[hider=Cynwaer 'The Seahawk' Fiachin]
[center][hider=Appearance][img]https://i.postimg.cc/bvfvVXfV/2024414231849443.png[/img][/hider][/center][center][h1][color=DC143C][b]Cynwaer Fiachin | 32 | Male[/b][/color][/h1][i]Captain of the [/i]Remembrance[i], The Seahawk, and Terror of the Caesonian Coasts[/i][/center]
[color=FFD700][b]Height:[/b][/color] 1.85 meters / 6'1
[color=FFD700][b]Weight:[/b][/color] 76 kg / 168 lbs
[color=FFD700][b]Eye Colour:[/b][/color] Mossy green
[color=FFD700][b]Hair Length & Texture:[/b][/color] Medium / Coarse
[color=FFD700][b]Hair Colour:[/b][/color] Auburn
[color=FFD700][b]Skin Colour:[/b][/color] Tanned
[color=FFD700][b]Facial Details:[/b][/color] Dark freckles across his nose; horizontal scar on his left cheek
[color=FFD700][b]Distinguishing Features:[/b][/color] None that is known. Cynwaer is very careful to hide any and all features that would make him easy to find.

[color=FFD700][b]Clothing Preferences:[/b][/color] Cynwaer changes his attire depending on the port-of-call. He dresses as inconspicuously as possible, and always in a fashion that is common to wherever he finds himself. Solid, plain colours are his usual choices, with either minimal or no patterning at all. 

[color=FFD700][b]Likes:[/b][/color]
[list][*]Bringing harm to Caesonian nobility
[*]Fighting for the common man
[*]Redistributing his spoils to the needy
[*]Oppressing the oppressors and terrorising the tyrants[/list]
[color=FFD700][b]Dislikes:[/b][/color]
[list][*]All nobility, specifically Caesonian nobility
[*]Injustice of all stripes
[*]Inequality and inequity
[*]Greed and avarice
[*]Sorian[/list]
[color=FFD700][b]Sexuality:[/b][/color] Straight

[color=FFD700][b]Hobbies:[/b][/color]
[list][*]Spending time with his pet Harrier, [b]Neirynn[/b]
[*]Scribbling in his journal
[*]Reading, particularly political and military treatises[/list]
[color=FFD700][b]Life Goals & Dreams:[/b][/color] The destruction of the Caesonian noble class, the overthrow of the current order, and the death of King Edin and all who allowed such barbarous laws to pass and be maintained

[color=FFD700][b]Personality summary:[/b][/color] Charismatic [color=DC143C]||[/color] Driven [color=DC143C]||[/color] Unfettered [color=DC143C]||[/color] Ruthless [color=DC143C]||[/color] Partisan [color=DC143C]||[/color] Sensible

To the nobility, Cynwaer is one of the worst criminals to plague the seas. Bloodthirsty, rapacious, and utterly repugnant, he attacks and robs merchant ships with neither compunction nor mercy. Gods help those who he catches sailing beneath a royal standard, for it is they to whom he shows no mercy. The lucky ones can expect to be summarily executed. The unlucky ones can only wish for the mercy of death while they are tortured for sport. Any ship flying any Caesonian flag is considered fair game by this voracious corsair, in fact, and he considers any person serving any court of any noble to have forfeited their lives. To make matters worse, this violent criminal is also a skilled rabble-rouser. His glib tongue pulls throngs upon throngs of the masses to his banner wherever he makes landfall, all lured by promises of so-called emancipation.

To the common folk, Cynwaer is a beacon of hope. For those chafing beneath the boots of the nobility, and those whose fates are controlled by an aloof and uncaring upper class, whatever terror he visits on his victims are, at worst, a necessary evil. Others even call it justice, for why should mercy and compassion be given to those who had none for their own people? And so, to the oppressed masses, Cynwaer - the Seahawk - is a paragon of virtue. With determination and tenacity worth of a knight-of-old, he fights for those who are unable to do so for themselves. Best of all, he remains true to his humble roots despite the fame - or infamy - he has earned. Fair and just, he treats everyone - from pauper to merchant - as an equal, and judges them with temperance and wisdom.

The truth, of course, is a lot more mundane.

Cynwaer is ruthless, but he is not mindlessly violent; he is kind to the oppressed, but he is far from virtuous. Injustice fills his heart with burning indignation and rage, but it is tempered by the vengeful calm chilling his blood. And it is that vengeance which truly drives him. Yes, he fights for the underclass because he empathises with their plight. Yes, his belief in the cause of emancipation is true. But were it not for the vendetta which turned him into a pirate all those years ago, he wouldn't do or believe any of those things. Cynwaer is himself all too aware of that, and it matters little to him. He is, after all, a simple man. He has a goal. He has a mission. What happened to him cannot be allowed to happen to anyone else.

And if liberating the masses and ending the nobility is the best way to achieve that, then, well, that's exactly what he will do.[center][h2][color=DC143C][b]Background[/b][/color][/h2][/center]
[color=FFD700][b]Current occupation:[/b][/color] Corsair

[color=FFD700][b]Past occupation:[/b][/color] Fisherman

[color=FFD700][b]Relatives:[/b][/color]
[list][*]Cedric Fiachin, Father; Deceased
[*]Wynne Fiachin, Mother; Deceased
[*]Cecilia Fiachin, Wife; Deceased
[*]Nerys Fiachin, Daughter; Deceased[/list]
[color=FFD700][b]Skills:[/b][/color]
[list][*]Sailing
[*]Fishing
[*]Rigging, ropework in general
[*]Weaving
[*]Gunnery; muskets, pistols, and cannons[/list][center][h2][color=DC143C][b]History Summary[/b][/color][/h2][quote=Drinking Song, location unknown][i]"Beware, you haughty nobles, beware the Seahawk
For he is a creation of your own making
And he will be your undoing."[/i][/quote][/center]
[center]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.[/center][/hider]
[hr]
[hider=Questionnaire][center][h1][color=DC143C][b]Questionnaire[/b][/color][/h1][/center]
[center][color=FFD700][b]History[/b][/color]
[b]Did you grow up nurtured or neglected?[/b]
"Nurtured enough ta' learn, neglected enough ta' figure things out on me own."

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

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

[b]How close are you to your parents?[/b]
"Close enough, aye."

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

[b]What advice would you give your younger self?[/b]
"Learn how ta fight."

[b]Were you an obedient child or defiant?[/b]
"A bit o' both."

[b]What is your biggest regret?[/b]
"Should've probably feckin' bottled one o' them soldiers when I had a chance, aye."[/center]
[center][color=FFD700][b]Romance[/b][/color]
"Aw'right, piss off with these questions, aye?"[/center]
[center][color=FFD700][b]Personality[/b][/color]
[b]Describe your ideal Sunday morning[/b]
"Just set one o' those fancy royal merchant ships on fire this past week. T'was a proper crack, aye."

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

[b]What bad habits do you have?[/b]
"I'm nae tellin'."

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

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

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

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

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