[Characters] Wanted Posters

[Inem]

This is the place to put your character sheet. Use the blank code in the following Spoilerbutton (and refer to the example posted below this for reference how it is supposed to look. Below your character sheet, please also copy over your application so we can more easily reference it later, placed in spoilerbutton to keep things from getting too crowded.

 

[table=head;width=800]{colsp=2}[SIZE="5"][B]NAME[/B][/SIZE]
[B]FATE POINTS:[/B] 3| [B]REFRESH:[/B] 3
[table=head;width=400][B]ASPECTS[/B]
High Concept: [tt=X]X[/tt]
Trouble: [tt=X]X[/tt]
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[tt=X]X[/tt]
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[table=head;width=400][B]Notable Items[/B]
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|-[/table] | [table=head;width=400]{colsp=5}[b]SKILLS[/b]
[B]Superb (+5) [/B] | | | | |
[B]Great (+4)[/B] | x | | | |
[B]Good (+3)[/B] | x | x | |
[B]Fair (+2)[/B] | x | x | x |
[B]Average (+1)[/B] | x | x | x | x
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[table=head;width=400][b]STUNTS[/b]
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[table=head;width=400][B]PHYSICAL STRESS[/B] (Physique)
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[table=head;width=400][B]MENTAL STRESS[/B] (Will)
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[table=head;width=400][B]SOCIAL STRESS[/B] (Presence)
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[table=head;width=400][B]FINANCIAL STRESS[/B] (Resources)
[SIZE="1"]1[/SIZE][ ] [SIZE="1"]2[/SIZE][ ][/table]| [table=head;width=400][B]GENERAL CONSEQUENCES[/B]
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[[Extreme]][/table]
[table=head;width=400][B]STRESS TRACK SPECIFIC CONSEQUENCES[/B]
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[TABLE="head"]{colsp=4}[b]INVENTORY[/b]
[center][TABLE="css=cent;head"][b][u]Key Items[/b][/u]
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[/table][/center]|[center][TABLE="css=cent;head"]{colsp=2}[b][u]Consumables[/b][/u]
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[b][/b]|[/table][/center]|[center][TABLE="css=cent;head"]{colsp=2}[b][u]Other Items[/b][/u]
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Example Character Sheet IRENA 'THE SHADOW' TRISTAN FATE POINTS: 3 REFRESH: 3 ASPECTS High Concept: Irena carries with her an air of mystery, and is exceptionally gifted with a blade Mysterious Swordswoman Trouble: Some people do things to prove to others how great they are. Irena needs to prove it to herself.I always have something to prove to myself After a drunk night at a bar, Irena's heirloom sword was missing. She tracked it down to a complex belonging to the Blight Syndicate, and retrieved it, but pissed off some powerful people in the process.Enemy of the Blight Syndicate Irena has been on more raids than most, and has seen many a ship sunk in the process.Veteran of many raids More than once, other pirates have hesitated to sneakily attack this beautiful woman from her blind spot, only to have her subsequently notice them, spin around and kill them without hesitation.Ice Cold Beauty Notable Items       SKILLS Superb (+5) Great (+4) Fight Good (+3) Physique Stealth Fair (+2) Notice Will Presence Average (+1) Burglary Shoot Empathy Athletics STUNTS You may make a Fight attack against every opponent in your zone, dividing your roll between them as you see fit. Whirlwind Attack +2 to create advantage or overcome with Stealth whenever you are in near or total darknessSlip between Shadows +2 to overcome actions whenever you perform fine manual workCool Hand PHYSICAL STRESS (Physique) 1[ ] 2[ ] 3[ ] 4[ ] MENTAL STRESS (Will) 1[ ] 2[ ] 3[ ] SOCIAL STRESS (Presence) 1[ ] 2[ ] 3[ ] FINANCIAL STRESS (Resources) 1[ ] 2[ ] GENERAL CONSEQUENCES (mild) (moderate) (severe) [[Extreme]] STRESS TRACK SPECIFIC CONSEQUENCES     INVENTORY Key Items Item Vortex Compass         Weapons Item Qy Inherited from her father, been in the family for generationsHeirloom Cutlass 1 Pistol 1             Consumables Item Qy Bottles of Rum 1 Torch 2             Other Items Item Qy Rope, 50 ft. 1

Notes:

• Keep aspects 3-5 open while we work out the 'Phase Trio' portion
• If your skill corresponding to a stress track (listed in brackets, respectively), is Average or Fair, you gain an additional 3-point Stress box to that track. If your skill is Good or Great, you instead gain an additional 3 point stress box and an additional 4 point stress box. If your skill is Superb or higher (not possible at the start of the game), you instead gain an additional 3 point stress box and an additional 4 point stress box and an additional mild consequence slot (which can only be used for consequences of that type).
• Notable items is reserved for mechanically relevant items, so should be left empty for now. They will be rare.

[Roekahs]

Moemoe Terriau
FATE POINTS: 3	REFRESH: 3
ASPECTS High Concept: .Mountain of a Man Made for Music Trouble: The Whafkish are the bottom-most dwellers of the bottom. Eternally branded as servants and stewards; typically banned from sailing(?)Branded Whafkish Moe is a pacifist at heart. He just wants to be accepted and doesn’t jump into emotional outbursts easily. But when he is finally pushed too far, Moe packs a punch like very few foes aroundThe kraken may be sleeping, but if you keep poking it … Moe can attract attention readily (even when he shouldn't) but he also keeps to himself and doesn't gossipBig Mouth, Tight Lips Moe has started to get a reputation. Yes, his shots pack a massive punch, but everyone also knows they won't be killed. He is very good at what he does, but people tend to get a little more daring when Death isn't on the tableNotorious Troubleshooter Notable Items	SKILLS Superb (+5) Great (+4) Physique Good (+3) I think this represents "perform" better than PresenceRapport Shoot   Fair (+2) Presence Empathy Contacts   Average (+1) Fight Athletics Craft Notice STUNTS Sometimes you have to do something crazy in order to win a fight. Once per conflict, when you take physical stress from a melee strike, you may choose to incur an additional physical consequence. In exchange, you may create a situation aspect on your opponent with a number of free invocations: two for a minor consequence, three for a moderate, four for a severe.Give As Good As I Get (under Inem's watchful eye!) You have been trained in how to disarm an armed combatant. Once per scene per opponent, when you successfully defend against an attack with a melee weapon, you may sacrifice your next action to place the Disarmed aspect on that opponent. Disarmed: {definition WIP}Killin'? You'll be askin' me first +2 to Rapport when you’re delivering an inspiring musical rendition in front of a crowd. (If there are named NPCs or PCs in the scene, you may target them all simultaneously with one roll rather than dividing up your shifts.)Performer
PHYSICAL STRESS (Physique) 1[ ] 2[ ] 3[ ] 4[ ] MENTAL STRESS (Will) 1[ ] 2[ ] SOCIAL STRESS (Presence) 1[ ] 2[ ] 3[ ] FINANCIAL STRESS (Resources) 1[ ] 2[ ]	GENERAL CONSEQUENCES (mild) (moderate) (severe) [[Extreme]] STRESS TRACK SPECIFIC CONSEQUENCES

INVENTORY
Key Items Item	Weapons Item Qy Sali 1	Consumables Item Qy homemade; probably filled with sandbean bag round 5 maybe these are actually fashioned out of soft woodrubber pellet shot 5	Other Items Item Qy Lute 1 Harmonica 1 Fiddle 1 Banjo 1 Percussion Set Bagpipe 1

 

