History summary

All beneath the sky and upon the waves have their place, such is the way of Great Harmony

Every member of the Wasun clan of Jafi has their place. Be it heir, advisor, diplomat, or keeper of the household, their role in the bureaucratic apparatus that kept the march running would have been planned out long before they even quickened in the womb. A masterstroke of long-term planning, if Im-shan dared say so himself. Granted, it was down to pure luck that none of his children had any qualms of their future roles at court and all of them developed qualities beneficial to said roles. It was either that or a testament to the skills of his court tutors.

Sjan-dehk's conception, unexpected as it was, thus proved to be a conundrum. Small as Jafi's court was at the time, there simply weren't any duties left for this fourth son to perform. Of course, there always were lesser positions to fill. Largely managerial and administrative roles that kept the march running on the day-to-day, but Im-shan had no shortage of promising common officials to promote, and who would be very upset should Sjan-dehk be simply dropped into an office they saw as rightly theirs. Putting his own children in positions of his inner court was one thing. Doing the same in the greater court would be asking for an uprising.

With his wife's counsel, Im-shan decided that Sjan-dehk would find his future in the navy. Responsible for the most part of the defense of Viserjanta's western frontiers, Jafi boasted a considerable fleet that could rival the Royal Armada by raw numbers and which was twice as active. An excellent stage for any minor noble with slim chances of peerage to build a name and reputation for himself. If he did well enough, Sjan-dehk might even make admiral by the time Sai-jom became marquis. Even if he were to prove to be a middling sailor, just having a member of the ruling family serving in the navy would be quite the morale booster.

From almost as soon as he could walk, Sjan-dehk was thrust onto the deck of a warship. As a cabin boy, naturally; the lowest post anyone hoping to carve out a naval career could ask for. If his son was to be a sailor under arms, then Im-shan was determined to make him one through and through. There would be no illusions of birthright, no privileges granted over station. Whatever respect and rank Sjan-dehk received would have to be earned the same way as any other sailor - through hard graft, tough work, and time.

For his part, Sjan-dehk took to naval life like a fish to water. Life aboard a rolling deck suited him handsomely. Whether it was mending sails, scrubbing decks, or bringing powder to guns in the heat of battle, he carried out his duties to satisfaction and without complaint. By the tender age of twelve, he was already intimately familiar with the inner workings of a ship from bow to stern and top to keel. Two years later, he earned the sabre of an officer-in-training. One who was rearing to be unleashed on the high seas and upon the Commonwealth's enemies.

That chance came four years later, when dissatisfied nobles launched a rebellion aiming for an imperial restoration. Neutral Jafi attempted to stay out of the conflict, but eventually was forced to choose a side. Throwing its support behind crown and council, Sjan-dehk and the rest of the fleet was sent to campaign against the rebels. Months of intense combat tempered Sjan-dehk into a hardened veteran, but it was only when his initiative and daring proved decisive in the capture of an enemy ship was he promoted to captain. Taking the prize as his command, he renamed it the Sada Kurau and brought it into combat against her former allies.

The war dragged on for five long years. Sjan-dehk proved himself as a capable commander possessing great tactical acumen. As ship after ship fell against him, he used whatever prize money and confiscated loot to re-fit and rearm the Sada Kurau until it was the ship it is today. When the rebels were finally contained on a singular island, Sjan-dehk was sent against the various pirates and slavers who had taken advantage of the turmoil to raid sea lanes and settlements alike. The Sada Kurau soon earned a dubious reputation as a fearsome pirate hunter, but also capable of terrifying savagery against her enemies. Sjan-dehk cared little about such rumours. In fact, he encouraged them; it made his work all the easier if the mere presence of his ship made would-be pirates reconsider their decisions.

With the conclusive end of the war rose a Commonwealth more united than ever. Those who dreamed of a restoration had either been killed or captured in the fighting, or driven in the exile in the immediate aftermath. Crown and court never had more influence in their constituent polities. It was the perfect time to look to other matters. Trade was a top priority, even if only to refill coffers depleted by war.

Caesonia's corner of Eromora had always been known to Viserjantan mariners. In the past, trade there had been limited to the odd merchant willing to risk coin and life to make the long journey. Well, that would soo change. The Commonwealth now sought to make a more permanent arrangement. To facilitate that, they built a massive treasure ship. Only one - the nobility who ultimately had to fund the thing weren't quite as confident about the task at hand as the crown and council.

