@Hank @Andreyich Welcome guys! Go ahead and get rolling on your character sheets. Thank you both for jumping in so quickly and don’t hesitate to shoot me any questions you might have.
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The Pilgrim
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Andreyich
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Fallout: Rust and Steel
Pyrdwen Internal Network
Outgoing Mail PEM786A-016
Oliver, I hope this reaches you. Knowing how invested you are in your work, I realize it's possible you haven't noticed I left. That isn't meant to sound spiteful. Don't get me wrong, it hurt at first. You went from tinkering with old tech to going away for weeks at a time with the Followers of the Apocalypse. In a way, you left me a long time ago. But I'm not angry anymore. Actually, I'm happier than I've been in a long time.
I'm not coming back. Like you, I found my calling and it's a long way from shoveling brahmin shit. Don't coming looking for me. I mean that for your own safety.
End message...
Pyrdwen Internal Network
Moss MS-357PR PM-067
Fr: Elder Maxon MX-001E
To: Paladin Moss MS-357PR
The following is strictly confidential. Members of our Brotherhood are need of assistance. A squad led by Paladin Brandis departed to the Commonwealth to follow-up on a compelling lead. We lost contact soon after. It's been three months and we cannot afford to wait any longer. I want you to track down and rescue the surviving members of Recon Squad Artemis. I want this done quietly. Coordinate with Paladin Danse and Lancer-Captain Kells to organize a team. The lives of our brothers are sisters are on the line, so this needs to be your top priority.
~ ~ ~
The Idea
Welcome to Rust and Steel, a Fallout RP. Our setting will be the Commonwealth, 2284. Players will begin as members of the Brotherhood of Steel tasked with rescuing the lost team, Recon Squad Artemis. Don't worry about breaking canon, though. This mission will serve as the launchpad into a vast world chalk full of dangerous challenges, moral decisions, and the chance to explore the world of Fallout in ways the games simply don't allow.
Expect action, adventure, and a chance to develop your characters and the world. Just because we start within the ranks of the Brotherhood doesn't mean we'll stay there long. I have a rough plot sketched out with plenty of room for player-driven stories so long as they include others (interaction is key).
The Characters
Players must begin as members of the Brotherhood of Steel. How, when, and why your character enlists is entirely up to you. I prefer a well-thought out reason, whether your character has simple motivations (food and shelter ain't nothing to scoff at) or more complex ambitions (subterfuge, anyone?). Just know this is a starting point. Everyone can evolve and change. That said, folks set on a ghoul and super mutant aren't totally out of luck -- shoot me a PM.
Ranks will follow the Maxon Model. Because the squad leader will be a NPC, all members should be ranked Knight-Sergeant/Senior Scribe or lower. The game can support up to two lancers for story purposes. The distinction between Lancer (pilot), Knight, and Scribe will be more important than your place in the hierarchy. You can find brief descriptions about how each class differs in the dossier section.
The Gameplay
Combat is realistic...ish. Taking a bullet or meeting the business-end of a super sledge will ruin anybody's day, but we're all here to have fun. You can bet all those chems don't make the raider trying to turn you into a corpse the best shot. That mutant with the sledgehammer is going to take time to swing. Keep things grounded and respect the intended level of challenge, but remember that this isn't Dark Souls.
There will be situations where the stakes are high. These moments will be clearly called out and will require the squad or individuals to make game-altering decisions. They may require a dice roll or consideration based on character motivations. While these situations can cost limbs and lives, they also come with the promise of powerful rewards.
The World
The Commonwealthin 2284 is a familiar place to those who've played Fallout 4. Diamond City is still a thriving pocket of civilization and most goods flow through Bunker Hill. Unless your character is specifically from the area, that's all they likely know. Remember that our characters are members of the Brotherhood of Steel, specifically ones assigned to the Pyrdwen. They might not be from the Capital Wasteland originally, but they certainly resided there before being deployed.
For most characters the journey into the Commonwealth will be an adventure into the unknown. As we explore the land, the repercussions of our decisions and even the weather will reveal new mysteries. We might even find our story leads beyond the greater-Boston area.
The Weapons and Armor
Don't get caught up by in-game stats. Any armor is better than nothing and none of it guarantees a bullet won't penetrate. Likewise, just about any weapon can kill if used properly. For our purposes, you can think of weapons and armor in three general categories: pre-war, modern, and advanced. Explanations below.