Moemoe Terriau   Experience with FATE: I translated the NPSG module to FATE and run that now that it is live. I am GMing 2 FATE games on site. I still haven't been a player! Captaincy Question: I definitely like the idea of all PCs being lieutenants and allowing any potential captaincy to happen organicly; compels should keep decision paralysis in check Name: Moemoe Terriau Gender: Male Age: 25 High Concept: Mountain of a Man Made for Music Trouble: Branded The Whafkish are the bottom-most dwellers of the bottom. Eternally branded as servants and stewards; typically banned from sailing(?)Whafkish Aspect 1: Moe is a pacifist at heart. He just wants to be accepted and doesn’t jump into emotional outbursts easily. But when he is finally pushed too far, Moe packs a punch like very few foes aroundThe bear may be sleeping, but if you keep poking it … Role on ship: Musician (Maybe something else: Woodworker?) +4 Physique   +3 Presence Contacts   +2 Shoot Craft Empathy?   +1 Fight? Athletics? Provoke? Rapport/Notice? Skills: (+4) Physique, (+3) this seems like the closest thing to a "perform"?Presence, Contacts (Shoot is also in the running because holding a big freaking cannon of a gun …) Appearance: He's big. Like really big.   Moe is a mountain of a man, but his enormity is offset by the perpetual smile he carries around as easily as his bulk. Tall with broad shoulders and a protruding gut means that there isn’t a dimension that suits itself to a life at sea, but this has hardly dissuaded Moe from the Life. A large looping “W” is emblazoned on the right side of his neck, warped and scarred with age and growth from the teenage year when he was branded. Sometimes Moe covers the mark to hide his past, but more and more often he allows it to show. Moe wears simple clothes, mostly because finding anything fitting a man of his stature is near impossible or incredibly expensive. Rarely are holes patched because his huge fingers are not fit for a needle and he only owns one pair of clothes so having someone else do it is … embarrassing. Moe has dark skin, which is somewhat uncommon among the Whafkish but not unheard of. Whether due to family traits or the fact that he spends his life in the sun because he doesn’t really fit below deck is anyone’s guess. Moe’s decrepit clothing is often hidden beneath the plethora of accessories strapped across his chest and back. Instruments mostly, but also tools. Despite his extra large fingers, Moe has taught himself to play all kinds of instruments from strings, to woodwinds, to percussion. They are all easily accessible should an occasion call for it. And there is almost always an occasion that calls for a song. On most occasions Moe carries no weapons, not even a knife. Not to say that he isn’t skilled with weapons, but he prefers to avoid them when possible. However, on those occasions when intimidation or a show of strength is necessary, Moe allows himself to be turned into a walking arsenal. There is nothing quite like a giant man, strapped to the teeth with guns and flanked by a couple ne’er-do-wells to make someone question their life choices in a right hurry. Personality: Moe is a happy dude. He is living the life he wants and one that was essentially forbidden. Every day is a good day even when things are going poorly. His upbeat attitude along with his musical talents have won him quite a few friendly acquaintances and many a favor. His past has left him quiet during new encounters, but his bigger than life personality and skill can often overcome first impressions. Moe never fit in anywhere during his early life. He was an oversized lug that made visitors nervous on his home island, so he was eventually hidden away from visiting eyes. When he finally broke free and stole away on a ship and attempted a life on the sea, he was ostracized and belittled. It took a lot of effort and even thicker skin to survive long enough to finally find a captain that would take him on as more than a flogging demonstration. Moe’s loyalty never wavered and slowly he won over a few of the crew. All he wants is to belong somewhere – preferably on the open sea. Danger means nothing when amongst people that actually accept him and any loyalty or compassion shown to the giant man is returned ten-fold. Where they are going is far less important to Moe than the journey. Isle of Origin: Fiarr Igt, or Fire Eight, is one of a dozen or so prison-style colonies that now cater services as waypoints for travellers.   Fiarr Igt, or Fire Eight, one of a dozen or so hellish landscapes that dot Serenity. Born from underwater volcanoes, these islands provide nothing of value except waypoints for traders or smugglers. Long ago, the isles were earmarked for the unwanted of civilization. While not entirely impossible to work one’s way off one of the Fiarrs, it is not a task for the faint of heart. Each Fiarr are governed by the nearest islands of civilization and the lords routinely check their holdings on the island. While not a comfortable life, the inhabitants serve a valuable role as caretakers of the many merchant ships. A waypoint for weary seamen to enjoy entertainment and booze. Population of the Fiarrs are also expected to report piracy and smuggling operations to the authorities. Few actually do for the outlaws pay at least as well as the nobles. Life on the Fiarrs is tough. There are almost no natural resources (apart from some fish) so the populations are almost exclusively reliant on their overlords for everything. There are no luxuries. Then, there is the volcano. Frequent eruptions generate rivers of lava that tear across the landscape. Though not explosive, and very slow moving, they are all destructive and, if caught off guard, can prove deadly. Most Fiarrs have a firewatch at night to prevent an eruption from catching the entire settlement offguard. Being sentenced to a Fiarr is typically a lineage condemnation since being born on a Fiarr is equivalent to being sent there. Upon turning thirteen each child is branded with a swooping “W” on their neck. A mark that signifies their origin and keeps the islands well-staffed. Background: Born a servant; didn't fit in; stole away on pirate ship; didn't fit in; finally found something better in a certain Captain   Born on Fiarrs Igt, Moemoe is the third (or fourth … at this point who is counting?) generation from his family born on the island. A simple life. A hard childhood of expected contributions, but simple. Then Moe continued to grow. By the time he was to be branded, a dozen men from the village were needed to hold him down. Moe remembers the pain to this day, but it is the humiliation that lit a fire deep in his soul. The humiliation only continued to grow, however. His entire livelihood was dependent on facilitating the whims of the visitors, but his stature intimidated them so much that often they avoided him. For a brief stretch, some of the more ego-driven visitors saw beating Moe in a fist fight as a monument to their prowess. They would pay to fight him in front of their friends and/or rivals, and subsequently beat him to a pulp. Moe had to make it look good, of course; make a show of huge windmill punches that met nothing but air; make a show of getting knocked down by punches that otherwise would have been nothing. If it had ended there, it would have been fine. Embarrassing, but fine. It was the bastards’ insistence on beating him while he was down, and actually inflicting vicious injuries to his face, that ultimately led to the final bout. Moe hadn’t meant to crush the man’s sternum, he had simply lashed out, tired of being a punching bag. Fortunately the man had been a nobody so Moe’s life was spared, but he was shuttered away after that. The one decent thing his family did for him. Now, the big question for Moemoe was: how does a giant of a man stow away on a ship to get out of a life that has no more use for him? Well it sure as s**t wasn’t going to be on any legitimate vessel. But the illegitimate vessels …? Moe was only a teenager, but it didn’t take long before a captain recognized the value of having someone of Moe’s stature standing behind him during certain… transactions. They cracked the hatch-frame when they stowed him below deck, but stow him they did. For a long time Moe wore high-collared shirts to mask the brand, but it only helped with strangers. His shipmates always knew and they cast the worst jobs his way. Still, having any job was better than having none, so Moe persevered, going where he could to find work. Finally, he fell in with a certain captain and crew … Roleplay sample:     Scene Setting Waves thud against the vessel, boards creak under the shifting stress. The flag whips above, random, sharp notes. Softly at first, but growing steadily louder, the beat of a drum merges with the thudding waves. Then fluted notes drift into the salt-sprayed air, weaving the chaos of the vessel’s marching cadence into a symphony. It takes a minute before the first sleep-tussled head appears from below deck. Then a steady stream of men and women. Despite viciously rubbed eyes and disgruntled groans, all attention has fallen on the giant man whose eyes are closed and seems completely enraptured in his tune. Moe feels a hand on his shoulder and his eyes flutter open. The crew is seemingly all gathered and gaping at him. The shocking deviation from typical morning calls – with trumpets or pounding or shouting … or all three – has left the crew in a stupor. Moe lets the music fade to a gentle background volume, still weaving with the sounds of the vessel and the sea. It is a gentle backdrop to the Captain’s morning address. Moe has a glimmer of hope that this adventure will be different from all the previous. At least this Captain has seen him as more than a Whafkish that stands at his back and looks intimidating. Moe doesn’t partake in chow with the crew after the Captain’s address, instead keeping tunes rolling out from his seat at the base of the mast. The giant man switches instruments with each tune, leading “The Old Gnarled Mast” with his lute, “Ode to Me Love” with a harmonica, and a rousing version of “Siren’s Song” with a fiddle. By the time chow is over, the crew is standing and shouting out the last verse. Unsurprisingly, the mood doesn’t last. Chores and boredom dominate the rest of the morning. Boredom leads to wandering eyes. It doesn’t take long before the swooping “W” burned into Moe’s neck is exposed as he hauls a line. A group of five or so of the crew are on top of Moe in an instant. "Whafkish?!" Their cries and jeers draw the attention of everyone on deck. Moe’s eyes sweep the scene as his heart sinks. Different? No. Exactly the same as always. Jeers and barbs cut at the big man from all directions, yet he doesn’t pause from his work. When there is finally a lull in the onslaught, Moe ventures to speak, "I just want to sail, friend –" the following words are drowned out by curses and laughs, though they die out quickly. "Name yer tune. I can play it and we can move past this, no?" Just then, the first physical insult strikes Moe on the face, a bucket launched from somewhere on deck. Moe has no time to do anything more than shake his head to try to clear the vision and glance about, spotting the Captain standing on the quarter deck watching, before the feet and fists land. A blow to the side of the knee brings the big man down, his knee crashing into the wood of the deck and a jolt of pain shoots through his body. The kicks and punches are interrupted by a voice that cuts through the din, "Louie, step off it! What’s it matter to you anyway? Yer a saint or something?" The pain ceases for a moment and Moe can hear some snickering. Moe raises his head to peak out from behind his arms raised in defense. One of the men – Moe has to presume Louie – turns. Without a word, he strides away toward a man standing mid-deck … and smashes a fist square into the man’s face. Moe sees the blood spatter erupt from the contact between fist and face. He sees the bloody fist reach for sword. Moe’s vision goes black. Through his own pain, he erupts in a fury that the sea herself would envy. Two massive forearms knock the nearest of his assaulters into the air, a pair actually falling overboard. Moe sees none of that, however, as four great strides bring him to his destination. Louie’s sword is drawn and pulled back to thrust into the blood-blind and reeling man at his feet when a massive fist crashes into his back. Man and sword are sent sprawling. Moe deftly snatches up the dislodged sword and turns to the dazed form of Louie. The CRACK of a pistol rends the air as Moe stands over Louie and the Captain’s voice calls for Order!. Moe ignores the call as he raises the sword and shatters it over his knee. Then he bends down and grasps Louie by the shirt, "The next time you think to killin’ something, you’ll be askin’ me first." As Moe stands there bent close to Louie, he fully expects the next pistol shot to explode his skull. Yet nothing happens. He straightens and turns to the other fallen man, helping him to his feet and ripping a small section of his own shirt to staunch the flow of blood. Still avoiding glancing toward the Captain, Moe leaves the bloodied man in the hands of the nearby crew and returns to his interrupted task. It takes what feels like an eternity before Moe can work up the courage to glance toward the Captain. The Captain remains standing on the quarter deck. But ... is that a smile the Captain is trying to hide?

