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Into the Depths

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Wed Jun 06, 2018 10:18 pm
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Elinor says...


The year is 1718. Great Britain's colonies in the new world are thriving, but so is something else -- namely, elicit activities on the high seas committed by ships that fly under skulls and crossbones.

The Golden Hawk is one such ship, and you are one member of its crew. What led you there? What type of pirate are you? The high seas are a dangerous place and should you ever be caught by the navy, you face execution. If you manage to avoid them, as well as the rival pirate ships, to dock at one of the safe ports, great riches are in store.

Historical Note

The images of piracy that we are familiar with are heavily romanticized. A pirate's life was often hard, things like rum were scarcities, they didn't walk the plank and they didn't talk the way they did in treasure island. I would like this storybook to focus on some level of realism and our relationships to each other. The navy will be our main enemy, but this storybook will be fairly open ended, so I'm excited to explore.


The Hawk is mid-sized ship, operating under a crew of about thirty people. Because of this, I'm flexible with how many spots I'm opening for this SB, although I'll probably cap it after a certain point. There was no standardization for duties aboard pirate ships, so I've simply included the most common ones. Additionally, if there's a role you'd like to have that's not listed here, feel free to suggest it. We also don't need to fill every role, but we should absolutely have a captain.

Spoiler! :

First Mate- @Chaser
Quartermaster- @killeham

Other Crew
Medic - @DivinePrincess
Cook -
Lookout -
Sailor - @Elinor
Gunner -
Carpenter -

Code: Select all
[b]Appearance:[/b] (include a picture and written description)

Questions, anything else? Do ask!

All our dreams can come true — if we have the courage to pursue them.

-- Walt Disney

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Gender: Female
Points: 2564
Reviews: 1108
Fri Jun 29, 2018 9:46 pm
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Elinor says...


The beer was lukewarm and the music jovial, but Madeleine had come to expect nothing less from the inns of Madagascar. It was warm and as much, Madeleine had taken off her jacket. Her crew mates had made the unwise decision to gamble their earnings in a game of poker. Mitch had been pestering her for weeks now, since they'd been on the island, to let him teacher her. It's part of the fun, he'd explained.

Still, Madeleine was content to sit at a table with her beer. She'd been a member of the crew for six months now, and she had yet to feel a sense of camaraderie with the crew. Not too long ago she'd been a prisoner, traveling with Matthew towards a better life.


Better not think about him now.

She'd proven herself, hadn't she? Learned sails easily. Proven herself handy with a sword. Sure, she'd lost her hand, but she was far from the only one with visible battle scars. She wanted to excel.

"What's a girl like you doing in a place like this."

Madeleine turned to see a stranger sitting next to her. "I"m not who you think I am," she said, taking her hook hand out of her lap.

"Mhm," said the man before he turned back to his own drink.

She saw her crew mates, still intently invested in the game. She refilled her drink and walked over, not wanting to be anti social.

All our dreams can come true — if we have the courage to pursue them.

-- Walt Disney

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Sun Jul 08, 2018 7:16 pm
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DivinePrincess says...

Harley James

Harley sat with her crew members as they played poker. She smiles when a card is played right, and whispers in Mitch's ear when she had clue on what he should play next. Harley isn't one for parties, but she became the one in the crew that could always make people laugh-- regardless of the situation at hand.

She stands up and excuses herself before making her way to the wooden bar across the room. She's been to Madagascar many times before this, mostly to study different techniques around the world in her specialty. When her father died, she tried to get away from port as much as possible.

"Rum on the rocks," Harley nods at the bartender, who scoffs and looks her up and down.

"Ay, shouldn't your mate be ordering for you my darling?" He takes the rum from the counter and pours it into a short, cloudy glass. He then slides it to her across the surface and rests his forearms on the bar.

Harley winks at him before drinking it all in one gulp, "My mate? There's no such thing."

The man smiles before taking the empty glass and shaking his head, "I'm worried you do this often. A normal woman could never--"

"I'm a doctor," She smiles back before turning to return back to her crew, "I know what I'm doing."

When she returns, the new girl is sitting in her spot. Everyone goes quiet for a moment when Harley stops in her place, a smirk drawing the young girl to stand, "I'm sorry Harley, I didn't--,"

"It's fine babygirl, I'll sit on this side," Harley nods in respect and sits on the other side of Mitch, who looks at Harley in respect as well. It's normal for crew to treat a new sailor badly, although Harley wished she had a new friend here anyways. Being the only girl in a group of guys gets frustrating at times.

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Sun Jul 08, 2018 7:30 pm
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Chaser says...