PRE-WAR: Say what you will of the old days, they sure built things to last. Classics like the 10mm Pistol, Hunting Rifle, and .45 M1911 can still be found in ruins today. With a little cleaning and fine-tuning you'll have a pretty decent weapon, too. This category also includes weapons from outside the game like the MP-5 or AK-47. In terms of armor, we're talking about Combat Armor, Riot Gear, and other protective clothing from past. It's easier to find usable pre-war supplies in police stations and outdoor stores. Military-grade hardware is, surprise, almost exclusively found in military facilities or outposts (usually with plenty of robots and ghouls).
MODERN: Ingenuity and necessity. This is the gear borne from the rubble in a world still obsessed with violence. Pipe rifles and pistols assembled from old lamps, car engines, and vacuums. The breastplate that uses a sturdy frame of a grocery cart to protect the chest and neck. It might not be pretty, but it works... well, usually. What this gear lacks in appearance, it delivers in diversity and potential. If you've got the skills and scrap you can build yourself some of the best gear around. It's easy to find modern gear just about anywhere, but don't make the mistake of trusting a weapon you just picked up.
Special Note: Pre-war and advanced weapons that don't get proper maintenance or are modified in the field can blur into this category. This comes with advantages and drawbacks. Fixing your power armor with scrap let's you customize the armor, but might leave you exposed to radiation. Modifying a 10mm Pistol to take 9mm rounds might sacrifice damage, but the rounds will be easier to find.
ADVANCED: Past and future, all-in-one. Power armor, energy weapons, and just about everything from Fallout that lands squarely in the realm of science fiction. This is the kind of gear most people swoon over. Armor that allows a woman without legs to not only walk, but fly. A rifle capable of reducing feral ghouls into red hot ash. While we might start with access to this kind of choice gear as members of the Brotherhood, it does come with one massive drawback: advanced gear needs special maintenance. A scribe might be able to patch up some bullet holes in your power armor, but they'll need the engineers on the Pyrdwen to keep it running long-term. Energy weapons need serious attention or their power will reduce over time. You aren't likely to find this gear out in the world and certainly not in pristine condition.
The Expectations
I'm looking for three-to-five players comfortable with a weekly posting schedule. You should be fine with writing at least a few hearty paragraphs that add something to the story or your character. Collaborations are fine, but let's avoid making endless walls of text and long waiting periods the norm. If you sign up, I expect you enjoy Fallout, post-apocalyptic settings, or both. I bet you have some great ideas, too. Please share them!
I'll expand on the rules once we get to the OOC, but I expect everyone to remember one thing:this is our game. All ideas are welcome. All voices count and will be considered. When we get confused or disagree, we'll bring it up respectfully and thoughtfully. We will treat each other with patience, always remembering that nobody is perfect and everyone contributes something to the whole.
The Character Sheet
@Penny Couple of questions, if you’ll humour prospective member. I didn’t see a year and wonder if this takes place today or in the early 20th century (Lovecraft and all that)? Also, do you have an idea of what posting cadence you’d like?
@Lo Pellegrino
Now that's a bit tricky with this group. Have you received an invitation to the Discord?
I did, not much into chats though. So I take it the activity is mostly there then?
<Snipped quote by Lo Pellegrino>
Well a few of us have got another big RP we're trying to revive going on at the same time; I'm working on another post myself though - once it's posted I'm hoping more people will notice this.
Gotcha, wasn’t aware it was more of an established group. So you expect it to pick up then?
I’d say one of the most helpful strategies is giving yourself a root of familiarity to the character. Even if you’re not an alien or pirate or post-apocalyptic survivor, perhaps you do know how loss can obscure perception or the larger-than-life feeling that comes with going somewhere new. Those bits of experience or emotion you know personally can be manipulated and suddenly you’re imagining a world that feels compelling.
@BlondyMcHuggles I love the characters and stories folks are starting so far, but I notice it's pretty quiet in here. Any ideas on inspiring more activity around here?
1 June 1715 - St. John's Town, Antego
A cloud smoke obscured the bustling shanty. It smelled of tobacco, warm beer, and musky sailours, yet not a single complaint could be heard over the drunken revelry. Men of many classes collected in the humble little tavern so that the well-dressed Spanish officer only looked a touch out of place. Still, like any man so distinguished, the Spaniard conducted his business with his assistant and the Englishman across from them smoothly.