[HotsuSama]

VARLI 'CUTTLEFISH' RISHER
FATE POINTS: 3	REFRESH: 3
ASPECTS High Concept: Varli's ambitions are clear - she'll be no less than the Pirate Queen and the Kraken Reborn. She carries the weight of this ambition through sheer force of presence.Ambitious captain-hopeful with a commanding aura Trouble: The Risher name carries risks ... and perhaps even questions of legitimacy. It's not as if a lot of solid proof exists.A name both infamous and false She'll work hard if needed. But she's even better at making sure other workers put their effort in.Everyone pulls their weight, even me ... but especially you As acknowledgement of Hazy's earning a spot on the crew ... but the nature of Hazy betraying her last captain might make Varli a little wary.Hazy, my unofficial protege The ship must continue to operate. Her crew are assets of the ship. I won't tolerate recklessness regarding those assets.Always do right by the ship and her needs Notable Items	SKILLS Superb (+5) Great (+4) Provoke Good (+3) Deceive Presence   Fair (+2) Will Notice Athletics   Average (+1) Navigate Craft Shoot Contacts STUNTS +2 to Deceive when defending or enforcing her Risher claim.Do you know who I am? Once per foe per conflict, use Provoke instead of Fight to defend against an attack.Not a good idea ... Once per ally per scene, +2 to creating an advantage by using Presence or Rapport to inspire a target individual to greater effort.Surprisingly inspirational
PHYSICAL STRESS (Physique) 1[ ] 2[ ] MENTAL STRESS (Will) 1[ ] 2[ ] 3[ ] SOCIAL STRESS (Presence) 1[ ] 2[ ] 3[ ] 4[ ] FINANCIAL STRESS (Resources) 1[ ] 2[ ]	GENERAL CONSEQUENCES (mild) (moderate) (severe) [[Extreme]] STRESS TRACK SPECIFIC CONSEQUENCES

INVENTORY
Key Items Item Spyglass	Weapons Item Qy Flintlock pistol 1 Cheap sabre 1 Stiletto dagger 1	Consumables Item Qy	Other Items Item Qy Well-tailored seafarer's jacket 1

 

Originally Posted by HotsuSama

 

[ogamodyna]

MacTiernan Corbeaux
FATE POINTS: 3	REFRESH: 3
ASPECTS High Concept: Mac or Tiernan had a bright career ahead of him in the World Organisation's Navy, Merchant Marine, and Marine fleets. But just a hint of the kind of abuses they were capable of, turned him against his old political affiliations. He has joined the side that is at least honest about any indignities. For the last couple of years he has been loyal to his pirate shipmates despite his atypical appearance and attitude. He does not apologise for his own service prior to becoming an outlaw though. Unabashedly Unashamed Ex-Executive officer of the World Organisation Trouble: While pirates are predators, Mac feels that they can do so without being offensive bullies. This attitude extends to every facet of the people around him. It also tends to manifest itself in provocative and taunting insults to divert the agression from victims to himself.Sarcastic Response to Bullies Though he bears a name with wealth and prestige in the right circles, Mac himself is labelled a scoundrel. He will go out of his way not to tarnish the family name, while still using their resources.Grey Sheep of a good family Hypocrisy, corruption, propaganda and deciet about such are loatheful to the upright Lieutenant. He might deceive a foe to gain tactical advantages, but he hates pretentious liars who hide behind deception. that last sinking of a pirate vessel and subsequent treatment of prisoners was the final push that made him go rogue.Honestly dishonest MacTiernan was brought up on the right side of the tracks so-to-speak. He also served in civilian and military vessels alike. He is adept at emulating those behaviors.Talk the Talk Notable Items	SKILLS Superb (+5) Great (+4) Presence Good (+3) Navigation Provoke Fair (+2) Fight Lore Empathy Average (+1) Physique Notice Resources Rapport STUNTS Mac receives +2 to create advantages with nondamaging footwork and blade skill using any type of fencing sword, rapier, cutlass, basket hilt or offhand fencing dagger.Trained swordsman Mac can use his presence instead of other applicable skills(provoke, deception etc) in any situation where his experience as an officer and gentleman would have bearing.Walk The Walk Once per scene can reroll a sailing or boat handling roll.Steady at the Wheel
PHYSICAL STRESS (Physique) 1[ ] 2[ ]3[ ] MENTAL STRESS (Will) 1[ ] 2[ ] SOCIAL STRESS (Presence) 1[ ] 2[ ] FINANCIAL STRESS (Resources) 1[ ] 2[ ]3[ ]	GENERAL CONSEQUENCES (mild) (moderate) (severe) [[Extreme]] STRESS TRACK SPECIFIC CONSEQUENCES

INVENTORY
Key Items Well tailored Uniform stripped of Insignia Clothing to befit a gentleman	Weapons Scottish Style Basket Hilt Broadsword and matching Sgian Dubh Qy Well-made flintlock pistolx2	Consumables Item Qy	Other Items Item Qy

 

Experience with FATE: I played a Fate game or two on RPGX including Savoylen's Hoffman game. I have the Dresden Files "Your Story" book and a couple of free downloads of Fate. In fact there are probably some fudge dice somewhere within my desk drawers. But then again I think there might be answers to world and galactic mysteries hidden in those same drawers as well as a portal to Chtulhu's boudoir. I shan't look for any of them, including the dice. That being said, I will still enjoy some collaboration and clarification with the Master from time to time.

