-Complete name: Isabella Mercedes del Casttillo y Rojas, simply called Isabella, "isa" or "bella" -Age: 26 -Nacionality: Spain -Position: Cartographer -Weapon: Cup-hilt rapier
-Biography: Isabella was born in a wealthy spanish family in Madrid, daughter of Fernando del Castillo Flores, a famous cartographer praised by his detailed maps that have helped the spanish Empire on their military campaigns. Unlike most ladies of the time Isaella showed to be quite an adventurous girl, eager to see the world with her own eyes instead of believing what was written on books. Since young she was taught to comunicate in english and french with the idea of finding a fine gentlemen for her, surprisingly for Fernando his daughter was much more interested in fencing and learning from his profession, and so instructed Isabella in the art of cartography and some fencing lessons. The years passed without Isabella finding a suitor as her interests were not very attractive for the men. By the time she was 24 her father Fernando died, despite the grief Isabella saw the oportunity to show her skills to the Crown, however the Monarch and the court rejected her services simply for being a woman. Feeling dishnored Isabella swore to make them regret such decition, she left her mother in Madrid and traveled towards England in search of a pirate crew to join, finally coming across the Gunpowder Storm and it's people, who did not hesitate to take someone with her cartographer skills in.
Personality: Genevieve’s is very gentle, even with the people who have hurt and threatened her, there is always a sort of kindness about her. She is compassionate most towards children, even when they are unkind as well, she doesn’t mind, silently correcting them and showing them what it is to be gentle.
Role on Ship: Doctor- specializes in handling a wide range of medical situations from routine checkups to serious emergencies.
Fears: ⎈ Nyctophobia: Fear of the dark ⎈ Lyssophobia: Fear of going insane ⎈ Athazagoraphobia: The fear of being forgotten, forgetting, being replaced, ext.
History:
Genevieve grew up on the countryside in France. It was a nice enough area, with a well known school, kind neighbors. Although Gen never did meet any of them. She was a prisoner in her own house, her parents keeping her to homeschool and shape how they wanted. To them, the world was a toxin, the people parasites. In their minds, if they were to teach Genevieve, she wouldn’t end up a parasite. They pushed her, more than what was healthy, berating and screaming at her if she failed. At five years old, Genevieve was taught that emotions and empathy made her weak, and if she cried, she was told to be logical, and sent down into the cellar as the most severe punishment. The cellar was where she spent most of her days, the darkness crawling into the depths of her mind, consuming her. Soon, she began going insane, the dark creating figures in her mind her vision forcing humanoid creatures to blind her vision, the blood rushing in her ears mimicking whispers and cries.
She tried to grow accustomed to it, but the need for light always stuck with her. When she turned 18, she finally had enough, packing what she could, she snuck out of her house and ran, as far as humanly possible without stopping. It nearly drove her into several injuries, but the endurance she built over surviving with her parents kept her going. Once she made it far enough, she was finally able to start her own life.
Genevieve began to go to a real school, studying medicine. Her mother always pushes for her to learn how to heal people, her father teaching her about weapons and how to fight. Guns were her favored choice, and after she got a job as a floor girl in a small bakery, she saved enough to not only pay for school, but buy her own set of guns. She now works as a freelance healer, staying on the seas under command of a captain. Gen always has matches in her pocket, making sure to never be in darkness again.
Likes: ⎈ Coffee ⎈ Learning more about weaponry ⎈ Nightshade Flowers ⎈ Animals, all of them ⎈ Honor ⎈ Stories
Dislikes: ⎈ Royalty ⎈ Dealing with fools ⎈ Dishonor ⎈ Most People ⎈ Shrill and high sounds ⎈ The Dark
Quote: “A large part of who I am, is who I am not.”
Two tattoos: - 'Rwyt ti wedi gwneud digon' tattooed on left shoulder blade - 'Byth digon' tattooed on his left hand, near the base of his thumb
Personality: Edric Blake is a man carved by labour, not glory. He speaks in short phrases, works long hours, and trusts actions over any kind of oath. His loyalty is hard-won, but once earned, it's ironclad. He doesn't waste words, not because he's unfriendly, but because he doesn't believe in beating around the bush. You'll know where you stand with him, and if you don't, he's more than happy to show you.
He's the type to fix a sail with his bare hands while runs from his knuckles, or to quietly finish someone else's task without ever claiming credit. His presence among the crew is solid and grounding. Even if you're not his friend, he's someone you can rely on. When the storm hits, when the ropes snap, when the captain calls for boarding, it's Edric at the front.
On land, he feels heavier. Less alive. The sea to him makes sense, the endless work, the wind and salt, but the land asks questions he doesn't know how to answer. So he rarely takes shore leave and when he does, or is forced to, he'll drink, fight and wander until the tide pulls him back.
He's not soft but he'll happily break his back for the crew before he breaks their spirits. When he gives an order, it's not to throw weight, but to keep them alive and they know it. He'd never ask anyone to do something he wouldn't happily do himself.