"Eso es demasiado para un mapa," scoffed Capitáno Avecedo. He slammed a fist against the wooden table. It wobbled from the force and tipped the tankards until beer spilt out.
The Englishman grimaced and looked at the captain's servant. Francisco met the gaze quickly, hoping his confusion escaped notice. He found a mix of judgment and aggression in the man's eyes that gave him pause. The man's worn, sun-faded long coat was patched and stitched heavily. It added an otherworldly look to the Englishman that made his unkempt beard and hair all the wilder.
"This is too much for a map," Francisco translated, finally.
"You must be misspeakin', groid. We're talkin' about more than a map," the Englishman retorted in a hard, gravelly voice. He leaned closer until his worn, sun-faded coat soaked with beer. "P'haps yer monkey brain can't grasp it. This's safe passage tuh riches. E'erthin' from sea dragons tuh whirlpools tuh known patrols. Should be askin' for more, really."
Francisco blinked and gripped the handle of his tankard tighter. He took a drink, glancing to the captain over the rim. Avecedo sat back and let his arms fall to the sides of his chair. The Spaniard looked larger than before in his fine, layered coats, but something Francisco could not quite put a finger on also appeared off.
The Englishman cleared his throat. "Listen, if business in't goin' tuh happen I can think of bettuh ways tuh waste muh time."
"Siéntate, maldito perro."
"Sit down, dog."
"Scuse me?" the Englishmen barked as he jumped to his feet. A brief, yet sharp scrape of wood-on-wood earned the gaze of others around the bar.
Capitáno Avecedo pulled a pistol from beneath the table. Looking down the barrel of the Spanish blunderbuss, the Englishman's face paled. "My asistente speaks to you politely, though he clearly fails to grasp that such modales are wasted on the likes of you. Now, señor, shall we continue negotiating?" The Englishman nodded and Avecedo nudged his head toward a chair closer to himself. "Mullato, relieve nuestro amigo of his pistols, por favor."
Without meeting the Englishman's eye, Francisco did as instructed. One wheellock a little larger than the capitáno's blunderbuss and twin flintlock pistols that seemed, to him, more suitable for an officer. Avecedo noticed as well. Francisco deposited two of the weapons into his satchel and kept a flintlock in hand.
When the Englishman took a seat Avecedo responded with a smile. "Beautiful pieces, señor. If I return them to you, that should over the map, sí?"
The Englishman grew red in the face. He made to speak then his eyes flicked to the blunderbuss and his jaw tightened instead. He nodded and reached inside his coat. By the time Francisco raised the pilfered flintlock the Spaniard's blunderbuss was already in place. Its barrel pressed against the Englishman's mouth as if a comical mask. Slowly, he revealed a rolled piece of parchment.
"Gracias por hacer negocios."
Leaving the tavern, Francisco allowed the captain to walk ahead. He'd learned early on to play how others' viewed themselves and Spanish officers, naturally, preferred to lead. It helped that Capitáno Avecedo walked briskly. Despite being more than twice Francisco's age, his speed revealed a man full of vigour. He was roughly the same height as Francisco with arms and legs thickened by the demands of the sea. However, despite all the characteristics of a man still in his prime, Avecedo could not stop the greying hair or wrinkling skin others less fortunate never saw. It wasn't until now that it occurred to Francisco the captain was growing old. He thought of his father.
They walked deeper into the town until the docks, and La Cadena Negra, was no longer in view. St. John's Town sprawled out further than Francisco expected. Buildings of sun-bleached stone and wood-lined relatively decent roads giving clear access to the bustling markets, farmstands, and entertainers. Merchants exclaimed their wares, eyes following sailors who looked heavy with coin. While the captain ignored it all without so much as a smile, Francisco was enamoured. This was a proper town, after all. More than a shanty bar with watered down beer and hay beds and whores boasting itself a grand isle. He imagined St. John's Town had all of those things, of course, but it was the charm that delighted him. His eyes wandered toward a building with roses woven over a decorative metal frame above the door and a British woman looking out. Their gazes met, her's longing and his curious. She curtsied, revealing much of her breasts, and she waved him toward.