As for Sjan-dehk, it was hardly his choice to join the Eromoran expedition. He'd much rather continue securing Jafi's waters than follow maps that were at least a decade old to some foreign land. Unfortunately, his mother had persuaded his father to persuade crown and council to have the Sada Kurau attached as an escort. Risky as the mission was, it was no secret that its success would make any man who took part very influential and very rich. Sjan-dehk was a good sailor, a respected captain, and skilled fighter, but he would need a little more than that to truly stand beside his brother as admiral in future.

That was how Sjan-dehk found himself and Sada Kurau bound for Eromora. Whatever personal feelings he had for the mission, he hadn't failed a task given to him before. He surely wasn't about to start.

Captain of the Remembrance, The Seahawk, and Terror of the Caesonian Coasts

In another life, Cynwaer would have had everything.

Well, he wouldn't have adventure, but he was hardly the sort of man to ask for such a thing. A simple life was all he ever wanted, and for a while, it seemed like that was exactly what he was destined for. Both of his parents had been fisherfolk, and when they passed, they left their boat, their nets, their lines to Cynwaer, who - as most coastal folk were wont to do - followed in their footsteps. Even in this regard, he had been luckier than most. It hadn't been disease or cruel waves that took his parents. Rather, it was simple age. And while they were alive and spry, they had taught a young Cynwaer everything he needed to know about the ocean and its bounties. And so, while Cynwaer had spent months grieving their passing all the same, it didn't take long or much for him to not only recover, but flourish as an accomplished fisherman in his own right.

In another life, Cynwaer would have been the envy of many men.

On the day he married Cecilia, his childhood sweetheart, his fellow villagers had told him as such. It was something that could have come out of a storybook, they had said. Cynwaer didn't disagree back then, and he still didn't, now. He had known Cecilia when she had been a timid girl who cried during storms and hid from the tides. Falling for, and then marrying, her after she had grown into a daring young woman had felt like a dream. And when Cecilia gave birth to a daughter, Cynwaer felt convinced that he had everything he could ever ask for. In another life, that might have been true. The rest of his days would have been spent working the sea in the day, returning to his family as the sun slipped beneath the horizon, and teaching Nerys - his daughter - the tricks of the trade. When she became of age, he would gracefully retire and live out the rest of his days in peace.

Another life, perhaps, but not this one.

Sorcery ran deep in Cynwaer's blood. He had known that all along - his father had been the one to tell him about their magical ancestry. But it wasn't anything to fret over, the old man had said. The magic was dormant, he had said. Sleeping and inactive. Minor parlour tricks - simple and inconsequential - were about the best Cynwaer could ever hope to conjure, if even that. And that much was true. Aside from performing the odd feat to entertain his drunken fellows every other night, or as a conversation starter, he never found any real use for his meagre abilities.

But in Nerys, the magic awakened. She had only just turned five when she had her first outburst. Had Cecilia not calmed her in time, Cynwaer had no doubts that the gusts she had inadvertently summoned would have turned into an uncontrollable tempest. And it only got worse from there. Nerys might call forth a gale one day, and a premature high tide the next. The magic in her blood might scry every mind she passed against her will, or it might send her into a catatonic state. As she grew older, so too did the magnitude of her powers. Cynwaer and Cecilia had agonised over what to do. The logical solution would have been to send Nerys somewhere away from Caesonia, where her magic might see her imprisoned or worse. But the logical solution was rarely every the easy one, and so the two found every reason to wait and dither and delay, all in the vain hope that one day, Nerys would simply wake up and it would turn out that all this was naught but a passing phase.

The King's men found Nerys before that day came. They came during the night, when all others were asleep. Cynwaer had been the one to open the door, in response to their impatient knocks. Clad in ornate armour and wielding weapons that were fit for a lord, the soldiers had been an intimidating sight. But none of that mattered when they demanded for Nerys to be handed over. Cynwaer had protested. Cecilia had protested in a louder manner. Raised voices turned to shouts. The demands of the King's men turned into threats. The neighbours gathered to watch the commotion, and before long, they too were shouting at the soldiers. The tension had been thick enough to taste. Swords were drawn, pistols cocked, and arrows nocked. Fear had made a home in Cynwaer's heart, but for his daughter, he stood firm.

