What is the backstory behind YOUR pirate?

my pirate was a small boy when he decided to run away and live in a mcdonalds trash can. he lived there till he just decided to sail a boat and do some svs things, and became a rich pirate. he also mastered potions, and obtained a levi, so haha take that
 

captainbernal

Sea Legs
Me Pirate's assumed name is DAVID SHIPGALLOWS, and this be his storyline:
I be a Merchant Ship's Captain in 1750, London, England. Me Sweetheart, Nancy, Lady's Maid to Anne, Princess Royal of Great Britain and Princess of Orange, came to me because her Mistress was in great distress on the eve of an arranged marriage to a first Cousin that she hated. At the risk of losing me prized Merchant Ship and of me self being hung, drawn and quartered for Treason, I accepted a bribe of all of Anne's exquisite jewelry and precious clothes to secretly spirit Anne and her Ladies Maid, Nancy, off to the Caribbean Isles. Knowing that her father, His Majesty King George 2nd would send his men to try to find her, Anne thought that she could "disappear" among the Pirates of the Caribbean.
Me also knowing that I would never again be "comfortable" in England with King George's men in hot pursuit of his runaway Daughter, and being the sympathetic type when it comes of the ladies, I chose to remain in the Caribbean to watch over Anne. and me Sweetheart, Nancy. We chose false names to hide our identities, and the "greatest adventure of me life" began.
 
Last edited:

Charles Warmonk

Wiki Staff
Charles was once a very kind and helpful pirate, always seeking to be a most Admirable example to the Caribbean. He stood tall and his beard was decorated with 7 bands of playful colors to express his carefree nature. His speech and tone were unmistakably informal, making him a welcoming sight to approach. He only desired to help and uncover plentiful treasures for the weak of heart and ability, as he obtained one of the legendary monstrosities that he’d never choose to use in fear of losing this warmth.

One day however, he'd found the Admirable feat he's searched for, but it tainted his heart finding out he could never wield it for the reason he desired. He'd felt the change in the atmosphere around him and his smile was now perceived as a grin of pride as he held the weapon but never choose to help as had say to. Overtime, rumors of his past kind acts became discredited due to the conflicted emotions people had around him, due to his lack of action. Confused and ashamed to admit the truth of this, he embraced this false pride as a shell not easily cracked, sheathing the accomplishment and submitting to monstrosity of a blade he’d obtained years ago.

Now the once kind and helpful pirate, walks around with an uncanny aura. Never seeking anything besides more merit as he departs from island to island. His now warm smile was a devilish grin paired with his new mustache, and the once playful bands are worn black into his beard. His speech was formal and corrective prostrating of his pride, as he now gave very few people the time of day. Always carrying one of the 7 monstrosities on his back like a trophy, this Behemoth demanded nothing but acknowledgement for his actions of merit. As this blade had granted him complete invincibility through the blade’s power, never needing to unsheathe the weapon due to this.

The people once knew this to be a kind man, but now very few know now of his past kindnesses. A man who’d stopped wars without drawing his weapon with intimidation, this had quickly brought him notability throughout the world, as he granted himself the title of a “Warmonk.” And finally, his shell was thick enough to never feel the shame of his failed feat again…


[A little teaser I suppose to a story I am working on... 😶]
 

WhichWitch

Sea Legs
This is my story, and I'm stickin' to it:

He had made land yesterday sometime ‘twix twilight and dew, and already the market square was short a week’s profit. Judging from the items rumored to be missing, she knew that he had delayed the sight of land as long as reconcilably possible, for the list of missing goods included mere essentials: rum, chickens, produce. Also, Piff’s brothel was strangely quiet, and the Madam herself had slept the night for the first time in months. But even the heavy purse of coin comfortably nestled between her hefty bosom could not offset what had already been pilfered. The washhouse had reported tubs and soap mysteriously vanish; Sum Thang’s laundry -- shorted shirts and breaches. There had been no munitions taken…she knew he had hazarded his men stay ashore without thought or talk of any new bearing. Provisions to sail, including gunpowder, he would acquire yet another day--unless she had anything to say about it.

It had been eleven moons since the last time he had laid spoil her port home, and she meant this to be his last visit. It was not as if once a year the harbor could not recover from his predictable, contrary, visits—him and his scruffy crew. Clearly this surly bunch was far less dubious than others a-sea. Still it was the duty of the Founders to keep security and peace, and since her father had fallen (where and why was still an unknown), she had taken it upon herself to fill his boots.

Before dawn, she had taken the dingy around the east edge to Doubt End. No one in town would think to find him there, to confront him, and she was certain he would choose the spot, knowing that the Port and the entire peninsula believed it to be haunted. Thick with moss and footed with cypress, it would be the perfect hiding place for his vessel. She had thought this through so many times, it was as if she had already lived it. So, without deliberation now, she scuttled the dingy and went the remaining 300 yards to the cove, walking barefoot through the cold pebbles and foamy sand, timing her steps with the lapping of the water.

As sure as she had planned it herself, anchored tight and in the hiding of a bend in the cove, dangerously close to the shallows, she found the Martyr: the vessel claimed by the Menace Crook Ed. Once Edward Lawrence MacTammond he had abandoned his life as smyth and merchant to become “Lawless”, and finally as the pull of fortune and the shrill call of liberty at sea claimed his mind, piracy named him Menace, and such was the man she feared as a child and now hated as a young woman. Yearly for 10 years he had leveraged the Port for his provisions, imprisoned her town with his “protection” and vowed a harsh reckoning with any merchant who dared take him to task.