"¿Estás escuchando?"
Francisco's attention snapped back to the captain. "Lo siento."
"Where is your focus, Mulato?" Avecedo glanced around the street until he found the brothel. As if on cue, the woman repeated the scene. "Oh. Well."
"Mis disculpas. How can I be of help, Capitáno?"
Raising a hand to his eye, to his assistant and shook his head. "No apologies. I..." he paused and smiled. "I understand. I trust your attention is stronger than your impulsos?"
"Sí."
"Muy bien. I need you to find el cartógrafo by the name of Josiah Kenway. Él puede verificar que el mapa sea verdadero. Do not lose either of these, entiende?"
Avecedo scanned the street then stopped. Following suit, Francisco found many walking about the street, but none paying them more than a brief glance. The captain handed him the rolled parchment and a small coin purse making sure each were firmly grasped before letting go. It might have been the closest thing to payment he'd received since boarding La Cadena Negra.
"Entendido. Where shall I find you after?" His assistant looked at the woman in front of the brothel as she enticed others passing by. She appeared successful.
"Diablillo," the captain replied. His voice sounded soft, but he wore a stoic expression on his face. "I have other business. Find me by the dock by nightfall."
"Is Señor Kenway expecting me?"
"No. No te preocupes, he is an old friend. A gentle heart. No mas preguntas. By nightfall, no later."
Without the captain catching eyes hungry for coin, Francisco found he disappeared into the crowd. Merchants and whores saw him for a second before focusing on the fat purses and fine coats. He watched with amusement as bolder folk grabbed the sleeves of those walking near with one hand and displayed their goods in the other only to be shrugged off or rewarded with attention. More compelling, though, were how many let go of the sleeve and slipped their fingers into the pedestrian's pocket. He made to say something, but thought better.
The market continued further than Francisco cared to venture. He turned off the main street onto a quieter path too small for horses or carriages. He saw the wooden signs waving over doorways with illustrations and letters identifying each shop. A needle and thread for the tailour, two crossed rifles for the gunsmith, a vial for the apothecary. Francisco walked the road leisurely, noting each sign, until he arrived to the cartographer. Over the door the wood placard displayed black checkered lines and a red teardrop flipped upside down. Francisco shook his head in confusion as he pushed the door open.
"Don't be a fool! It's a well-known fact a serpent roams those waters," said the spectacled man.
A second man, this one without spectacles or hair, replied, "A serpent off the coast of Porto? He's blood Portuguese, I think he might've noticed a big bloody snake swimmin' about."
"Excuse me," Francisco interjected. Neither man looked up from their tables. "My name is --"
"Say he has noticed and you adding the serpent confirms your authority. Might not be a dependable map if you miss so big a feature."
"Would you return to a city terrorized by a sea serpent, Josiah? By ship at that."
"Pardon my interruption. I am --"
"I would not," Josiah replied with an eyebrow cocked as he thought. "But I deal in maps and navigation and only sparingly go out into the unknown. This Portuguese is a sailour. Bit of danger suits him. To the real question, Henry. What if the serpent is friendly?"
Mouth agape, Henry ran an ink-blotted hand over his head. Dark black streaks from his fingers lined the bald skin, a near match for faded ones. "You want me to put a sea serpent off the coast of Porto, but it'll be mint because he'll be grinning ear to bloody ear?"
"Please, I am here on behalf of --"
"Well that's rich, Henry. Here I thought we were being serious. You know full well snakes do not have ears."
"Capitáno Miguel Avecedo."
The chattering cartographers paused and finally observed their visitor. Henry, mouth still wide open, sat his quill down and walked out from behind the large table that separated the entry from the work area. Fresh, white parchments stacked on top of far older, yellowed ones all around their work. So much clutter in a place producing such precision.
"Thought you'd be older, Captain. And forgive me, I thought a man of your station might dress --"
"He is not Miguel," Josiah interrupted, rising from his stool and wiping his hands on the cloth hung from his apron. "Too young. Miguel would not come in person, anyway."
Francisco cleared his throat and decided to, once more, attempt an introduction. "My name is Francisco Bagua. Capitáno Avecedo asked me to bring this to Mister Kenway." He pulled the parchment from his satchel and handed it to Henry. "He asks you confirm what it shows."