Captaincy Question: I believe in a mix of options two and three. Start the characters as equals, but let the story decide if one rises to the rank of captain or if they rule by democracy or council or even matriarchal theocracy for all I know. That gives the story an organic feel and the option to expand in interesting unforeseen directions.

Name: MacTiernan Corbeaux, Mac, Tir, Mactir, Tiernan, "First", Lieutenant, L.T., his high and might lord fancy pants, Lord Smartass, and that right bastard.
Gender: Male
Age: 33

High Concept: Unabashedly Unashamed Ex-Executive officer of the World Organisation.
Trouble: Sarcastic response to bullies
Role on ship: Pilot/Navigator and negotiator. Mac's upbringing, education, and familiarity with many cultures make him ideal for "Face" type duties, provided he keeps his tongue sheathed.
Top Three (or five) skills: Lore, Navigation, Empathy, Resources, Fight. Though not necessarily in that order. I'm nowhere close to filling out his pyramid yet.

Appearance: From a distance, Mac looks like a well-setup youngish man in an immaculate uniform. It is only when nose to chest with him that your average sailor can appreciate the true size of a man built to typical dimensions then boosted to six and a half feet, give or take a couple of inches. His unruly and waved hair is either ebon or a brown dark enough to pass for black. It was, until recently, groomed carefully in the naval style. Now it is beginning to grow out. Large Hazel eyes, gleaming with intelligence and wit, dominate a face bordered by the aforementioned waves of black and a strong jawline centered on a rockhard chin. His cheeks are high and prominent, his lips full and expressive. Above all, he is always as well-groomed as circumstances permit. Typically he is clothed either in an undecorated Marine uniform with all insignia removed, or clothes more suited to some minor aristocrat. Both the uniform and his occasional civilian clothes are well-tailored from fine materials and kept crisp and clean. At his side, an heirloom blade is all but inevitable.

Personality: A philosophical state of turmoil is probably the most accurate description of Mac's mentality. His life of service collapsed as he learned more and more about the shady dealings, oppression, corruption, and downright evil that is often performed in the name of the World Organisation. His current leaning is to find something, anything, that can restore freedoms and resources to all of the people under that imperial thumb. The secondary issue is, that he is now a loathed traitor to the Marines and a reminder of loss and death to his new pirate kindred. Above all, he is seeking solid ground and settling of the maelstrom in his mind. That is, of course, all internalized. To the outer world, he is calm, poised, and unflappable with a perfect sense of self and his place in the world. His wit is wry, sarcastic, and pointed when he lets the reins loose. His bearing cool, and in command of himself if not any specific situation. In truth Mac knows quite well who he is and what he believes, he just needs to figure out where that fits within the world.

Isle of Origin: The Isle of Guyle. Legend has it that there were once Cymraeg and the Adrea nobles both within the archipelago that contains Guyle. Now, there are a few families with ancient stories and traditions. For the most part, they are backward country lords with little say in governing the world. Some, like Mac's maternal family, have closer ties to those in positions of power. The main resources of the Isles are herd animals, a few crops, some particularly good alcohol, and a ready supply of thugs and muscle for marines and the Brenhinol alike.

Background: Mac is a scion of a once noble family, now relegated to a single island and estate on that island. They are nominally part of the World Organisation. In fact, his mother's family are trusted members of the higher levels of that society. His father's family is...colorful. Their lands would be something like one of the Highland Clans during the British occupation. There is quite a bit of "rustic" industry, and much of that goes to fuel the work of the Organisation. He was brought up to a certain level of luxury, provided a fine education, and had doors opened to a bright future with the Navy after serving as a Merchant Marine, then as exectuive officer with a commission bought by his family on a small privateer vessel, and finally as a true Marine. That last post is what turned him from the course plotted for him. He could not deal with Seeing outlying communities treated as little more than chattel. Women abused with no voice against their "official" harrassers, and even the execution of foes that should have been brought to trial. The palpable aura of superiority his fellow Marines showed for anyone not part of their organisation turned his stomach. Perhaps the abuses were restricted just to his own insignifact ship, rather than the systemwide abuse he suspected. However, it was enough that he disappeared along with the convenient loss of a prize-ship that ended up in pirate hands. With no love for the Organization and less for the Brenhinol, he sought his freedom and hopes to find some way to earn his own ship, and a means to liberate as many people as possible from the tyranny of a world government with too many tentacles snuffing out lives and freedom around the known world.

 

“Sit Leftenant. We shall have a glass of wine and discuss futures; yours, mine, and that of many other people in need of guidance.” Batista gestured to a chair two or three yards from his massive desk with one hand. With the other he rang a bell sitting on his desk.

Within seconds, both men were seated and holding a refreshment of their choice while the offical bounced one boot on a knee, and tapped the fingers of his hand not occupied with wine. He had cast only a single glance at MacTir during the opening moments of the meeting. Instead, his gaze was directed out of a broad window to the stars visible above.

“Whole colonies lie out there, inhabited by willful, and sometimes ignorant people. We would bring all of them Organization and stability, had we the resources. And it would benefit each and every one of them. Imagine knowing exactly one’s place in the greater scheme of the cosmos. Of being certain that the Organization would care for your family if anything happened. That a supreme authority would dispense justice. As it did for you earlier this evening” The energy of his speech was at complete odds with the tired, wispy voice, which was in turn just the opposite of what would go with the excessive energy that had boots bouncing and fingertips drumming.

In response, MacTiernan took a considering sip of the rich coffee in his cup. So far there seemed little that demanded a response from him, while there was quite a bit to think about. For instance, how did this Batista know about his little dockside scrap so soon? That screamed at a highly effective spy organization or else one that had been observing him without being noticed themselves.

Fortunately, Batista barely noticed his silence. “And that is why you are here. Not for your battle on the docks, but because I need industrious men. Men of good breeding and better judgment can open the way for us to bring order to those deluded rebels out there who do not know our benevolent guidance. Are you such, Leftenant Corbeaux? Are you a credit to your family name? And will you spread the word and influence of our Order to the places I send you?”

That required an iron-willed response. Not to keep from blurting out an awkward phrase, but to keep from spitting out a mouthful of coffee. “Excuse me, your excellency? I am currently assigned to the Orlando as a mere executive officer. I’m afraid I have no say in where the ship goes at present.”

He meant it as a delaying action, to give him thinking time, but Tiernan found his objections waved aside like so much insignificant smoke. “That is of little consequence. I can have you in the Captain’s hat by morning. What is important, is whether I can trust you or not.”

The younger Leftenant began to feel one of those urges he tried to quell in polite company. Perhaps it was the arrogant dismissal of his first consideration. Or maybe it was just the novel feeling of being loomed over. MacTiernan Corbeaux did not loom over others, though he did tend to stand a few inches taller than most of his fellow naval professionals. This Diplomat had an intensity and posture that made others keenly aware of his position, his power, and his sheer size. That is probably what irked the younger man in his presence.

“I am a man of my word. Loyal to my oaths, faithful to my crew and captain. That much you can trust as much as you trust your own prayers.” That actually sounded very good to MacTire’s ears even if they were his own words. It stated his position clearly, but left room for Batista's own interpretations.