Role on Ship: Boatswain- Senior deck officer responsible for the rigging, sails, anchors, tools, and physical upkeep of the ship. Oversees deckhands, ensures the ship is seaworthy, and leads boarding parties during combat.
Fears: He says he doesn't care, but he does. His tattoo, Byth Digon, is more than a memory. He fears failing the crew, being too slow, not strong enough. He works until his bones ache because he's terrified of stopping and realising he's just a man.
History: Born in a coastal village in Pembrokeshire, Southwest Wales, called Porthgain, Edric Blake grew up with the scent of salt in his lungs and calluses before he could write his name. His father was a shipwright, his mother a quiet woman whose mind began to fray long before her body did. Edric spent his youth repairing roofs, hauling nets, and learning how to fix what others broke — both in the home and on the docks.
By twelve, he was the one holding the house together. His father’s health had failed, the coin dried up, and his mother no longer remembered what day it was. Edric cooked, worked, patched holes, and bartered labor for scraps — never asking for help, and never expecting any.
At fourteen, with the roof sealed and the cold creeping in, he stood at the door with a satchel and a decision. His mother, watching the fire, smiled softly and said, “You’ve done enough.” He answered without turning. “Never enough.”
She died while he was gone. He didn’t find out until a year later.
He signed onto a merchant brig bound for Bristol under a false name. For a while, the work made sense, rigging, hauling, watching the coast change with each tide. But war has no interest in peace, and it wasn’t long before his crew was pressed into the Royal Navy by force.
He endured. Did his job. Took orders until the wrong one was given. He refused to lash a boy half-dead already. It earned his a length of chain, ten lashes, and the red-hot brand seared into his ribs, low on the left side. The iron left a deep ‘R’ burned into him, a mark for refractory conduct. They branded him for disobedience. He wears it like a mark they failed to make deep enough.
He deserted not long after. Slipped away in the chaos of a storm. Drifted from ship to ship for a few years, choosing jobs that paid and captains who kept their voices low. Eventually, he found the Gunpowder Storm, and for once, he stayed.
Now Boatswain, Edric commands the sails, oversees the rigging, and leads the crew in the ship’s bones and heartbeat. He works without complaint and fights without hesitation, first over the rail when boarding steel bites, always with the weight of iron and memory behind his swing.
Likes: - Leading a good shanty - Salt-cured meat - A strong storm - The call of 'gulls in the morning - the sound of the sailcloth catching the wind - whistling
Dislikes: - Idle hands - Half-done work - Being called 'sir' - Drunken recklessness
Quote: “There's rest at the end of that rope, boy, not halfway through it!”
-Complete name: Ishaan Kayaan -Age:52 -Nacionality: Indian -Position: Quartermaster -Weapon:
on his left hip. With a
on his right hip.
-Biography: Ishaan is originally from India. He developed a love for the open seas at a young age stowing away on a passing merchant ship. He has gone through quite a number of hardships to get to where he is now. Hopping from crew to crew and ship to ship over the decades on the ocean. He has currently found employment under captain Francis Taylor. Who he beat in a game of cards at Port Royal. The two immediately hit it off despite being from completely opposite sides of the world and they managed to stagger back to the ship before promptly passing out stone cold drunk.
Next thing Ishaan knew he had become the quartermaster of the ship. It was a job he quite enjoyed as it more or less put him out of direct limelight and allowed him to share his wild tales to the crew. Passing on wisdom and general bullshit as he saw fit. The galley is one of his favorite places to be as he is quite fond of apples when they are able to get them. Some way if you catch Ishaan drunk it's not surprising to see multiple apples falling out from God knows where.
(pron. Dan Neil Dur Doon) Images: Danneil a few weeks ago Below decks aboard the 'Storm. Danneil at age nineteen (he's twenty-four now.) Age: Twenty-four Nationality: Navassa (Haitian) Position: Ships' Carpenter Weapons: Adze and Broadaxe ...and whatever he can get his hands on in the moment. Bio: Born into servitude, Danneil was often at the business end of his Master, Hursk's whip in his youth, when he should have been working the fields, or picking fruit. His family had been 'seasoned' and he honestly had no idea who his birth parents were. He saw four of his adoptive 'brothers' hanged, and one burned to death (for striking a white man) by the time he was twelve. And he had it easier than some. His rebellious streak didn't stem from him being a bad seed per se, but the jobs which he was being assigned simply didn't challenge him, and more importantly, he detested abused authority -- a trait that continues to this day. There was a time when his death, either from the whip, or from the stocks, was deemed a certainty.
In his fourteenth year, Danneil stole six plantains, and some salted fish, and it was decided that he would have his hand taken as punishment, but a hired hand of Master Hursk's, named Robinson, selected Danneil to help his crew to build a new barn for their Master. He took to the work like a duck to water, applying himself in a way he had never been permitted before. He was a natural craftsman, and brought ingenuity and an innate knowledge to his craft, though the boy had never been inside a classroom. He went from strength to strength after that, rising through the ranks of Robinson's crew of builders, eventually even working on the Master's new manor house.
