardrobe on deck. He wears his breeches a little tight - especially when going ashore - and always tucked into knee-high, cuffed boots.
His prized possessions include a gold cross on a gold chain around his neck, long enough to sit brazenly between his pecs, and several thick, but altogether plain, silver rings he wears on a menagerie of fingers. Personality:
Adoracion is a man of passions. He loves food, women, dance, music, alcohol, God - you name it. He is outspoken, and opinionated on all things - but the man has a keen sense for propriety and hierarchy: although Addie will shamelessly disagree with his someone behind closed doors, before the eyes of the crew any superiors get his unfailing submission. Usually.
Other than this, Adoracion has generally gained a reputation for having sound advice - ship- and life-related alike - and delivering it with a no-holds-barred, frank disposition.
He is a champion of "work hard, play hard" and agrees that respect has to be earned, but has little patience for men not worth "wooing" and will not hesitate to resort to raw shows of power if and when he is pushed.Birth place:
- Andres Iglesias
(Unknown); Possible OthersHistory:
Adoracion was named by the nuns at the seaside orphanage where he grew up - well, if growing up constitutes being about thirteen. From the orphanage's windows Adoracion could see the great vessels that docked only a block away, and heard day and night the sounds of the business that gathered about them - the sound of men yelling as things were loaded or unloaded; the sound of orders echoing across a deck as a ship made to come in or go out; ...the occasional wails of women who came to the nuns to mourn - who would never see their men again.
He was wooed by the romance of it all, and one day when walking down by the docks, Adoracion fell into conversation with a man who was enlisting crew for a merchant vessel. Once the man learned that Adoracion could read, getting on board was a quick sell.
Adoracion went home for a single change of clothes, a loaf of bread, a brick of cheese and an apple, a harmonica he couldn't play and the golden cross he'd had as long as he could remember and stuffed it all into a knapsack. He walked out of the orphanage and down the street to the docks. And he never looked back.
Well, not for a couple of moths, at least.
Since then he's been from ship to ship. That first merchant ship made it to its destination but was overtaken by pirates on the way back. Then it was years there, trading crews and jumping ships in Tortuga. Dodging navies, picking up odd jobs, working his way higher and higher through various crew ranks.
It was off the coast of Hispaniola that Adoracion found himself alone. He'd spoken his differing opinion a little too loud for the last time and his captain at the time, a pirate and a pompous man, had left Adoracion at port. He remained there, on land, for a few months, searching for the right-sounding job... when someone said something about privateers... All the fun of piracy with all the legality of the navy. Perfect.Weapon Skills:
Adoracion grew up on ships. He worked his way up from a Ship's Boy, scrubbing decks, to a Powder Monkey and Cannoneer. As he climbed the hierarchy of various ships he learned and got better with swords, knives, guns, and the ever-popular on a slow day, fists. Currently his favorite weapon is a well-weighted sword, but if he's outmatched, the pistol is actually his natural weapon. Anything else:
But really, the man will tell you he's a lover, not a fighter...Member InfoPlayer's name:
BillieE-mail, YIM, etc.: Skype:
email@example.com Player's age:
Early TwentiesHow did you hear about us:
. This skin was made by MORU
specifically for BEFORE THE MAST
and rethemed by MASCHA