One did not get to be a traveling diplomat without being keen to wording and interpretation. Bautista replied with a dry laugh. “Goodness I hope I can trust you more than that. Between you and me, I sometimes feel that a man’s destiny is in his own hands in this life. I’ll wait for the next life to rely on the goodwill of Powers on High.”

He stood to his full irritating height and strode over to a side table to refill his glass. “So you have not really answered me, Leftenant. Or should I call you Captain? It is no monumental task to have that rank granted you by the time you reach your ship.”

That sent alarms running through MacTire’s thoughts. “How exactly would that work? I would not see any harm befall the Captain. He has served in good faith and did a good job of it to boot. Such a man deserves more than a knife in the dark.”

After a lengthy pause, the official let out a deep belly laugh at complete odds with his higher-pitched voice. “Good Heavens, Mr. Corbeaux. There is no need to be dramatic. A weighty bank balance and retirement to a comfortable home can be arranged. I believe the Captain has a wife and children that would be glad to have their provider and protector close to home for a while.”

That was another loaded statement or two. First off, nobody who knew the Captain would blithely assume he’d give up his command for a few paltry balance sheets. For the second thing, by bringing up his role as “provider and protector” of his family, it highlighted the vulnerability a lone mother and children might face with the Captain away for days or even months at a time. In some circles, that would be a fairly evident threat clad in only the thinnest of fine silks and velvets.

Though he had traded mansions and manors for his sailors and ships, MacTiernan grew up attending balls and functions with just this type of conversation. There was little doubt in his mind that this "diplomat" was quite capable of forcing the Captain to give up his command or face threats to his family. Which left a heavy responsibility directly on Tiernan’s shoulders.

“Your Grace, I am quite comfortable working towards your goals. However, it occurs to me that I might better serve you as a senior officer who is not the captain. Perhaps I understated the amount of influence possible with subtle methods. I might pursue your agendas, with the decisions seeming to come from someone who is unattached to you, or your goals.” There now, that was almost decent double-talk, Granny Mac would have been proud. But was he reading the situation correctly?

[Rosemary Red]

Hazy (Short for Hazel)
FATE POINTS: 1	REFRESH: 3
ASPECTS High Concept: Rope Climber, Fighter, Tier, and innovator. If you can dream of a use for a rope, Hazy can make it for you. And she isn't bad with a sword, either.Swashbuckling Rope Climber Trouble: Hazy has spent a lot of time with old people she dislikes. Strength is in the young.Old people are idiots as much as everyone else, if not more In a prolonged uncomfortable or difficult situation, Hazy may sneakily turn to violence. Violence isn't always the answer, but it can sometimes be helpful... Do you have a good story to tell? Hazy will help you... or, she'll do something even riskier, to get a good story out of it herself.Sucker for a Good Story Hazy needs to know what's up with everybody at all times, and is good at finding it out herself if you don't tell her.Proficient Prier Notable Items	SKILLS Superb (+5) Great (+4) Craft Good (+3) Fight Athletics   Fair (+2) Stealth Burglary Investigate   Average (+1) Notice Deceive Provoke Will STUNTS Hazy gets a +2 bonus to defend or overcome with Craft skill when the skill use relates to the use of ropes and knots.Knotting Ninja Hazy receives a +1 bonus Attack using 'Fight' when climbing on ropes or rigging.Sneaky Swordswoman +2 on Burglary rolls made to create an advantage whenever you’re trying to escape from a location.Always a way out
PHYSICAL STRESS (Physique) 1[ ] 2[ ] MENTAL STRESS (Will) 1[ ] 2[ ]3[ ] SOCIAL STRESS (Presence) 1[ ] 2[ ] FINANCIAL STRESS (Resources) 1[ ] 2[ ]	GENERAL CONSEQUENCES (mild) (moderate) (severe) [[Extreme]] STRESS TRACK SPECIFIC CONSEQUENCES

INVENTORY
Key Items Item High Quality Rope 50' Anchor to tie to rope	Weapons Item Qy Rapier 1 Rope Dart 1	Consumables Item Qy	Other Items Item Qy

 

The Basics Name: Hazy (short for Hazel) Gender: Pretty much a wild child in the body of a woman. Age: 18 High Concept: Swashbuckling Rope Climber Trouble: Old people are idiots just as much as everyone else, if not more Role on ship: Rigging Specialist Skills: Craft (specifically good with ropes and knots), Fight (swishy sword!), Athletics (climbing ropes!) Appearance: Your eyes slide right over Hazel at first glance. She's medium everything - height, size, skin and hair tone - overall, a pretty standard common person. Her clothes of choice leave freedom to move - not fancy, but made well. She looks like she's been left out in the sun a little too long, left to learn her own way - she's tan with a lithe complexion and a slender sword hanging across her back. She's sprightly, young, and fit - and looks ready to climb anything in her way.

