Captured in a dark black bandana, the pirate's hair falls in lank, rust-red lengths to his waist and is riddled with a variety of thin braids that are woven with bits of string, beads, baubles and charms. An old and weathered tricorne fashioned of leather rests at an angle upon his brow, its edges oiled to preserve it against the harsh salt-water of the sea, while his body is shrouded in a long frock-style coat of the same material. Coiled about his waist is a thick cotton sash of dark red, its ends frayed and unraveling, which binds in place the dark breeches that he wears. His outfit is completed by roll-cuffed black leather boots on his feet and a dark brown bottle labeled "Rum" that dangles from his hand.
A red-haired freckled human pirate swaggers in, twirling a gold coin between two fingers.
A red-haired freckled human pirate wanders in, muttering to himself.
A red-haired freckled human pirate exclaims, "The ale at the Stumblin' Pebble quenches me thirst like no other!"
A red-haired freckled human pirate inquires, "A grand day fer a trip on the waters, no?" He strolls back and forth for a moment before grinning wickedly.
A red-haired freckled human pirate pulls out a small silver compass while giving the sky a thoughtful look. He sighs and places the compass back into his pocket.
Peering drunkenly into the shadows, the pirate mutters, "Warre'd dat bird go dis time?"
Running wind-roughened hands over he belt, the pirate hums an off-key sea chanty.
The pirate daintily plucks a handkerchief from his sleeve, flutters it at a passerby and tucks it away again.
The pirate gives you a toothy grin, his large gold tooth catching some of the ambient light and gleaming softly.
The pirate pauses, staring longingly off towards the horizon. he appears to be muttering to himself, but the only thing you can make out is "Ahhh, Niima".
The pirate sniffs, inhaling the smell of sea salt, and looks longingly toward the water. he pulls an old, tattered and dirty hankie from his pocket and blows his nose loudly. After much snuffling, he tucks the filthy piece back into his pocket.
The pirate surveys the area and tucks a map into a pouch.
The pirate unfurls a tattered map and studies it for a long moment. Tilting the map one way and his head another, he hums knowingly and strides away in a determined manner.
The pirate whistles, tossing a gold coin and snatching it from the air.
With utmost grace, the pirate reaches into an interior pocket of his waistcoat and pulls out an old coin, which he rolls down his knuckles. Snatching it up in his other hand, the pirate clenches the coin with a look of determination on his face. With a barely audible sigh, he places it back within his waistcoat.
A red-haired freckled human pirate swaggers up, twirling a gold coin between two fingers.
>ask pirate about name
The pirate exclaims, "Bilthorne's me name." he gives you a firm stare and then winks.
>ask pirate about grace
"Sweet Grace," the pirate nearly sobs, his throat thick with emotions. "Sank she be, her vast bow only a bit of a glimmer in clear days along the Western Way."
>ask pirate about harbor
The pirate thumps at his eyes with the back of his grubby, calloused hands and says, "She be not a bad place ta’ git drunk in. Better'n the last cursed port I was stuck in."
>ask pirate about home
Squinting blearily at you, the pirate says, "Home? Ha! Just another god's cursed expanse of land in some distant place. Do not ask me of home when me legs long for the sea!"
>ask pirate about Niima
"Ah," whispers the pirate. "Sweet nymph of the seas, she be. How I miss the glint o' her curves beneath the crest o' tha' waves." Gazing into the distance, the pirate lapses into a long, unblinking silence and wanders away from you.
>ask pirate about ship
Sighing wistfully, the pirate says, "Ah, Sweet Niima Grace. She was named. Fastest scut in the tha' water, 'er belly sleek an' trim."
Bearing his teeth, he growls, "She was sank at the bottom of the Great Western Way during them vicious storms. A curse upon Koar's Teeth!" Scowling, he trumps away from you.
>ask pirate about trip
Affecting a bored expression, as if the story has been repeated many times, the pirate says, "It be an old tale, but if'n ye insist then I'll retell it."
The pirate takes a long swig from the jug in his hand and sighes heavily before continuing.
"Balouga," he says. "The thrice cursed witch woman o' the cursed vineyard, brought me here under some guise o' greater glories. May she burn in a valance filled with fire demons fer her treacherous witchy ways. Promised me great seas ta' navigate, then I git 'ere and Charl's Teeth 'er shrouded in tha' vicious mists, their deadly crags swallow boats an' all. If'n I e'er meet tha' vicious hag agin, I'll gut 'er an' string 'er up fer 'er lies."