With stealth and nimble hands, she negotiated the ropes up to the deck of the ship. Once aboard, her eyes surveyed the unkempt disarray (and an alternate escape route should her plan turn sour). As she suspected he would be, he was alone and obviously drunk, having heaved himself into a topside hammock, asleep with an empty rum crock upturned in his lap. His crew had hastily disembarked at the first site of land and he had accompanied them only so long as it took to make the rumors of his foul presence churn and acquire rum--and then return to his solace aboard the Martyr to drink himself into a stupor. Well suited he was for solitude. She could imagine no one who would tolerate his company, except his miserable crew—who, who she was sure, sailed with him out of fear. More than one of his tick-bit bunch had been hauled, hanged, or had their tongue cut out.



She picked her steps, slow and careful, silently closer to his comatose form, his hammock swaying in sickening rhythm with the heave of the ship in the wash of the near shallows. Ropes creaking … sea birds beginning their calls as the coming color of dawn threatened the warmth of morning. So close to him now, she could hear his rattling breath and smell his stench. Her dirk long drawn, she held it before her as she silently drew her sabre from between her shoulder blades. She meant to slit is throat and make away before his mates returned with their pilfered provisions. Nobody knew she had come, and no one would suspect her of the killing, although she was sure that killing a bloody pirate would only be seen as a favor.

Her next step found her right foot among the coils of misplaced rigging and … to her alarm … she saw him smirk! He had heard her? Was awake?! From under the tilted brim of his obnoxious hat she saw his single eye, the only one he had left, looking straight at her! His long, guttural laugh came as loud as thunder.

“’Ello, Lass. We meet again.”

Again?!? Her mind raced. Her heart pounded beneath her breastbone. She had thought she had only ever had a glimpse of him, around corners and in the dark of night, making away with guns, chickens or whatever was stolen that night. But in all the years of his reckless theft and troubling threats she was sure there had never been a ‘meeting’ … or had there? She now recalled with cloudy clarity the shadowy silhouette in a pre-dawn hour outside her mother’s chamber one sultry summer night, when, hearing sounds she believed might be her father on the stoop, she had crept from her bed to find a towering stranger, the smell of rum and her mother’s rose-oil scent swirling around his glittering, if shoddy, gallantry and brass buttons and buckles. The pit of her stomach wrenched, remembering the sound of her mother’s hollow sobs, and knowing that the man was the source of her mother’s sorrows. She had also come to know, in that hour, that her father would never return to them. She had long vowed that one day she would reconcile her mother’s heartache. And here! Tonight? Her vow of vengeance had come to pass?

As he tilted himself out of his hammock and swung around to stand, nearly 15 inches taller than her, she caught sight of the precise twin of her mother’s amulet about his neck! His hair tumbled from behind his shoulders in dark auburn waves--the exact color of her own curls. His proud chin … his alarming green eyes ... a mirror image could not be more telling. THIS man, this filthy pirate, was her father?!

Her resolve shaken, she took a step backward only to remember the coil of misplaced rigging, her ankle now caught in its soggy center. She stumbled, thrusting her arm forward to catch her balance … the one holding the dirk. It stabbed between his ribs and twisted, and as she regained her balance and pulled the blade free, the tip caught the amulet, breaking the chain and yanking it from his neck to dangle at the hilt of her blade, where it now swung. A gush of bright red blood spilling from the hole in his ribs and a bubbling sound from his throat was the last thing she remembered, as she stood staring at a duplicate of the amulet she had never seen her mother without. Dropping her blades at her feet, she took the amulet in her shaking hands and turned it over on her palm. It was a locket. She opened the hinge, revealing a delicate portrait of a woman: her mother.

For what seemed like an eternity she stood staring at the image in the locket, the stinking, bleeding corpse of her father at her feet. As she reviewed the jumbled notions of her entire life in her mind, the pieces started to fall into place: Her mother’s longing and sleepless nights; the stories she was told to explain the absence of her father; the appearance of trinkets and the unexplained wealth; her mother’s seeming indifference to the Port Authority’s inability to waylay the rogue pirates. Her own stubborn rebelliousness and her troubling lack of conformity … this was the reason. Her mother’s husband was a Founder and Elder; but her father was … had been … the Menace Crook Ed.

With the locket still open in her hand, and a bright crystal morning having opened the sky, she stood frozen in place aboard deck as the rabble crew returned to the Martyr, now fully fed and washed, thieved provisions in hand. As the men climbed aboard, their talk and laughter came to a stuttered stop, as one by one they surveyed her and the sight of their dead Captain at her feet, the locket open in her palm. The account of a high-born lover and her baby daughter was not unknown to Crook Ed’s men, and the scene before them revealed the events of the morning in a matter of seconds. Their eyes stared her down and groped at her barefooted appearance on the deck of their ship. Slowly, the first mate set down the kegs from upon his shoulders and crooned to his crew.

“Eh mates, wha ‘ave we ‘ere then?”
She’s got the Cap’n’s trinket in ‘er hand…”

A wide, toothless grin slowly greased the face of the first mate. Then he slapped his leg with his hand and doubled over laughing. As one by one the entire crew started laughing at the obvious shock and terror written on her face, she began to calculate the likelihood that she would not leave this ship alive, nor live to see her home freed from the exhausting and repeated pillage credited to these thugs. But just as the idea of having no hope of escape overshadowed the levity of coming to learn of her lineage, she heard through the pounding in her ears the first mate say,

“Well, Madam Captain? What be our bearing then?”

Now she would recon with an even more dubious set of variables. Strangely as fate does turn, this crew, so long engendered to the command of the Menace Crook Ed, would gladly let her live, if only to take up the helm as rightful heir to her blood father’s questionable domain.

Would she now return to her harbor home and rest assured the shores would live in peace?

Or would she heed the beckoning of her true heritage and the call of the open sea …
 
Top