Captain Selanco Arcuva

The pirate captain’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean, out of oranges?”

The fruit vendor stared back at him over the wooden counter. “Just what do you think it means?” he asked.

It was the late afternoon, and the cloth awning cast a shadow over the vendor’s annoyed expression. His ramshackle stand looked as if it might fall with a strong push.

“There was supposed to be a fresh shipment this morning,” the captain insisted. “Shipped straight from the coast.”

“And it’s no longer this morning.” The vendor shrugged. “I’m sorry. I can offer you some lemons, they’re just as fresh.”

“My crew doesn’t like lemons,” the captain muttered dejectedly.

The vendor cocked an eyebrow. “What was that now?”

“I said, I’ll take them,” the captain said, emptying a sack of coins onto the counter. As the vendor swept them off the table, his assistant brought out a crate, which the captain hoisted onto his shoulder.

Before leaving, he turned back towards the vendor, and spoke his name. “I am Captain Selanco Arcuva,” he declared.

The vendor raised an eyebrow. “And?”

“And nothing,” Selanco said, walking away. “But a man’s name should be tied to his deeds.”

He carried the lemon crate through the port town. His own deed as a captain was making sure his crew had enough citrus to prevent scurvy. It was one of his many tenets of pirate life.

Another principle was his appearance. His burly, red-bearded face mixed with his tattered, ill-fitting and likely stolen jacket to create a fearsome presence. Despite this, he seemed to be on the lower end of notoriety in this pirate town.

On his way to the tavern, he passed by six wooden effigies, crudely dressed as pirates. Old “Wanted” posters were attached to their heads, displaying drawings of unclean and confident pirates. Despite the shoddy display, it was the pirate bay’s tribute to a crew of legend.

The Golden Seas, they were called. Six buccaneers that had run afoul of the British Empire, and had given their all to fend off an entire fleet. They had been executed long ago, but their legend still remained to be admired.

Selanco, however, had no time to be admiring them. Not if he was to build up his own legend as the greatest pirate ever to set sail. With that resolve in mind, he carried his lemon crate all the way back to the tavern.

He walked in just as a table turned over, spilling a drink or two across the floor. This was common practice for the crew, but they didn’t know that their captain knew. So they froze when their captain walked in, set down his lemon crate, and surveyed them all.

In his most authoritative voice, Selanco declared, “I’ve brought lemons.”

With that, he walked over to the bar and sat down. The pirates returned to their game, and Selanco calmly ordered a cup of water. He hated alcohol.
The hardest part of writing science fiction is knowing actual science. The same applies for me and realistic fiction.

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Sun Jul 08, 2018 9:14 pm
fraey says...


If there was one thing Mitch was known for, it sure wasn’t his patience. The poker game has started fine; with half a dozen players, it made sense that rounds took a while to pick up.

But after twenty minutes? Heck, even the dealer was shaking his head at the one pirate fidgeting in his boots.

Getting bored with the game itself, Mitch turned his head to look across the bar and the table full of pirates. There was Harley, feisty as ever, newly returned on his left, while quiet Madeleine sat almost still on his other side.

“Well,” Mitch said, nudging the young pirate next to him, “I might as well show you a few tricks, being that we’re here and all.”

Madeleine shrugged but sat up anyways, carefully placing her hook hand on her lap.

He leaned in closer, drawing an amused grin from Harley before pulling up his cards.

“First step is to trick everyone else out.” Mitch laughed suddenly, making a few players jump from the noise. “Keeps everyone on their toes, ya’know.”

He could see the girl slightly smiling at his antics. The Quartermaster always had fun getting the newbies in the crew, since everyone was new at some point.

His own start at being a pirate seemed so long ago some days, but having Madeleine around kept making him think back to York.

Losing his grip on the table drew Mitch out of his thoughts quickly. He couldn’t help his groan as he felt liquid splash on his clothes. Great, another pair of drenched pants.

And he was winning the now demolished game. The pirate looked over the sheepish grins a few crew mates held alongside their half-full drinks. His luck. Unbelievable.

One good thing seemed to come from his discomfort, though. Madeline was openly giggling at him, her body shaking with how strong her laughter was.

He’d take it. ‘Course he’d rather his clothes not stink from cheap beer, but oh well. The fools who broke the table will just have to clean up when they get back on board.

“Such nonsense!" declared Dr Greysteel. "Whoever heard of cats doing anything useful!" "Except for staring at one in a supercilious manner," said Strange. "That has a sort of moral usefulness, I suppose, in making one feel uncomfortable and encouraging sober reflection upon one's imperfections.”
— Susanna Clarke, Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell