Welcome to Gaia! ::

'HOY!

Call me Captain Cooler Platir Crunk. Though to many ears, and clearly to my crew, I'm referred to as "The Nimble Anchor" and on the desert shores of the dried continent, the "Roaring Leo" it'll be Captain, Cap'n, Cap, Captain Crunk or Cooler to all of ye. Understand now, that I am master, commander, and captain of the entire fleet, (Though I will have assigned helmsmen in charge of each ship) all your respect, and attention is directed to me first. I am your complete superior, and any lip, or talking down to me is instant punishment. Drill it in your heads now, I would cut the beating hearts of any, and all out of disrepect, failure to obey direct, or assigned orders, and any hint of mutinous temperment. If you and I aren't communicating clearly, or seeing eye to eye, speak up, or give a knock on my quarters, and I will settle all matter between you and I, you and my crew, or the more personal. AND I ENCOURAGE THAT. Cause really, I'm not a bad guy. I love my crew. Unless I openly state otherwise.

Posiedon, the work that needs to be done here!
We are just shoving off, give us a few days.

1. Thread intent
2. Terms/Items
3. Events
4. Playas
5. Locales
6. Transport
7. Links

2.) )x( Terms/Items )x(
Doubleyouteeeff is a/an [insert term]? I dunno man, check the list!

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Shellphones
Shellphones grow in nature as a two-fisted size shell, that can be split in half. It's echo chambers are unique to each shell, and remain intact after seperation. What are they to pirates? Two-way chambered seashells that allow long distance communication on the sea. A pair is usually shared between a crew member of the same rank on different ships. There are two kinds: The handheld pair (shellphones come in pairs. you can't call someone that isnt using your opposite shell. In other words, that I didn't really want to allude to, they are ALOT like walkie-talkies.) And the large conch-like intercoms that work for the entire ship. Helmsmen, and the Crunk posess these, but are usually not implemented.
exclaim Proper shellphone use in the threads:
Since the threads are going to be divided (by the majority) into the different ships, and islands, and not everyone will be in the same place at once, conversations between threads will have a proper procedure between users in them.
Ex.: Crunk (on the Leviathan): "Squall, call my shell if you need anything!" -yelling to the Squall from the helm, as the Squall waves in understanding, walking into the Poisoned Crab.-
Sqaull (inside the Poisoned crab) "C'mon, pick up" He mumbles to himself, waiting for Crunk to answer his shell-
[OK, HERE is where things must be proper]
Crunk (POSTS IN THE POISON CRAB) "Uh, hello, Squall? Somethin wrong? My shell was bubblin like crazy."
Squall (KEEPS POSTS IN THE POISONED CRAB) "Nah, just showin everyone how to appropriatley use shellphones in threads."
Crunk (posts in poison crab, yes) "Ah, sweet. Carry on."

YOU post in the thread from which you are called from. GET IT??? I do hope so.
heart

4.) )x( Playas )x(

Get to know yar friends and enemies!!

( arrow If you wish be on the character list ((and I really want you to be)) then just PM me all the info you wish for me to add to the list. Characters will be ordered alphabetically. You can be as long winded as you like, such as character backstory, but leave all SL events, and SL backstory pertaining to your char out of it. I will edit any spelling, or grammatical errors, and any SL dialogue, or unnecessary SL data out of it. I'm lookin forward for this list to... ...SCROLL OUT!)

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Naval Fleet Admiral Artemis Demiar (UN: MoonKitsune)
Height: 5'5
weight: 118 lbs.
Age: 26
Hair color: Dark Ebony
Eye color: Sage
Defining marks: Tattoo of a seagull wing on her right shoulder blade. An indigo band around the top of her ear lobe.
Accessories: A jade ring on her right hand and two earrings with indigo gems.
Weapons: Lightweight twin pistols, finely grafted for a woman's slender hand and containing a gold coin embedded in each handle, along with a long sword and matching dagger with indigo handles given to her as a gift.
Character flaw:
Paranoid and very Stubborn. Sometimes her cold behavior and tendency to overlook other' opinions makes her unfavorable. Slightly superstitious and hold great pride in being a Navy Captain.
Background: Background: To a merchant hoping for sons, her birth was reluctantly embraced with forced arms. Her father, indulging in items fine or finer then the wide selection he sold, resided in a comfortable plantation in the heart of his homeland. However far from the sea, his heart and mind still heard the sound of waves and seagulls, and it overran half of the house's Dr. Wedded to a maiden (that was rumored to have been bought), his adventurous life as a seafaring man was wished to be passed down in his sons. However, not a man to be sidetracked easily and hard headed, he held a sense of hope in his newly acquired daughter.
Money being now object, he spent large quantities of money crafting his daughter, with tutors day and night, indulging the mind in any subject. Despite being a woman, he turned to direct her in other subjects that allowed her gender. Map making, translator, and negotiator. Yet this wasn't to say that her mother had no say in molding her. A woman of the era, she forced her child in etiquette, riding horses, and the fine art of manipulating words and people. Despite all this, it was her father that had the most effect with his nightly stories, exaggerated to create a wider smile on his daughter.
It was this that must have been to blame to her love of fencing, curiosity for any manner of weapon, and a quickly expanding stubbornness that could not be suppressed by any means.
Despite most kids her age, she spent more time tracking down her teachers to ask questions and talking theories with whatever visitor that managed to enter the house or the grounds. Unable to fill the vast void of curiosity and hungry for knowledge, it was approved for her to attend school in Antrim, where she would be better fitted to a promising future and where her father could get some rest from his wife's constant nagging to leave the heat of the area for more social climates.
Attending school not only proved to make her more satisfied and surround her with more promising and influence people, it also sharpened her true determination. A constant listener that absorbed information weather it be whispered or gossiped, along with the spirit always up for heated debate that would make a politician sweat, Artemis seemed unfulfilled and poked and scanned every corner of every angle to better tune herself to anything.
Her pressed face and cold demeanor was only shattered by her stubborn mind and passion to get her way. Though it impressed enough to have requests for her to be employed by various office jobs that would stun even her own classmates, her mind wafted to the constant tales of her father. The only childhood thought deeply rooted and obsessed in her mind.
It might have been her past attitude that could be viewed as preparation for the constant argument and pleading to receive proper instruction along with other boys. Along with months of strained vocal chords, and maybe a few funds, she was allowed to receive training on the open sea under a well-seasoned Captain. Though it was hoped that the youth would grow tired and homesick, the things associated with her gender, once she returned home, Artemis showed no trace of ever leaving the pier. The sea, a cruel beast that made men mad and typically bored young people, only sparked a glowing love to her and she truly felt in tune with the world. Mother desperate for her child to see reason, refused to speak to her, and it turned out that Artemis showed no sign of shedding off her own sea legs. Keeping touch with her father instead, she poured with her own tales.
It was said that Artemis would not go farther in land then the typical port town, but that was not true. The next step for her was the Navy, and upon several hearings and letters, along with visits to lavish cities she held no heart to, she got her name listed and was demoted to crew member of the 'Remora'.
Time passed, as did the countless missions. Escorting merchant ships safely past open waters, mapping out islands that showed promise for conquest or trade. All things that should appeal to blain men, but this were not the view she held. It was a matter of obtaining better links with crew members, who seemed to switch ships all to often, and obtain advise and good will from Captains.
Then, upon the death of her father, did Artemis leave her position to visit her mother and upon a request from her father that she marry. Spitting with rattled breaths that the sea is cold and it swallows lives. Don'tdie alone. Panged with guilt and consulting her own mother, she was wed to an indifferent man in Antrim. Sadly, she found no comfort in him, and he found no use in her as she was found to be barren. Parting ways and leaving her mother with funds and soft words, she returned to see to continue her career.


Captain Cooler Platir Crunk (UN: Toxaemia)
Also: The Nimble Anchor, The Roaring Leo
age: 33
eyes: Grey-green
tattoos: large fish hook under left forearm. octopus on outer left bicep/elbow, arms writhing into bend of arm, outer forearm. solid ink anchor begining on his left shoulder, to the center of his left pectoral. brilliant greek waves on his collar bones. two seahorses on either side of his left knee. two leo prints under each big toe.
prominent features: Large black afro with a bleach-blond burst at his forehead. Eye patch over left optical. mainstay expression is a scowl, unless of course he is laughing, or in other spirits.
weapon: A grand anchor kept on his back at all times (which is at liberty to change between other anchors kept in his posession), dagger, pistols.
special traits/abilities: can jump amazing lengths, and heights. is a trained sword dancer, but utilizes the anchor now instead of the sword.
flaws: Cannot decline a challenge. Crunk is very proud and arrogant, ontop of headlong. Jumps to conclusions, but usually can resolve matters with little meditation.
history: as a young man, crunk thought his future was in books, and that they could teach a man all he would need to know. so, as an avid reader of fine literature, including countless works of the sea, and piracy, he also enjoyed poerty, and the appreciation of nature, which is where the romantics of poetry said is where a man would learn all he would need to know. but the two mediums had no medium. all critics believe they clash, and one would lean one way or the other. crunk, as a boy, saw the obvious differences, but couldn't see through their essence. he remained inbetween the natural, and written world. and such would be the life of crunk, enjoying all of life between the two extremes, in all aspects, and he applied it successfully, and privately. growing up in a busy trading port, he understood the appreciation for the sea, and was exposed to the world, in all the many shops, and merchants. but he feared it, the sea, and leaving on it, to travel to all the places he wished to visit on it, from where all the amazing things collected in the port--something was waiting for him in it. he experienced it at an early age, playing on the docks. a good distance beyond all the ships, something, just above the surface of the water, staring at him. he could clearly make out the features of large, slowly blinking eyes, and a head. he was terrified, and called a man stepping off a ship over to him to look at it. the pirate asked him what he was looking at, and was getting angry when the boy kept repeating that it was right there, clear as day beyond the ships. the pirate couldn't see it. nor could any other seaman, or citizen of the town. not even his mother. and every time he approached the great sea, it was there. he may not have seen it at first, but it was there. it was visibly of great size. it haunted him.
but cooler grew up. he finished school, and had forgotten completely of the thing. to cut the story shorter, he trained on the sea, and earned himself an esteemed captains license, to travel the world. he wrote, he drew, but he was interested to visit all the places that came into his hometown, now very educated upon them. the long days on the sea grew very bored, and one day, staring in thought in the ocean, there in his wake, following steadily behind him, were the great eyes and head of the beast that haunted him at the port. his fears had exploded inside him again. cooler pretended he didn't see it, and kept busy, to keep an eye on it. it troubled him so deeply, it began to appear physically. he found himself sitting in painful positions for extremely long periods of time. one day, sprawled on the deck, famished and crushed by fear, he understood he had to get ahold of himself, and that he was living in the darkest corner of it. not centered, where he should be. he pushed himself to continue traveling, positioning himself again in the grey, between fear and courage. the beast appeared to be harmless to him, but always scratched the back of his mind.
he had his microadventures, but his true story began in the dry continent. the culture captivated him, and he spent a great deal of time traveling the land, and immersing himself in the culture, and language. when it came time for him to leave, he discovered that his ship and all of his belongings, save the clothes on his back had been stolen. pirates had raided the ports, and all his funds had been exhausted travelling. he turned back around, broken he had lost all his work, and treasures from the isles he dreamed of. he just walked, and walked, in constant thought and question. long before he realized it, he had passed out, deep in the desert from dehydration, completely removed of his clothing. upon waking, he percieved the smashing sun, directly above, and overshadowed figures surrounding him, as his body, he felt, layed upon lush grass. he woke up more, and sat on his elbows, and the figures drew great swords, in unison at his vitals. crunk recalled swallowing, and sitting still for an intense period of time that he could not estimate. the men unclothed men, he could see now, slowly backed off, and each pointed and poked the anchor tattoo on his shoulder, and speaking something in an inquisitive tone, and expression. they kept asking, pointing at it, becoming very angry, but collected. their language was a primitive variant of the mainlands tongue, with very off-differences, but he told him what it was, as eloqeuntly as he could. before he even finished his statement--that what the picture on his body was, was an anchor, a tall man stabbed, and split the tip of his tongue horizontally, clearly offended by the language. crunk bled from his mouth profusely, as they carried him off, bleeding, they presented him to a small pond in what he made out as an oasis, beyond the sea of desert that overtook him. grounded in front of it, a completely foreign object, rusted, and beaten by the sun stood as tall as himself. an ancient looking anchor, of which he learned they found at the bottom of the pond. this puzzled crunk to the ends of his mind how this item came to be within the center of the vast dried continent. but he listened closely to the words the men spoke. he was learning quickly their language, as it was so closely mirrored in etymology to that of the country's. they were taken aback when he found himself asking with a cut tongue, where he was.
so much time passed here. cooler became a fluent speak of the language, and was forced to adapt their customs. they called vaguely refered to themselves as 'the lions of the sand'. hunting, and eating only the grand packs of white man-eating lions that prowled the desert. they disposed of the beasts with arrows and the large curved swords they always wielded, and adapted their voices and throats to roar like them, a very inhuman thing to percieve. crunk harnessed all, and the swordplay could be barely described as the artistry of the sword dancers. he was one of them, and soon forgot everything about the sea, and his home, and his wishes. the life was very fulfilling, in a primitive, and brutal, masochistic reality. i have to cut the many customs, and beliefs, and many marked instances during his stay to make this story brief. but it was one night that crunk had a stirring dream, in which he was sailing home on a pirate galleon. but it was this morning after his relapsed dream, that the pride told him he was no longer apart of the pack. they chained the ancient anchor on his back, removed his sword, and pointed him in the direction of the city he docked in. here, it was, he vividly recalls turning back to them, watching him leave, and seeing in the center of the tiny pond, the eyes of the beast that had followed him since he was a child. it was impossible! it couldn't have been there. he had bathed and drank from the spring countless times, it was nothing more than a spring. he turned, and ran, insane with fear, and flooding thoughts. he travelled three months, in the summer season through the desert to his destination. only encountering enough lions to eat and drink from, barely being able to wield the great anchor that remained chained to his entire body, locked, and hanging from a short chain. the last day, of the last reach of the desert, he encountered a very old, and immobile lion in his path. it growled, but could not strike him. crunk, despite the last years of his life, as his past had been rushing back to him on the way home, decided to pass it, and leave it be. but he couldn't. it was beyond him to leave the reach of the lion, each attempt he made, the anchor that was chained around him, which he could not remove, dropped, and he fell back, to find himself facing the ancient lion. the last effort he made to leave it be, the lock of the anchor broke, and he took it upon himself, after deep thought, to end the life of the miserable lion. crunk bellowed the mightiest of roars, and beamed the old lion on it's head, as it tried to throw out it's tired, dead claws. but he paid his respects to the animal they emulated, and relied on. he did not eat it, and did not know, but by ending it's life, would do soemthing to him that he would only discover much later. (i really tried to cut this thing short, i'll finish it another day. maybe i will just add a link under his profile where this can be found, to save space. sweatdrop !!)


The First Mate Mud (UN: First Mate Mud)
Age: 18
Height: 6'3"
Weight: 117lbs
Hair Color: Brown
Eye Color: Icey Blue
Defining Mark(s): The only defining marks he has are his tattoos. The most recognizable is "Lady Luck" across his shoulder blades.
Accessories: Silver bands on his wrists and a acoustic guitar that belonged to his father.
Weapon(s): He carries five knives. Two sheethed on each calf, two sheethed hanging from the left side of his belt and one sheethed across his chest. His side arm is a saber that belonged to his father, he wears it on his right hip. He also carries one single shot pistol.
Character Flaw: His hatred for his father.
Background: The story begins a pirate was in area of an island that had a fairly big trading route that ran through it. He was despirately in the need of a womans company. The local whore was happy to ablidge. The night ended and so did the pirates stay, however he left the woman a present. A present in the form of child. The child was born without complication, however the woman was a reluctant mother. She usually pushed away any and all responsability, but she looked like a saint compared to the father who didn't show his face for two years. Once he came and gained the knowledge of his son he was tickled to death. Not for he was happy to be a father, but now he had a son that he could torment. For the next five years he would pay visits. These visits would be filled with pranks, verbal humiliation and strangely enough gifts. A sword and a guitar were left to the boy, amongst other things. Then one day to the boys unmatched joy the man never returned. From that day on he was left to raise himself though, his mother who was now plagued with mental illness had shunned him. In the next three years he tought himself many things. How to hunt, build shelters for himself, make a fire, play the guitar and use the sword. But most of all he tought himself his hatred for his father. Skip ahead a little, around the middle of his tenth year on earth. He was wondering the docks one day and he seen that there was a insane amount of pirate ships tied up. He had been playing with the thought for years of becoming a pirate and hunting his father who was a pirate himself. They had just been boyhood dreams up till now. So he decided to go ship to ship until he had been accepted to the crew. After requesting 14 ships he had finally been accepted. The crew was a group of heavy drinkers and he had basically been suckered into being labored to death. He lived on this ship for the next five years. During this time he picked up his love for the knife and discovered his ability to control the element of luck. Which is why he took on the tattoo he did. He learnt everything there was to know about how to sail a ship. However they had worked him to the bone and he was so tired at night that he fell asleep instantly. One night he had woke up needing to go to the bathroom. By chance he overheard the captain talk about how they were going to sell him into slavery. This sent him into a rage, for he had given his sweat, blood and heart to this ship. He tryed to make his escape that night but he was caught while lowering a row boat. Instead of killing him they traded him as a slave. The very thing he had tryed to save himself from. He endured two long years of the life of a slave. Then by some strange luck the ship he was staying had drifted off course and crashed onto a beach. (It turned out the first mate had forgotten to lock the rudder for the night.) He took this chance to gather his things and run to the nearest town. The next year was spent just living and relaxing, until one day he was ready to start the hunt for his father once again. He also missed the life at sea. So went into the local market and saw a man that struck him odd. He looked very familiar, "Could it be!" he asked himself aloud. He charged over and let a world of swears out on the man. For the man was his father. He threatend the man, yet the man seemed to be clueless of the situation. Though clearly, to any onlookers that were present, they could see the man peddling his wares on the open market was clearly of persian blood, build, and culture. There was no comparison, but the boy held his conviction, assuring them both the large merchant was his father. Oblivious, and not entertained, the merchant ignored the cursing, and swearing. But the ruckus did catch the eye of one particular, who was strolling through the streets. The noise drew his attention to the merchants shop, and the curious onlooker immediatley recognized the man's goods for what they were. He carried an anchor on his back, and threw down a bag of gold, exclaiming he would buy each piece of parchment he had in his possesion, for they were sea charts, mapped by none othe than the star-charters of the desert. The two spoke, and the man with the anchor proposed the merchant join his crew that instant. The merchant said that he must travel home, as the shop was set up to do so, before he could. But the boy piped in, reminding the street that he was his father, and that no way he would let him leave. The man with the anchor questioned his foolishness, and asked of his work on a ship, which he had hard experience, and hired him as well. Now a four man crew, Mud traveled with Crunk and the Squall to the destined archipelago, where he would once again reunite with his b*****d of a father. Hm. But to any sane-eyed peasant, Crunk and the boy resembled one another far more than Mud and the persian.


The Floatillian Botanist, Dahlia (UN: Midori_person)
normally referred to as: Dahlia, or The Gardener
age: 28
height: 5" 4"
weight: 128
eyes: pale green
hair: pale blonde
special features: scar running from in between her thumb and forefinger to her wrist, a constant vaguely-confused look that attempts to hide behind a smile,
weapons very large gardening shears/scissors, which could be detatched to use as separate weapons, small pocket-sized knife
flaws: Horribly lying skills, can not fight for beans even though she pretends that she can, bad pirating skills in general, can't swim beyond the point of basic floating
history
Growing up in the far north, Dahlia spent more time in the snow than she did anything else. Raised as some widowed inventor's daughter, she saw little of the world outside of her window. She lived in comfort, and her father provided almost everything she needed, except for the permission to travel south. Her first request was when she was eight. She wanted to see the ocean, as described in the books from her school, but he refused, insisting that surely she would get sick. Un-experienced in almost all affairs at the time, she believed him. After all, it wasn't as if she knew that she wouldn't get sick? Although her books wound stories of the paradise islands with friendly natives and warm sun and sands, there were many more about the dangers, none of which avoided mentioning a tale or two of pirates. Her literature was her only exposure to the south, and she spent hours at a time huddled in her room reading of the tropical oasis of the southern world while the wind whipped the snow past the window in a fury.
Curious, but too grounded to act, Dahlia remained in the white north, attending school after school. But as her education grew, so did her imagination. And the thought of a more colorful world would never leave her mind. It was with her first lesson of biology that Dahlia discovered what she wanted do. It hadn't been a big shock of realization, nor had it been any heart-wrenching destiny call. It was just a page splashed with colors. It intrigued Dahlia, the colors, each one standing for a different life form, all together beautiful. She spent many a day after that flipping through books of plants and animals, as her old stories of deserted islands and stolen treasures gained a lonely layer of dust both on her shelf, and in her mind. Since her birth, she had been raised to be practical. Not to imply that she was, in any way close to, being practical. If she wouldn't get to sail on salty seas of the South, she was at least going to bring some color to the grey world of the North.
On her fifteenth birthday, Dahlia received an orchid. It was huge, at least, in her eyes. It was nothing close to the height of the tall pines that resided near her home, giving off that old traditional smell of clean wilderness. Nor did it hold the oddly violent purity of the snow that constantly fell outside, covering the fresh grass trying to escape its grasp. Despite this, it held its own air of majestic balance, and Dahlia was happy to place it on her window sill next to the sad window. As it grew larger, so did her hopes of finding other plants of the same caliber. Soon, she had a hibiscus, then, soon after, violets, and even some plants she had never heard of. It was apparent to her that they wouldn't survive accompanying the view of the snowy trees with little light to make them happy, so, with the help of her reluctant father, they built a greenhouse, complete with gardening tools and makeshift heat lights, courtesy of her father's tinkering. It only covered the space of roughly half a room, but as Dahlia's collection grew, so did her house. By her eighteenth birthday, she had an oasis of her own.
Continuing her studies, Dahlia applied herself to the literature world for her father, who wasn't yet comfortable with the idea of his winter daughter's fascination with summer's foliage. His world was in black and white, where as his daughter's had begun to filter the colors in. She became more vibrant, and more outspoken, spending just as much time studying as she did laughing about almost anything that seemed to hold even ounce of amusement. By day she was quoting famous literary works, by night she was holed up in her now very-large green house reading about things that southerners seemed to call cantaloupe. By now she knew all there was to know about the colder climate's foliage, and could tell the difference between the different firs and pines, and everyone in her small town knew the potential she held.
Despite further tries to convince her father to move south, Dahlia could not bring him to agree. Most thought that she was old enough, and that she would move on her own, despite her father's wishes. But Dahlia had no intentions of leaving her father. He was, after all, the only family she had. Relocating to such "fantasy" places would be a change enough as it was, even with its vast indifference; she knew she would miss her winter wonderland. She was not about to go around missing her father on top of all of that. She knew that if she could only get her father to see the colors she did, he would come with her. It wasn't until her 22nd year that she found something to change his mind. There had been a rumor passed, of gardens on the sea. Actual floating gardens. The truth wasnt as magical as the original phrase, but it still struck a chord. There were boats being built with built in gardens on them! it had started with a mini-garden some sailor had created for his wife so she could continue her gardening and supply food for her husband's many voyages on the sea. Soon the idea had been turned over enough that whole ship-decks were being transformed into gardens of choice. Her father, as an inventor, could not get over exactly how such a thing would be possible. And when the word for assistance went out on the construction of a new boat, he agreed. By the end of the month, he and Dahlia were packed, the house sold, and Dahlia's greenhouse left with explicit instructions for its care.
The journey south was uneventful, a mass of trees, snow, and worries. Sailing through icy seas, Dahlia buried herself in her books in one of the cramped cabins, ignoring the whistling cold. As they went farther down, the winter clothes came off, and lighter clothes replaced it, arms and legs visible for the first time in a long while. It was on that first step off of the sun-bathed deck at the island port, that Dahlia knew she was in the right place. A few clouds puffed across the large blue sky, meeting the most calm and serene water she had ever seen, the blue green of the liquid entrancing her. The only thing that pulled her away was the sight of the boat.
There was a garden-boat in port, a Floatilla. Dahlia had never heard the proper name of the boats before, and all she could do was laugh. It was the oddest-looking thing she had ever seen. There were trees sprouting from a wooden object, or so it seemed from the ground. On deck it looked like an average.. Jungle. Dahlia had never seen such plants, the colors were beautiful, the smells were pleasant, and the weather was perfect. Never before had she been in such an alive place. The people were friendly and laid-back, though quite a bit darker than she was. It was obvious she was a foreigner. As she stood there on the ship, she could not help but bend down and straighten a titled lily. And then she could not help but recoil a string of ivy around a stair banister. And as the day progressed she could not tear herself from the meticulous care of every tiny little life form, even feeding some of the seagulls, perched as if they belonged there with the rest of the scenery.
One of the caretakers of the ship managed to catch sight of her days toiling, and took her below to see how the rest of the ship worked. Her father's constant drilling managed to take over then, the mechanics of the ship coming registering as easy as her reading. She had a knack for the plant life, and the mess of roots below, which writhed and intertwined until they made their own sea. As it turned out, that floatilla was an older one, having been sailing for some time by now. All of the garden boats came and went with the weather, avoiding the large storms and coming to port for more favorable weather. While it was out at sea, the floatilla would be growing valuable fruits and vegetables needed for a prosperous harvest back at the port. Because of the often failure of land-plotting due to the horrendous storms, the floatillas were the key element in keeping a small island from starving. The new one was being constructed as they spoke, not scheduled to sail for quite some time. But at luck would have it, it required the Senior Gardener's attention, and as new positions were filled, a new spot was left open- and soon occupied by her.
Her father had been accepted in the construction of the new ship, and as he began on the ship skeleton, she and her crew left on a voyage. The stormy weather had died down for the time being, but they needed new foliage for the new addition to the floatilla fleet. Over the trip, Dahlia learned everything about the ship, and its ecosystem. The plants they found, she memorized, and the foods they ate, she grew. Soon there was nothing you could hide from her. If there was one leaf or clot of soil out of place, she would find it, and find it frequently. Her explosive, but rather clumsy nature was infectious, and she befriended the crew easily. However, not only did her trip include plant-training, it contained physical training as well. Because she was from the peaceful north, where it was far too cold to venture outside often, Dahlia lacked many skills that the native sailors seemed to have known from birth. They began to teach her, and she learned as best as she could, but it was no mystery that she was better with books than combat. To help her with her fights, they gave her a pair of scissors. Very large scissors. They called them good luck shears, and though Dahlia hadn't the faintest idea why they would considered overly large shears to be lucky, she accepted them gratefully. She was certain they would come in handy in the garden, the crew was certain that they would turn her from a horrible fighter to a not-so-horrible-but-still-pretty-bad fighter... which would be good enough progress for now
By the time they returned to the home port, the ship was ready for the planting process, and Dahlia transferred to the new project to watch her learned plants find a new home. By the time the mild rains gave through to thelife threatening storms, she was on board the new ship as one of the botanists, ready to grow the plants needed for survival. Her father, his job completed, retreated further into the island, but he made no secret of expressing his appreciation for the new world in which they now lived, and for what she had decided to do.
Finally on her own, the next few years went by in a flash. Voyage after voyage occurred, sunburn after sunburn. Dahlia began to pick up the language of the island port, and used it as frequently as she could. Sometimes she was crazy enough to talk to her plants in the foreign tongue, which was not overlooked by the rest of the crew. As it were, not much of what she did was overlooked. Extremely new to the sea, and to the land in general, she had much to learn, and to this day still makes her mistakes.
It was a long time before they set foot in the original harbor for more than a short stop. Almost immediately, the main crew left to get supplies, the sole gardeners left for tools, and Dahlia was left to watch the ship and prepare the most recent plants for picking and packing. It would take awhile for them to get back, and they couldn't just leave the ship in harbor on its own. It tended to be a bit noticeable. They would be here at least until the summer-fall plants were harvested, so security was low. A floatilla's rounds were normal on the island, and there were almost no incidents of violence surrounding them, especially when it was known that they would be getting a while's worth of food very soon.
Ignoring the fact that she would probably be the least likely cantidate for protecting the Floatilla, Dhalia went about her daily work as she normally would, and when the stars came out, she climbed up into a Royal Poinciana, one of the ship's best trees where she stared up into the sky for what seemed to be hours before falling asleep. When she awoke, the ship was not in port, and during a short a state of surprise due to this fact, she fell off of her perch into the plants below, making one of the least graceful entrances into hostile territory ever known to mankind.
The ship had been taken by pirates, very good ones, apparently. The books of her childhood being her only reference as to what, exactly, pirates were, and her common sense telling her to run, Dahlia realized that she was a little short of options. Being confronted, she made up a small story about being a pirate all along, trying her best to look maniacal and dangerous, and coming near failing miserably. Still, they more or less accepted her story. In the end, it had been established that yes, she knew how the ship worked, and yes, she would show them how to work it. and maybe, just maybe, she could learn to be a pirate too.

The Galley Squall (UN: Sadatos)
Age: 32
Height: 5'8"
Weight: 179lbs
Hair Color: Black
Eye Color: Slate Gray
Defining Mark(s): Large, jagged X shaped scar upon his back ( recieved by The Nimble Anchor in their first meeting. ) Also an eyepatch over his right eye.
Accessories: Pipe made from whale bones, and a pouch of fine smokeable.
Weapon(s): One large harpoon attached to a chain, as well as three smaller ones upon his back, also connected to chains.
Character Flaw: If anyone speaks poorly of his cooking.. He goes into a near blind rage.
Background: From the time he was a small boy growing up in a port town, The Galley Squall had wanted to be a man of the sea, though as far as what full occupation he wanted, he was still uncertain, and as he grew he found opprotunity in the Navy. He joined at the young age of 12, mastering the ways of the sea by age 16. ( navigation, predicting whether, etc, etc. ) On the ship he was stationed on, it was found that The Squall was quite the cook, and when he wasn't doing the manual labor of the ship, he was mastering his art with the resident cook of the vessel. Finding the man's teachings somewhat limited, he soon surpassed him in cooking ability, finding a fascination with cooking different items, and going so far as to master each dish he came across. By the age of 18, he had become quite the cook, and close friends with the captain of the ship, though on a long voyage, the crew came to the agreement of overthrowing the captain, mutiny.. The worst of all sea crimes. Being close friends with the captain in question, the boy fought alongside him, though the two were soon gathered up and left to rot on a deserted island. The captain had sustained major wounds, and died a few days into their stay on the island. By chance, a whaling boat had come across the island, taking up the boy due to his large ability in the kitchen. It was on this ship he learned to weild harpoons, assisting in the men's trade. Due to his new-ness to the ship, the men of it made him haul entire sections of whale into the cargo hold, which was where the man was granted his amazing strength, and due to his duty on the mast and with the sails, he had gained quite a bit of agility, stamina and freedom of movement. By the age of 21 he was quite the seasoned whaler, mastering the harpoons, even taking up his own make from a metal smith from the ravenous Dark Continent, the harpoon standing about the same height as the man, as well as three very other sturdy harpoons, all from men on the boat who he had come to love, who had been lost while whaling. After some time in his life, the crew of the Whaling vessel came across one of the more dreaded perils of the sea, a pirate ship. They were overthrown by the crew, though The Squall had put up an intense fight, which lead the captain of the Pirate crew to grant him a safe ride to their destination. He cooked for them, learning what few actual ways of pirating there were, and learned to love the lifestyle, but he soon found himself stranded on unfamiliar turf, the islands of the Eastern Civilization, to be more precise, being of age 22 by this point in his life. After a year in the country, he learned to speak the language, and soon found himself wandering about the country. Dazzled one day by the sight of Mount. Bhopal, he took it upon himself to travel to the place, finding there a very well hidden hut beneath an overlay of land. The man within looked to be decrepit, but on later inspection, seemed to be more than spry, dispatching The Squall after he had attempted to steal some of the man's soup. Fascinated by the man's style even more than the majestic scenery, he took it upon himself to learn it, even going so far as to utilize his harpoons with the style, melding the two to create his own. It took him 5 years to master it completely, at which point his master had died. He was 27 years old by this point, and found travel from the ports of the land growing more and more, so he took a ship to the Eastern Mainland, coupling with a small band of pirates in order to live his life as he had finally determined how he wanted to.. As a pirate, living freely, though not too long on the boat, he heard rumors from the crew about an Oasis in the "Dead Continent", known as "The Smorgasbord", which had vegetables, fish, and other such resources found nowhere else in the world. He got off at this continent, "persuading" the captain to do so. Deep in the country, he happened upon a man around his own age, and asked him if he knew of any such place, the man answering only that the sword dancers might know, though having already heard rumors of them from Pirate, and local alike, he dismissed the man's idea as insanity, and the stranger defended his people, initiating a fight. Misjudging the man, he recieved the scar he carries to this day, a graceful blow from a rather large anchor in rapid succession. But The Squall had met his match. The stranger upheland his brethrens good name, and the two parted ways. After several months he gave up on the idea of finding the place.. Yet. He knew it would come to him in the future, it was his destiny. By chance in one of the port areas, he found the man who was known to be the greatest chef in the world, and for a two year period he perfected his one and only love with the man. Having learned all he could, he set out, now at the age of 29, making for the port in search for a ride. By some chance he came across the man whom he had fought in the desert, and the two struck a deal.. To set out on their own ship, ( Which was owned by the Nimble Anchor ), and to become legendary. The Squall the cook, and Anchor the Captain.. It was to be a fantastic adventure to say the very least.


Kalian Jasper (UN: DemonicRose)
Age: 24
Height: 5’3”
Weight: 103lbs
Hair Color: Semi-bright red
Eye Color: One is jade green and the other a honey brown
Defining Marks: Eyes obviously, four piercings on either side of her ears and an extra one of her right cartilage, and a tattoo of a rose wrapped around a sword on her left shoulder blade.
Accessories: Large amount of odd earrings and a single silver ring, a few sizes to big for her, with a weaving pattern on it.
Weapons: A dagger hidden in the garter on her thigh, two sword that hang from her belt: one is a family heirloom so it is jewel encrusted, the handle weaves around the hand and the blade is very thin and sharp at the point and the other is much plain (no gems) the blade is meant to cut and is exceptionally sturdy, and finally an odd feather that is deadly to the touch.
Character Flaw: Easy to anger when to do with the fact that she is a girl and doesn’t listen to reason when she has her mind set on something.
History: She was born into the life of a lady in a large town where her father was the chief of police. In early years she accepted this and dressed and acted in accord with the traditions of her family until accompanying an errand boy into to town to fetch wine from a seaside tavern. There while waiting for the boy to come back out to the main hall a group of pirates enter the tavern, talking loudly of the raid they had just returned from. These men enthralled her, as there were completely different from the one she lived around, they dress to be comfortable and not to be fashionable also something about how they smelled strongly of the sea incited her. Noticing her listening intently from a table next to them and being as young as she was they allowed her to sit with them and listen to their tales of the sea. During the ten minutes she was with them the captain of the pack was waving his hands wildly retelling their voyage up the Spanish Main, his ring flew from his finger with his notice; she picked it up as he got up to fetch more ale. Silently she tried to hand it back to him and he mistook that she had to stolen it from his finger to impress them, laughing heartedly he told her to keep it so she could tell anyone she met that she had stolen from a pirate captain and lived to tell the tale. She slipped the ring in her pocket as the boy she was with called for her. Over the next five or so year Kali changed her way of life instead of learning how to sit proper and curtsey she convinced a local black smith into teaching her how to wield a sword and fight with her fists. Upon her thirteenth birthday her father announced to the town her marriage to a gentleman from the next town, an admiral in the navy; she point blank refused to this first the man was thirty, but he also had a bad reputation among his female servants. With the help of her trusted friend who worked at the docks she bought passage onto a ship that was sailing far from her hometown. On the night she left her mother caught her at the back door and gave her the family sword, she still carries, to wish her good luck in her life. The next four years she spent ship hopping and learning all she needed to sail the oceans as part of a crew. During her fourth year of freedom Kali came across an old peddler who sold her a map of an island out in the Northern Seas where a flock of rare birds once took as their home. While birds had never been among her favorite things on this Earth, a few feathers from these creatures could make anyone the same gold as a years wages. Making her way up north through her usual method of going from one ship to the next she planned to barter for a boat at the small town, Asbury, and sail alone on to the island. The journey took nearly another year until she stepped foot on the beaches of the old forgotten bird sanctuary; the map she had receive was now as useless as a heavy coat in summer she continued blindly inland. Three months on the island and not a flutter of wings or the caw of a bird, the island was devoid of all life except her. With dashed hopes Kali planned to turn back and head for her boat in the morning as she made camp that night, her food was low as it was, struggling forward on a pointless mission was suicide. As the sun rose the next morning something in the top of tree caught her eyes, a feather small and white caught among the branches; excitement pushing her up the tree she freed the feather and as she did her eyes where graced by the sight of a nest. A nest so large it was unlike anything she had ever seen before, in truth it was thousands of nest sewn so tightly together they could have been one. Although the nest was dead and had been for a long time by the rotting leafs still lingering in the bottom; stepping onto them Kali searched high and low for the feathers or talons she sought. Instead in the center nest she found something most unexpected, a chest as plain as it was the lock upon the box was strong and still remained intact after years of abandonment it had suffered. The lock was simple enough and for was she found the trip was far more than worth it. A feather as long as her arm from shoulder to wrist, it was a pale cerulean blue and the edges were razor shape for easily slicing through many a thing. Something she noticed though was whenever she waved this feather winds blew from it enough to scatter her hair from such a small gesture upon further investigation in to it she discovered the winds could be strong enough to move on the deadest of days a sea. Taking her new treasure back to the main land with, Kali joined another crew to make a journey back to the more lively ports. With the ability of the wind at her disposal more than one ship were willing to allow her passage with them and even permanent residence. In the port of Salem a pirate far on in his years proposed her a deal to became his first mate and use her ‘talent’ to help him raid the coast and in return when he died of his age the his ship was hers. No better a deal could be found and she joined the newly formed crew of the Nesmith. For a year and a half after she lived a perfectly happy life finishing her sailing and fighting. As promised on his deathbed the old captain she had grown to love as a father relinquished his ship to her. During the first two years as the captain on the Nesmith she formed a strong crew and eluded the Navy without fail, until a summers night in August the seas raged, winds howled and the Nesmith was smashed against the rocks of the shore. At least half her crew died in the crash the rest broken and bruised huddled on the shore as the rain beat down still. Morning came as a throng of Navy fighters stormed the shore looking for the remains of the pirates they had seen crash and took most with little fight. Kali and a few others put fought back most of the fighting men died in the end and the pirates where subdued. No more than three days in a jail cell and her ‘faithful’ crew had given her up as the captain for more leant sentences while she get a life sentence. After a year in prison Kali is still rotting in a cell watching the rest of her crew go free, waiting to be rescued.

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6.) )x( Transport )x(

The many ways we roll.

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Arcadia (Ship: Navy)
The most exalted, and famous ship in the Naval fleet, personally under command of Fleet Admiral, Artemis Demiar. This ship was present at the commandeering of the Leviathan, though, the story that lingers behind that day remains a mystery to all but Demiar herself, and former Captains. Only the new bounty on her list can fill in the white blanks of it's most recent, and infamous history.

The Leviathan (Ship)
The twisted black wrath of the sea. The foul pirate vessel that has outsailed any armada, and has sunk many more! This is the personal Galleon of Captain Crunk, and with much respect so. This grand, mud colored ship is a living legend. The replicated body of the mother of sea serpents appears as though it is carrying the dark ship on it's spine. As it's long neck composes the vessel's nose, it's green body slips under and hugs the very hull, contiuing this way, to bough, where it's tail wraps once around Crunk's window, and then writhes outward, above the speedy wake. This is a superspeed gunship, that none have yet bested.

The Petal Treader (Ship)
This unique vessel posesses no forms of offense. It has an extremely hard, and durable shell exterior, and is wholly defensive. It remains close, and for it's weight can contend, to an extent, the speed of the Leviathan. In the past, it has acted as a shield, even, for the fleet. But what's so unique about it? The entire main deck, save the helm, is a garden! That's right. And a well maintained one at that. Below the main deck is a large hold for the soil, and large tree roots. There is a complex filter below that, that sifts old soil out, to be reused, and sprinkled back above, rich with nutrients from below. There is little room for supplies, so quarters are cramped. Seagulls travel on and along the Petal Treader, which has it's very own, living ecosystem. It is hard to maintain in farther regions, and frequents native shores for the local flora, and necessary fauna. The crew are adept enviros, that know exactly what they are doing.
A garden provides plenty of healthy fruits, and vegetables for long trips on the mighty sea. It is very refreshing, (and at night, romantic) scenery.

VICK (Dinghy)
VICK is the most defunct, superannuated vessel the sea could toss around. Blemished with patched holes on both the hull and it's tiny decking, a crooked rudder, and at all times, a good deal of water taken on, it is also the most reliable boat the sea could toss around. For reasons, beyond all logic, and those that defy physics, this mysterious sea vessel refuses to sink. It just will not submerge. It has sailing capabilities, but there has been no luck finding a sail, or mast that will fit it yet (The sailor it was purchased from claimed it to be the fastest single man sailer on the water). So, room was made for two people, and rowed, instead of sailed. A salty sea-grey coat, and a barnacle flavored bottom, it is most sneaky, and silent. So much so, down to the oars. I don't really want to explain how it is so, but trust me, the hydrodynamics speak for themselves. Well, rather they do not say anything... Because... they are silent. BEHOLD THE UNSINKABLE DINGHY, VICK!