[h2][b][color=palegoldenrod] Enter Luke Du Sand[/color][/b][/h2]

"Waking up never seems to be any fun." Luke announced, as he stretched his pricking limbs from their cramped position inside a barrel. Having not heard about the voyage until it was too late to actually secure a spot, Luke decided the best way to join the crew would be to stowaway while they loaded the ship full of vital supplies needed for 'The Burning Bitch's' journey to wherever it was headed. He felt a tinge of guilt when he thought of the men who had to carry him onto the vessel, but with further reflection on the matter decided the men probably thought the barrel he was in was quite possibly the lightest one they had lifted all day. "There must be more, elegant, means of sneaking aboard ships than cramming myself into a barrel. Food for thought: no need concerning myself with past mistakes whilst the present seems to encourage many an opportunity for improvement." Luke spoke to himself like this often, it helped that he spoke in his native togune when he did so, others just brushed him off as a poor Frenchman who never learned their language and Luke seemed to be inclined to allow them this false truth as long as it could benefit him.

Upon Luke's awakening from his slumber all he could hear was shouting, and the rumbling of what he assumed to be The Burning Bitch's passengers and crew members alike celebrating just being alive on the seas; seamen seemed to always be willing to celebrate the smallest of things, and it always went hand in hand with an assortment of ales, rums, mead, and other drinks worth a crews time. In the midst of the ship's dance with the ocean Luke hopped up out of the barrel finally standing firm, which was planted on a not so steady footing. This is the same as any sea or land vessel would have during a journey. Luke however was already accustomed to maintaining his bearings in such situations, traveling to and from tutors who would teach him many a skill. Whether it was reading, writing, speaking a language, throwing knives, or swordplay, Luke seemed to always be studying something; as a Nobel should be, or at least how his family thought a Nobel should be. Just as he began to head up to the deck, where he assumed the festive noises were coming from, he felt the rumble of what could only mean trouble for the ship. Immediately Luke began to contemplate whether joining this crew was such a good idea. That's when he saw them, the sturdy looking men who were carrying what -by the looks of it- was the lifeless body of an inquisitor; though the missing eye suggested that he might be more than the mere clergy that always surrounded him growing up, and that of Sintra as well. Luke started to follow the group to see if there might be some sort of service he could offer, or at least to find out what was going on that this man would be so mortally wounded. The doctor, who seemed to be ready for such a man to arrive, helped to level out the uneasy nerves of Luke- who's veins always seem to become raging rapids whenever someone was injured around him- simply by working on the man's injury. Turning to one of the men who had carried the unconscious man the doctor was intent finding out about the situation. That's when Luke noticed a women who seemed to be quite unsettled herself.

With just the slightest glance of the fear or helplessness in her eyes Luke's eyes widened, almost to mirror that of the lady, and all he could see was the Baker's wife vacant and terrified eyes as they pulled her husband from underneath that wreckage which had once been their livelihood back in Sintra. The almost dead and souless vision of the baker's wife, Andrea, was enough to make Luke forget himself and head to the deck without any thought of what might be in store for him when he made it up. Slipping as he ascended the stairs due to the downpour that was coming through the shattered cabin door which lead into the belly of the ship. Luke couldn't help but stand in awe and disbelief as his eye finally met with the source of excitement he was hearing before, and to Luke's dismay he was very much wrong about what had been causing it.

With eyes too frantic to lock on to and one thing, Luke had noticed the heavily armored shell that was missing an arm walking freely as if it had a soul, and will of it's own. "What of this!?" Luke shouted without thought. Falling, intimidated, to the creaking wood finishing beneath him, Luke was stunned as he took in the partially destroyed deck before him. His hand trailed to the small hilt of the hidden throwing knives he kept tucked in his belt, and felt the tremble of his hand as the rain fell over him. This was just like the day his family was caught on the escape ship they had boarded long ago. There was what looked to be a gaping hole in the ship, which was nearly indistinguishable from the mortar fire that hallowed out his family's last hope of survival. He was flooded with memories of his family dying all around him, memories of his mother slaughtered before his eyes, and he was shaken to his very core.

Luke heard his brother George's last commandment to him, as he sat shaken on a ship that he feared might not make it, and in turn neither would he; "Escape this place Luke, live to fight another day. Don't you dare die without clearing our family's name. The Du Sand family cannot be remembered as a bunch of betraying Nobelmen who aren't worth the ground they walk."Luke could hear the words as if George were speaking to him right that instant. "Today is not my day, the lord will see to that!" Luke shouted as he let loose a Dagger towards the towering walking armor. And as it pinged off the shell Luke stood up ready to fight; if not to help, then to survive.