Then, someone - a soldier, a village, it didn't matter - lost their nerve.

The resulting fight was wholly one-sided, with plenty of blood spilled. Little of it came from the King's men. Fortune, however, had Cynwaer survive the massacre - for that was the only way he could describe it - with only a scar on his face. But fortune, unfortunately, did nothing for his wife and daughter. He found both of them dead amidst a pile of corpses. The very next morning, he buried Cecilia, but couldn't do the same for Nerys. More of the King's men returned at dawn and took her body away. Still in shock from the previous night, and with little fight left in him, Cynwaer could only watch as they wrapped his daughter's body in roughspun linens before unceremoniously loading her onto a cart. He never did find out where they had taken her, or even why they had done such a thing.

What was there for him to do after that?

The grief came, and it went. The sorrow came, and so too it went. Then the rage came, and it refused to leave. It demanded recompense. It cried for vengeance, not only on the soldiers who had killed his family, or the nobleman who sanctioned their actions, or even the King who sat upon a throne of blood and suffering. No, it called for something more. Killing one, killing an entire family, or even an entire city, wouldn't be enough. Not when it was laws centuries old that were the true problem. Not when it was society - a society that abided such cruelty - that needed to be changed. The whole system had to be uprooted, burnt, its ashes scattered to the winds, and a new order - fair and just - built upon its ruins, for Cynwaer to consider his revenge complete, and justice done for Cecilia and Nerys.

And so, he took to the seas. Not as a fisherman, but as a corsair. Learning the criminal trade was by no means easy, but he didn't care. It didn't matter how many times the Caesonian navy sank him. It didn't matter how many times he slipped beneath the murky waves. He would always return. It didn't matter how many times he had to find a new ship or assemble a new crew. There were plenty of people like him - angry, disgruntled, dispossessed, and more than eager to bring the fight to a crown, a court, and a system that treated them like dirt. It didn't matter how much money Caesonia placed on his head. Cynwaer feared neither death nor capture nor torture. Let the crown do as it pleased. He would gladly return the favour. And so long as he still drew breath, Caesonia would know no peace.

In another life, Cynwaer would have been a simple man. But not this one.

History
Did you grow up nurtured or neglected?
"Nurtured enough ta' learn, neglected enough ta' figure things out on me own."

When you were upset, where was your sanctuary?
"Nae where. If you're upset, go do somethin' about it, aye?"

What were you like in your teenage years?
"Proper mongrel, I imagine."

How close are you to your parents?
"Close enough, aye."

Do you have any trauma that haunts you?
"Aye, the King's bastards murderin' yer whole family's pretty feckin' traumatic."

What advice would you give your younger self?
"Learn how ta fight."

Were you an obedient child or defiant?
"A bit o' both."

What is your biggest regret?
"Should've probably feckin' bottled one o' them soldiers when I had a chance, aye."

Romance
"Aw'right, piss off with these questions, aye?"

Personality
Describe your ideal Sunday morning
"Just set one o' those fancy royal merchant ships on fire this past week. T'was a proper crack, aye."

What kind of person do you aspire to be?
"Whoever the stories say I am, tae be honest. You 'eard 'em? Feckin' ridiculous, I tell yer what."

What bad habits do you have?
"I'm nae tellin'."

If you could go back in time and change anything in your past, what would it be?
"Aye, I'd move the feck awa' frae Caesonia."

What is your greatest fear?
"Ever wondered if that bastard king's wantin' ta live fore'er? Feckin' ghastly thought, aye?"

What are your pet peeves?
"Oh, I'm nae one for pets. Wee Neirynn 'ere's enough for me."

When you are in a sour mood, do you like to be alone or with others?
"Others, aye. Preferably Caesonian sailors sailin' for the navy, and preferably wi' 'em afire."

Are you more likely to fight with your fists or your tongue?
"Both. Nae need tae get tanned if yer can talk it o'er, aye?"

Tigerlily Ada-Amara Mapenzi

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☁ 28 ☁ Female ☁

☁ Poison ☁
☁ Enemy ☁
☁ Anti-Hero ☁