The Details Personality: Hazel carries a rope in her hands at all times, tying and untying knots of various complexities. She does this without breaking a sweat or looking away from you in conversation - if you draw her in, she will focus on you intently. She has two sides; the focused, professional swashbuckler fighter and the wispy, energetic ropemaster. Hazel is her name if you don't know her too well - but if you get the chance to sail with her, you'll see both sides, and you can call her Hazy. She's a roamer if you've ever met one, who has a hard time settling down. The sea is in her soul and she wants to see the world. She's hardy, and wants to stay alive, but if at the end of the day she doesn't live, that's fine by her as long as she's gotten a good run of life in. The quality of adventure far outweighs the quantity of life, and she never wants to be old. She's altruistic, to a degree; and holds onto her treasure tightly. She appreciates the freedom money gives her, and never wants to be poor again. In the beginning, Hazy went on many small adventures, and wants to embark on a big one. She's sailed all over Serenity, and wants to see more - although she isn't jaded, Hazy is tired of all the similar things around her and wants to explore while she's young. Isle of Origin: Hazel was born on a multi-city island in the northernmost part of Serenity, to a poor family living in coastal slums. The island, ruled by dictatorial elite and cut off from most supply chains due to a great distance from the populous equator, was starved and abysmal. As a kid, she always wanted to leave - her family was large and almost never had enough to eat. She "discovered" a lot of little islands with her boat (mostly within a 4 hour paddle of her home island at the beginning, so that she could return before dark). Hazy claimed all the islands as her own, and named by her own personal standards. She doesn't know or care if they have "real" names. Likely, unless she decides someday to go back to the northern reaches of Serenity, she will never visit these isolated places again.   Background: One day about a decade ago, she found a little fishing boat by the side of the ocean, derelict and rotting. Concluding that no one would miss it, but that it would be a lifesaver for her, she dragged it up the shore to a secret hiding place in a cave deep in the cliffs on the western edge of the southern coastline. Over a few weeks, she went there every time she could, finding oars, screws, and planks of wood around the docks, and a single can of red paint. This boat was her lifeline for the earlier years, and gave her a way to escape during the day (and sometimes even overnight). Having never been off the island before, there was a lot to explore, and explore she did. One day, after having accumulated enough handmade tools and skill at finding food, Hazy decided that was it; she was leaving. She knew that if she told anyone, they wouldn't let her go - most of them didn't even know about her boat. But she was acting suspicious enough when saying her goodbyes the night before her scheduled departure day that when she slipped out early the next morning, one person noticed - her younger brother, Blue. Blue followed Hazel to the hiding place, and watched as she dragged the secret little boat to the shore. When she was almost ready to go, he ran up to her, backpack in hand, and begged for her to take him along. Hazel liked Blue, probably the best out of all the unfortunate people on her island, and so she agreed - and the two of them set off together, taking turns with the oars. They headed south, hopping between small islands, playing games, and taking their time getting to anywhere significant. It was just an adventure. But as they travelled towards the equator, they started to see boats more frequently, and one day landed at a city. The boat, well into its fifth year, was falling apart, and the pair was poor with nowhere to go. So they did the only thing they knew how, wanting to see the world and keep adventuring - they got hired on a merchant ship. This new ship was tasked with trading fine goods. The sailors were mostly old and soft, and took to drinking and playing cards through all hours of the day and night. They had no combat experience, just an air of lazy nobility, which Hazel and Blue could not stand. Hazel was 15 and Blue was 13 at this point; and they started off very junior, swabbing the deck and learning the tricks of the trade. Hazel found solace in the complexities of rigging; Blue was chaotic, and a troublemaker. He stole the Five of Spades from every deck of cards on the ship, leaving the sailors confused - they had to buy a new deck at every port. He stuck to cleaning the ship, which he didn't particularly enjoy, but was better than their home island. The two hated the sailors, but loved the sea, and dreamed of a day when they could have their own ship and get rich off of plundering rich ships of soft old people. So when their ship was boarded by a The ship and crew starring in this adventure a few years latergroup of pirates, they made a break for it. Hazy pulled out a sword and began to fight for the pirates, backstabbing the soft old sailors who had tormented her and her brother. Together, her and the pirates killed the sailors, stole all the ship's finery, then sunk it. This was the biggest loot of the last couple years, and Hazel was instrumental to its success - the pirates gave her and Blue both a place on the ship. Hazy impressed them with her ropes skills, dexterity, and skill with the sword. Blue continued his work as a deckhand, but stopped stealing cards. The two were much happier, and Hazy quickly earned the loyalty of the pirates. Bolstered by the treasure she had helped them win, she worked her way up to lieutenant in a few short years.   RP Sample: Hazel dragged her feet through the bowels of the ship. Here, so far below deck, it was hard to imagine the riches this ship held higher up. This dingy, half lit corridor smelled of rot and rats. The rooms down here held their less valuable goods, mostly well-sealed barrels of grain destined for the common market. She hated coming down here, and always emerged with a pounding headache and an urge to throw herself into the sea for a quick bath. At her destination, a room at the end of the hall, Hazel began shoving dead rats into a bag, resetting the traps with bits of bread. All of a sudden, a small scream reached her ears, coming from above deck. Surprised, Hazel snapped a trap over her finger. Damn bread-headed rats, she swore to herself, sucking her hurt finger as she ran out of the room and climbed the rickety ladder at the end of the hall. When she finally reached the deck and took her first look at the blue sky, Hazel was surprised to find another ship parked beside hers, a gangplank connecting the two. They were being boarded - by pirates! The merchants on the ship were old, fat, and mean, and Hazel hated them. These pirates looked like the best chance of her escape to a new life, plundering the seas and adventuring instead of abiding by the strict rules of rich people who only cared about their next meal. She drew her sword, a thin and simple blade, and heard the merchant sailor captain call to her. "Hazel, girl, so glad you're here. You're good with a sword, right? Come help me out." She glided towards him, on feet filled with hope and thoughts of glory. "Kill those pirates, would you?" The words were interrupted by a gurgle of blood spewing from his throat. A skinny sword was stuck right through it, and a skinny girl pulled it out as he crumpled to the ground. Hazy grinned. She had wanted to kill that bastard for a while. Without a captain, the old merchants were quickly vanquished by the pirate crew and their unlikely ally. Some tried to fight; others relented to being taken captive, and Hazel deftly tied them to a pole. When the violence was over, she approached a man porting a jaunty black hat and a satisfied smile. "Take me to your captain. I have some serious treasure for you: on one condition." A younger man with a large black beard walked towards her. Towering and girthy, Hazel was almost intimidated - and then she remembered what it felt like to kill the merchant captain. "You're the captain? I think you owe me a debt - I sealed your deal on this ship. I'm willing to show you all the treasure here - and there's a lot of it - but first, you have to agree to take my brother and I with you. I want to be a pirate. I'm good with knots and a sword. And I'd be fiercely loyal, if you'd have me." He threw his head back and let out a hearty laugh. "You fought well, lass! I'd be happy to have you, provided you show me the treasure these soft merchants were hiding." He stuck out a rough hand. "What's your name?" Hazel smiled. Maybe being a pirate was where she belonged. "You can call me Hazy. Now, let's get plundering!"

[ariskofrain]

Achilles Lee Curzán Achilles "Lee" Curzán FATE POINTS: 3 REFRESH: 3 ASPECTS High Concept: Lee's medicine comes handed down from their culture's medical practices, which they are intent on documenting.Ignazian Doctor and Documentarian. Trouble: The World Government’s published paper, “A Treatize on Medicine: Best Practices of the Health and Spirit” has been widely accepted as the “proper” way to administer treatment. However, its system of humorism is not the only attitude towards treatment, and Ignazian medicine is fairly different, having developed prior to the World Government’s intervention. Now, humorism is practiced across Serenity, but Lee and others who fled La Bandolera 17 years ago may still carry with them Ignazian practices, although that style of medicine is varyingly frowned upon, or treated with the same suspicion given to suspected witchcraft.Forbidden Medical Practices. Always Ready To Run Scorn Shared is Scorn Halved Willing To See The Good Notable Items       SKILLS Superb (+5) Great (+4) Lore Good (+3) Empathy Presence Fair (+2) Fight Investigate Deceive Average (+1) Rapport Will Contacts Resources STUNTS You can use Lore/Empathy for the recovery of Physical/Mental injuries respectively, given that you have access to adequate tools and are not rushed.Ignazian Teachings Use "Presence" rather than "Rapport" when urging non-violence.Preacher's Cadence On taking a Full Defence action, one named ally in the same zone rolls all defend actions at a +2 bonus for the turn, rather than you.Better Than The Cure PHYSICAL STRESS (Physique) 1[ ] 2[ ] MENTAL STRESS (Will) 1[ ] 2[ ] 3[ ] SOCIAL STRESS (Presence) 1[ ] 2[ ] 3[ ] 4[ ] FINANCIAL STRESS (Resources) 1[ ] 2[ ] 3[ ] GENERAL CONSEQUENCES [[Mild]] [[Moderate]] [[Severe]] [[Extreme]] STRESS TRACK SPECIFIC CONSEQUENCES     INVENTORY Key Items Item Fine Medical Kit         Weapons Item Qy Sledgehammer 1                 Consumables Item Qy                     Other Items Item Qy

 