The mapmakers exchanged glances. After a moment, Josiah replied, "The last time I saw Miguel he was a lieutenant. Your visit comes as a surprise."
"Bloody hell, I'll say it," Henry exclaimed. The man placed his hands on his sides and leaned forward. "Don't look like you keep the company of Spanish captains. How do we know you aren't a privateer seeking free help?"
"Capitáno Avecedo took me slave ten years ago."
Josiah nodded and took the map. "This must be difficult for you. I have no power over your situation, but I can offer you coffee and a food in the least."
"Am I missing something?" Henry replied, grabbing and opening the map. "This Miguel some kind of slaver?"
"When I apprenticed, my Lord, some thirty years ago now," Josiah sighed. "Miguel came in on behalf of his captain for a map to Africa. The specifics made it quite clear they were in pursuit of, well, merchandise. I was a boy excited for work. It's not something I'm proud of."
Francisco pulled a corner of the map out of Henry's hand. On the right the West Indies and there ports were clearly illustrated with red and green marks pointing to them. Dotted lines with arrows moved between the ports and around the map, some south, others north, and a few ultimately leading east toward Africa. Small, black bodies appeared across the African coast. Neither of the mapmakers uttered a word as he observed the map.
"Slaves," Francisco whispered. His face paled suddenly. "How long would the trip to Africa take?"
Josiah fumbled with his spectacles. "I'm no sailour. Maybe two months. Longer with bad weather. Mister Bagua, you, uh, you weren't there were you?"
Blinking back tears, Francisco replied, "No. But my father was."
A cloud smoke obscured the bustling shanty. It smelled of tobacco, warm beer, and musky sailours, yet not a single complaint could be heard over the drunken revelry. Men of many classes collected in the humble little tavern so that the well-dressed Spanish officer only looked a touch out of place. Still, like any man so distinguished, the Spaniard conducted his business with his assistant and the Englishman across from them smoothly.
"Eso es demasiado para un mapa," scoffed Capitáno Avecedo. He slammed a fist against the wooden table. It wobbled from the force and tipped the tankards until beer spilt out.
The Englishman grimaced and looked at the captain's servant. Francisco met the gaze quickly, hoping his confusion escaped notice. He found a mix of judgment and aggression in the man's eyes that gave him pause. The man's worn, sun-faded long coat was patched and stitched heavily. It added an otherworldly look to the Englishman that made his unkempt beard and hair all the wilder.
"This is too much for a map," Francisco translated, finally.
"You must be misspeakin', groid. We're talkin' about more than a map," the Englishman retorted in a hard, gravelly voice. He leaned closer until his worn, sun-faded coat soaked with beer. "P'haps yer monkey brain can't grasp it. This's safe passage tuh riches. E'erthin' from sea dragons tuh whirlpools tuh known patrols. Should be askin' for more, really."
Francisco blinked and gripped the handle of his tankard tighter. He took a drink, glancing to the captain over the rim. Avecedo sat back and let his arms fall to the sides of his chair. The Spaniard looked larger than before in his fine, layered coats, but something Francisco could not quite put a finger on also appeared off.
The Englishman cleared his throat. "Listen, if business in't goin' tuh happen I can think of bettuh ways tuh waste muh time."
"Siéntate, maldito perro."
"Sit down, dog."
"Scuse me?" the Englishmen barked as he jumped to his feet. A brief, yet sharp scrape of wood-on-wood earned the gaze of others around the bar.
Capitáno Avecedo pulled a pistol from beneath the table. Looking down the barrel of the Spanish blunderbuss, the Englishman's face paled. "My asistente speaks to you politely, though he clearly fails to grasp that such modales are wasted on the likes of you. Now, señor, shall we continue negotiating?" The Englishman nodded and Avecedo nudged his head toward a chair closer to himself. "Mullato, relieve nuestro amigo of his pistols, por favor."
Without meeting the Englishman's eye, Francisco did as instructed. One wheellock a little larger than the capitáno's blunderbuss and twin flintlock pistols that seemed, to him, more suitable for an officer. Avecedo noticed as well. Francisco deposited two of the weapons into his satchel and kept a flintlock in hand.
When the Englishman took a seat Avecedo responded with a smile. "Beautiful pieces, señor. If I return them to you, that should over the map, sí?"