In his seventeeth year, Hursk's daughter, Amelia, became pregnant out of wedlock, and it was rumoured it was one of Hursk's slaves she had grown close to. Danneil had struck a friendship with Amelia, but it ended there. He knew his place. But he was blamed by Amelia's distraught mother and the girl's suitor, and none would stand with him against their wrath. He was beaten half to death, his throat slit and thrown to the Master's dogs, but miraculously managed to barely escape with his life.
After making his escape, he managed to stow away on a ship which turned out to be a merchant smuggling vessel with ties to pirates. He soon joined on his first ship (The Reprobate) and has been serving aboard the Gunpowder Storm for better than a year.
Appearance: Danneil wears his har long, and in dreads, He is muscled like an endurance runner, wiry and lean. His eyes are a rare green for his race, and he bears several distinctive markings from his life. His back is criss-crossed with the marks of no fewer than 60 whip-lashes, from various 'crimes.' He has been ritually scarred on his face and forearms, a single long cut across the bridge of his nose and under both eyes, and scarifications on both forearms, unbroken lines that lead from wrist, most of the way to the elbow, wrapping around the arm. There is a nasty scar on one side of his neck from having had his throat cut. He also sports several tattoos from ports and hidden coves the Gunpowder Storm has visited.
Traits / Notable truths:
Illiterate
handy in a fight, but doesn't trust pistols
lives simple, dresses simple, doesn't desire much beyond freedom. Real freedom.
Contrary to what anyone could think, Bridget was born in a moderately well off family, in a small village in the coast of Scotland. With her father being a well known cloth trader, she had the kind of life everyone would love to have, never in need, always having something.
When she was still very little, her father would allow her to go on his trips, and she grew up to fall in love with the sea, the waves, the feeling of instability and having to find her balance. She loved to travel, to trade, to do anything as long as she could smell the sea and feel the salty air in her face. But it all ended with her adolescence, as a woman in the sea was not enough for her mother. More traditional, she asked Bridget to come back home and dedicate her life to find a husband. Soon, the husband was found, one of her father's friends, a man far older than her. And sooner yet, asking turned into making Bridget come back against her will and forbid her to travel again.
While she was still in her father's ship, Bridget had been drawing a plan, giving a last opportunity to change her mother's mind but knowing that it was hard to change her. As soon as she got back and the argument started, the decision was made. She got back to her room, acting as angry as she was and even more, making sure they would wait before following her, waiting for her to calm down. In less than an hour, she was climbing down her window, a rucksack in her shoulder, decision in her mind. As fast as she could without looking suspicious, she walked to the pier and looked for any ship that would need someone. Soon, she was getting inside the first ship that accepted her, a small mercantile ship in need of a cook.
Since then, she learned how to move in all kind of situations, fighting for the freedom she wanted, moving ships as soon as something felt off or as soon as they started trade with people she knew from her father. As his trading improved and grew, she had to turn to more... illegal places, soon starting to work closer to pirates and smugglers. It was just a few months ago when she fund herself getting to the Gunpowder Storm, as a much needed cook.
"Your wound is shallow. But the fear in your eyes is deep. That... will take longer to cut out."
-Complete name: Kenji Takeda. (The needle man | The butcher monk | Ghost-blood) -Age: 28 -Nacionality: Part Japanese, part unknown. -Position: Surgeon Kenji brings mysterious Japanese customs, a deadly precision and a cold unnerving calmness to his surgery work. When he is not stitching people up or apply medicinal herbs to wounds, he meticulously and ritualistically tending to the ship's weapons. -Weapon:
“No blade drawn except in duty.”
-Biography:
“My father bowed to no man. Not the Shogun, not the Crown, not the Devil himself. So tell me again... Why the hell should I bow to you?”
Kenji is a silent man with a storm behind his eyes — patient, observant, and burdened by thoughts he seldom voices. Though calm on the surface, he wrestles constantly with his own identity: a man born between worlds, searching for a place that feels like his own.
He was raised predominantly by his father and sensei, Shinobu “Ghostblade” Takeda — a dishonored ronin who fled Japan before the sakoku edicts sealed its borders. Shinobu's path from samurai to pirate was carved in hardship: slavery, mercenary work, and blood. In exile, he clung to the Bushidō code with desperate devotion, seeking redemption through discipline. But rather than teaching it with compassion, he enforced it like a blade — a master first, a father second.
Kenji’s childhood was shaped by drills, silence, and stern correction. Love was a lesson taught through pain and perfection. And though he never truly hated the old man, he never truly understood him either.
Now aged and retired, Shinobu lives a quiet life in solitude, wrestling with demons he no longer has the strength to fight. But Kenji still carries that burden — not just his father’s sword, but his legacy. And perhaps, one day, something of his honor.