APPLICATION artwork by Rachel Denton Name: Achilles "Lee" Corzán Age: 33 (ish) High Concept: Ignazian Doctor and Documentarian. Role on Ship: Medic. If needed, wayfinder. META Experience with FATE: I've ran both Core and Accelerated a dozen or so times as a GM, but it was a while ago. I'm gonna give FATE a little reread as a refresher. Captaincy: I think there's a way for this character to fit into either option. I think I like the idea of a democratised ship command, there's definitely a lot of narrative scope with that option, but I'm definitely open to other ideas. CHARACTER Homeland: Orza. Left at age 16, travelling to Cadent, where they studied briefly, before leaving school to become an unlicensed physician. About Orza   Orza is part of an archipelago of small islands, and one of 3 with human settlement. The network of islands, La Bandolera, were some of the last to become part of the World Government. Prior to intervention, they did not have a nation-state. The intervention was not peaceful - La Bandolera had natural resources, gold, that did not have a use, except for its medical properties, in biocompatible medical tools. The agents responsible for bringing these islands into the organization did so with the expectation that the gold would be taken as a fee for the privilege. Those who did not resist became part of the new government, of the newly-created nation, The Bandolier, which has existed for 17 years. The World Government itself did not approve this action - but, has also down-played this story as to not lose face. The story as-told across Serenity downplays the resistance to joining the organisation, the violence involved, or the inordinate amount of gold that now resides in the World Organisation’s coffers, funding its various exploits across Serenity. About Cadent   A large city, and one of the jewels in Accord’s crown, home to Serenity’s largest library, a university, a blooming arts district, and a important-sounding-but-ineffective Council of Elects, one of a number of diplomatic mechanisms employed by the World Government to maintain good international relations. Accord, as a nation, acts a puppet state for the World Government, and in exchange, they are rewarded with ample resources - this resourcing is obvious when looking at Cadent’s scope and splendour. Trouble: Forbidden Medical Practices.   The World Government’s published paper, “A Treatize on Medicine: Best Practices of the Health and Spirit” has been widely accepted as the “proper” way to administer treatment. However, its system of humorism is not the only attitude towards treatment, and Ignazian medicine is fairly different, having developed prior to the World Government’s intervention. Now, humorism is practiced across Serenity, but Lee and others who fled La Bandolera 17 years ago may still carry with them Ignazian practices, although that style of medicine is varyingly frowned upon, or treated with the same suspicion given to suspected witchcraft. Skills: +4 is Lore, for the obvious medical expertise Lee has. The +3s are Investigate (Lee is well practiced in analyzing situations and people, and has a keen eye) and Presence. (As someone who has had to keep their cool under scrutiny and high pressure situations, Lee has learned to maintain a stoic presence, even when situations are dire, or when there is active hostility directed their way.) Appearance: I would facecast Lee as LaKeith Stanfield, They are slightly above average height, and keep themself well built, despite their academic interests. Physical appearance is important to them, as much a tool to deflect a layer of criticism as anything. As such, they keep a neat appearance - maintained facial hair, often wearing a dark double-breasted coat and trouser combination that invokes the authority of the military. Personality: Lee is stoic, reserved, and kind.   They’re a deeply spiritual person - the administering of medicine is an act they consider to be their calling, a way for God to move through them, to avoid the unnatural end to innocent life. In that way, they see being a physician and giving medicine as practicing their faith, in the same way that the church leaders in Orzo were while giving sermons. This dedication is something they find easy to transfer to other goals, and as such, bring a great deal of determination to activities they set their mind to. This dedication, they carry as they head into the Maelstrom. Their goal is to publish an elaborate set of medical notes, documenting Ignazian health and spiritual practice, and to create a medical institution where they can practice this medicine, without charge to patients, and without the disdain of humorists. With a fortune behind them, they will be able to get the legitimacy and resources that would allow this to happen. Background:   Lee grew up on Orza as a smart, but not lonely, child. Both their father Damian and grandparents were doctors, and as a teenager, they began to teach medicine to a young and interested Lee. At age 14, Lee inherited their grandfather’s tools, a set of gold-plated instruments, and began to properly apprentice under their grandmother. At age 16, when the intervention occurred on Orza, Lee’s father swore fealty to the state, while their grandmother held her ground. Lee fled via boat, crewed by Orzans who were unhappy with the new nation, but understood that staying to fight was a death sentence. Upon arriving at Cadent, Lee applied to university, but soon dropped out after discovering the vast difference in approaches to medicine. Lee worked for a number of years doing various laboring jobs, before taking an office in the city at age 21 to perform medicine without a license. They did this for nearly a decade, until their unlicensed practice gained enough attention to be shut down by authorities. From there, they applied to take medic positions on ships, where they got a taste for nautical navigation, and the seafarer’s life. It was on these ships that they heard rumors of a pirate crew, heading to seek The Kraken’s Treasure, that caught their attention, and finally gave the hope of opportunity, and the chance to realise their dreams. Roleplay:   “Thank you for seeing me, Dr. Corzán.” Achilles nods, gesturing at a reclined chair. “Of course, Isabel. Anything for a daughter of an old friend.” Isabel pauses in the doorway, before closing the door and taking a seat, as Achilles washes their hands in a steaming metal bowl of hot water. “And, please, Lee is fine. Only strangers call me doctor.” There’s a couple of minutes of relative quiet in the room, as Achilles closes their eyes and mutters a prayer. “I have heard my mother talk about you.” says Isabel, a hopeful attempt to start conversation. “I hope only good things,” Achilles smirks, saying Amen, then uses a clean towel to dry off, before turning to Isabel. “If it is okay with you, may I take a look at the wound?” Isabel nods, lifting her skirt to reveal a cloth wrapped around her left thigh, maybe an old shirt. “Valiente. When she talks about travelling to Cadent, that’s what she says about you.” “Yeah, she would. Dramática.” Achilles replies wryly, taking a seat next to Isabel. They start to unwrap the makeshift bandage. “Dog bite, yes?” “I would have killed the thing, Lee.” She winces with a sharp intake of breath as Achilles unwraps the last of the cloth, revealing a jagged set of cuts. "Lucky, mother was around.” Achilles takes a cloth, folding it into a square, wetting it with alcohol from a small glass bottle. “This is going to hurt a little, but I need to do this. It’ll help stop any infection.” They look up at Isabel. “You may want to brace yourself.” Isabel grips the chair tight, grimacing. “Ready.” Achilles gently swabs the wound, causing her to gasp, tears welling in the corner of her eyes. She bites her lip, holding back from swearing; instead, just letting out a pained moan. “You’re doing well, Isa. Most of the guys I treat would be thrashing around right now.” They say soothingly, placing Isabel’s hand on the cloth. “Just put some pressure on this here for a moment, I need to grab a needle and thread.” Achilles stands up, walking to their medical case, lifting the false bottom to retrieve a gold-plated needle, black thread, and a small vial of green paste. “I promise, I’ve gotten better since I had to give stitches to your mam.” Isabel smiles nervously. “What age were you then, even? 18?” “Not even - 16, same as she was.” Achilles smiles warmly as they sit back down. “Picking a fight with a man twice her age, and getting a knife wound to the arm for her trouble. And she says of me, valiente, hm?” Isabel shuffles in the seat a little, anxious about what’s to come. “The way she tells it, you saved her life.” “Hey, you’re okay. Relax a little if you can.” Achilles rubs the needle with alcohol, then takes the cloth from Isabel, allowing her to sit back in the chair. “Would you like to join me in prayer?” they ask. Isabel nods, closing her eyes and bowing her head. God. I ask you to carry this patient, and that her time of healing is brief and painless. I ask you to guide my needle, I ask you to guide my thread. I know her time is not yet done, Lord, so bless her as I undertake your work. Isabel and Achilles unbow their heads, opening their eyes. Achilles’ eyes burn with the intensity of someone with a duty to fulfil. “Ready, Isabel?”

[Birched]

Jetsam, Pirate, Dead or Alive

JETSAM
FATE POINTS: 2	REFRESH: 3
ASPECTS High Concept: Multiple shipwreck survivor; gets a bad feeling when things are about to go sideways (through some combination of perceptiveness, experience, and a sixth sense)Sees trouble coming, and trouble always comes Trouble: Jetsam has lost more shipmates than he can count; this can lead in various directions, including standoffishness, emotional distancing, embracing the moment, difficulty taking hardship seriously / an appreciation for the humour in tragedy, and other behaviours not always well-suited to the moment.Always ready to lose it all Survival as a pirate and multiple shipwreck survivor has meant needing to improvise effective feats of engineering, often under pressure.Kludge artist This tough old salt just doesn't know when to quit, and has survived more 'all hands lost' incidents than perhaps any other sailor alive.Abandoned, knocked-about, sun-dried, and still kickin' XX Notable Items	SKILLS Superb (+5) Great (+4) Notice Good (+3) Craft Physique Fair (+2) Athletics Will Investigate Average (+1) Presence Shoot Fight x STUNTS Gains a passive notice-based low challenge opportunity to know danger is coming, even in the complete absence of relevant real world information (supernatural)Feels trouble coming Whenever a melee attack forces Jetsam to take physical stress and check off physical stress boxes, he can reduce the number of shifts (aka the damage) by one (to a minimum of 1), prior to marking off stress boxes.Can take a hit and keep going Reduce all repairs performed with craft by 1 time step on the time ladder, and gain a +1 bonus to craft rolls when pressed for time or materials.Works well under pressure with limited resources
PHYSICAL STRESS (Physique) 1[ ] 2[ ] 3[ ] 4[ ] MENTAL STRESS (Will) 1[ ] 2[ ] 3[ ] SOCIAL STRESS (Presence) 1[ ] 2[ ] 3[ ] FINANCIAL STRESS (Resources) 1[ ] 2[ ]	GENERAL CONSEQUENCES (mild) (moderate) (severe) [[Extreme]] STRESS TRACK SPECIFIC CONSEQUENCES

INVENTORY
Key Items Item repair tools	Weapons Item Qy pistol   hammer (also a tool)	Consumables Item Qy	Other Items Item Qy

 

preliminary questions experience with FATE: limited to handing out free goodies for the charity event and making a character sheet long ago; have never really played and new (or effectively new) to the system captaincy: I like no captain, crew in disarray as a start (GM can always provide some direction if we fumble the setup, but it has a nice 'starting in motion' feel to it); goatmeal's suggestion (below) of terminating an NPC captain early on could also make for an interesting start if you want spend game time on that

Jetsam Application Jetsam Male, middle-aged (indeterminate; mid-40s/early-50s) Concept Multiple shipwreck survivor; gets a bad feeling when things are about to go sideways (through some combination of perceptiveness, experience, and a sixth sense) Trouble always ready to lose it all Role on ship boatswain/engineer Skills Notice; Craft (engineer, knows boats -- and rafts); Physique (endurance mostly) or Athletics (swimming!) for top 3 Appearance Short (5'6"), wiry, grizzled; minimal belongings and what he has is kept close (beltpack + tools) Personality Makes friends quickly, knows adversity can be overcome (but not by everyone). Drive: thought he'd found a captain that could keep himself and a crew alive; so far, 1 out of 2 ain't bad Why the maelstrom: bit of a thrill seeker, especially given his tendency to immortality so far; kind of tired of the normal pirate way (done that, been there, ships sunk by marines on repeat) Isle of Origin   Jetsam is a born pirate and has never left the life. He's been on ships sunk all over Serenity and even on a couple that went down in the Maelstrom (one trying to get to the other side of the Neverending Heights, and also the one that picked him up from that wreck that was trying to get back to Serenity), but grew up as a kid in a smuggling village on a small, forgettable island in difficult waters they called Slit, which was nestled into rocky protrusions along the bluffs of the Neverending Heights along the Serenity coastline just north of the northernmost channels that lead into the Maelstrom from Serenity. Most of his adult life has been spent at sea serving as a boatswain. Jetsam has visited many ports, and he's spent time waiting for rescue from a few deserted nameless islands as well. He's never spent significant time in any city, and feels uncomfortable in urban areas. Background   Jetsam was born in a pirate settlement to a family of smugglers and shipwrights. Branded a pirate from birth, he had few options, and his upbringing taught him skills that guaranteed him a berth on a ship should he want one. There was never really any other choice. It's the pirate's life for he! Jetsam has served under at least a dozen captains and with as many crews, and each of these but one lost their ship and all (or almost all) hands. Jetsam survived these terrible events, sometimes alone, sometimes helping others, sometimes with the help of others. Some say he's cursed, some say he's the luckiest salt alive. He's had a lifetime of experience solving problems with limited resources in difficult circumstances, and his captains find (found) him to be a very competent boatswain. They also find that he has a knack for knowing when things are about to go badly, though most would wish they'd listened to him one more time. (The captain and crew that survived him became nervous about his past and dropped him off on a small island en route; their ultimate fate is unknown to him.) Roleplay sample   Jetsam swaggers along the pier in front of the Sudden Strumpet, having trouble dealing with the infernal stillness of the ground. With the half of his mind not on walking in a straight line, he inspects his prospective new home. The Strumpet looks a fine vessel, the fresh paint signalling a Captain who spends at least a little love on his ship. A good sign. Jetsam rolls up to the man in the fancy hat at the end of the gangplank, who is already engaged in talk with a young woman dressed in close-fitting sailor's garb. After a few moments, the presumptive Captain's eye swings around to acknowledge Jetsam. Jetsam's attention snaps from inspecting the Strumpet and the strumpet and he stumbles as he catches himself mid-sway. The wiry man narrowly averts the ignominy of a face plant and quickly stands up straight. "Captain Ruddbrands, sir? Jetsam, boatswain. You'd be expecting me?" At this interruption, the young woman also turns to look at him, and then both individuals turn bodily to face him. She speaks, "What makes you think he's the Captain, and not me?" Jetsam's eyes start to go wide before he's saved by fancy hat, "Because he's smarter than he looks. Aye, I've been expecting you, Jetsam. Also been hearing some things. What'd you say, Hazy, about taking on an experienced hardworking boatswain who has come through more dangers than any pirate I've met but still lookin' like he's spent his life on ashore on a pillow?" The young woman looks Jetsam up and down. "Sounds good to me. Looks old, though." "And what'd you say if I told you that the only recommendation he can offer after all his years at sea is that of a single ship's master? And that, because near all ships and hands that've sailed with him now reside in the locker?" Captain Ruddbrands ends his commentary with a wry smirk. Hazy looks none so confident. Her eyes narrow, and her look hardens. "Sounds like the old salt is bad luck, and had best count his blessings and stay ashore." Jetsam sighs. "I don't know you from a pint, young miss, and I'm not sayin' what's true or not, nor am I like to tell sea tales here 'less the Captain here is askin' for a special dockside storytime. Tis a dangerous world out there, though, young thing, and ask yourself -- would you rather take a chance on luck, or have someone beside you who's been through the jaws of the kraken and come out the other side of the beast. And lookin' and smellin' better than you'd expect!"   Jetsam wakes to a weight on his chest. "Oof! Hey, what's the big..." The light of a lantern swings feebly through the dark. Enough light for Jetsam's bleary eyes to make out a few details of the bundle planted on his chest. "Ah." "On your feet, Jetsam, and get yerself abovedecks. Let's not make this more uncomfortable than we have to, for any of us. I'd say you could take a moment to grab your belongings, but..." Wilona, ship's master, is standing above him, looking none too kindly. They both know he doesn't keep any belongings that he isn't already wearing. The bundle consists of a bottle of water, a bottle of powder, a bottle of shot, and a pistol. Per the code. Jetsam is to be marooned. "What's the problem, master? I've done nothing other than care rightly for this vessel." Jetsam rolls himself slowly out of his cot and to his feet. He knows this argument isn't going to be resolved without going above. He sighs. "I'm ready." The master nods and waves him up with the lantern, spilling light on an empty hold. Jetsam moves to the ladder and hauls himself up to the deck. There, the crew is assembled, looking solemn, Captain Tyde standing to the fore. "Jetsam, by vote of the crew and the pirate code, you are to be put ashore by reason of being a bearer of bad fortune. Say your piece." Jetsam knows this is a formality, but perhaps it can give him a chance if he can find the right words. "Fellow crew." he gazes out at poorly illuminated stony-looking faces that he'd gotten to know over these past few weeks. Think quickly, man! "Fellows." After a pause filled only by the song of the rigging and creaking of the cogs in his suddenly empty head, he feels a shove from the back and hears Master Wilona's voice, "Nice speech." "No, wait! Everyone, listen, I do my work well, and Gord over there tries hard but the lad is barely thirteen and just doesn't know enough to keep this ship afloat. I'm not alive because I'm bad luck, I'm alive because I know when something bad is coming. I can keep you all alive too, if you'll just listen! And I'm telling you..." Suddenly, a feeling of malaise comes over Jetsam, and he stops talking. It takes all his attention and focus to just stay standing. He sways slightly as he counts in his head, 9... 10... and the worst of it is over... 9... 8.... When he gets back to 0, he feels steady again. "Never mind, I'll just get in the boat. I can see you've all made up your minds." Jetsam is certain that convincing those pirates to keep him on the crew would not have worked out well for him, and sighs in anticipation of the lonely days ahead. "I hope you chose a good island."