The Englishman grew red in the face. He made to speak then his eyes flicked to the blunderbuss and his jaw tightened instead. He nodded and reached inside his coat. By the time Francisco raised the pilfered flintlock the Spaniard's blunderbuss was already in place. Its barrel pressed against the Englishman's mouth as if a comical mask. Slowly, he revealed a rolled piece of parchment.
"Gracias por hacer negocios."
Leaving the tavern, Francisco allowed the captain to walk ahead. He'd learned early on to play how others' viewed themselves and Spanish officers, naturally, preferred to lead. It helped that Capitáno Avecedo walked briskly. Despite being more than twice Francisco's age, his speed revealed a man full of vigour. He was roughly the same height as Francisco with arms and legs thickened by the demands of the sea. However, despite all the characteristics of a man still in his prime, Avecedo could not stop the greying hair or wrinkling skin others less fortunate never saw. It wasn't until now that it occurred to Francisco the captain was growing old. He thought of his father.
They walked deeper into the town until the docks, and La Cadena Negra, was no longer in view. St. John's Town sprawled out further than Francisco expected. Buildings of sun-bleached stone and wood-lined relatively decent roads giving clear access to the bustling markets, farmstands, and entertainers. Merchants exclaimed their wares, eyes following sailors who looked heavy with coin. While the captain ignored it all without so much as a smile, Francisco was enamoured. This was a proper town, after all. More than a shanty bar with watered down beer and hay beds and whores boasting itself a grand isle. He imagined St. John's Town had all of those things, of course, but it was the charm that delighted him. His eyes wandered toward a building with roses woven over a decorative metal frame above the door and a British woman looking out. Their gazes met, her's longing and his curious. She curtsied, revealing much of her breasts, and she waved him toward.
"¿Estás escuchando?"
Francisco's attention snapped back to the captain. "Lo siento."
"Where is your focus, Mulato?" Avecedo glanced around the street until he found the brothel. As if on cue, the woman repeated the scene. "Oh. Well."
"Mis disculpas. How can I be of help, Capitáno?"
Raising a hand to his eye, to his assistant and shook his head. "No apologies. I..." he paused and smiled. "I understand. I trust your attention is stronger than your impulsos?"
"Sí."
"Muy bien. I need you to find el cartógrafo by the name of Josiah Kenway. Él puede verificar que el mapa sea verdadero. Do not lose either of these, entiende?"
Avecedo scanned the street then stopped. Following suit, Francisco found many walking about the street, but none paying them more than a brief glance. The captain handed him the rolled parchment and a small coin purse making sure each were firmly grasped before letting go. It might have been the closest thing to payment he'd received since boarding La Cadena Negra.
"Entendido. Where shall I find you after?" His assistant looked at the woman in front of the brothel as she enticed others passing by. She appeared successful.
"Diablillo," the captain replied. His voice sounded soft, but he wore a stoic expression on his face. "I have other business. Find me by the dock by nightfall."
"Is Señor Kenway expecting me?"
"No. No te preocupes, he is an old friend. A gentle heart. No mas preguntas. By nightfall, no later."
Without the captain catching eyes hungry for coin, Francisco found he disappeared into the crowd. Merchants and whores saw him for a second before focusing on the fat purses and fine coats. He watched with amusement as bolder folk grabbed the sleeves of those walking near with one hand and displayed their goods in the other only to be shrugged off or rewarded with attention. More compelling, though, were how many let go of the sleeve and slipped their fingers into the pedestrian's pocket. He made to say something, but thought better.
The market continued further than Francisco cared to venture. He turned off the main street onto a quieter path too small for horses or carriages. He saw the wooden signs waving over doorways with illustrations and letters identifying each shop. A needle and thread for the tailour, two crossed rifles for the gunsmith, a vial for the apothecary. Francisco walked the road leisurely, noting each sign, until he arrived to the cartographer. Over the door the wood placard displayed black checkered lines and a red teardrop flipped upside down. Francisco shook his head in confusion as he pushed the door open.
"Don't be a fool! It's a well-known fact a serpent roams those waters," said the spectacled man.
A second man, this one without spectacles or hair, replied, "A serpent off the coast of Porto? He's blood Portuguese, I think he might've noticed a big bloody snake swimmin' about."
"Excuse me," Francisco interjected. Neither man looked up from their tables. "My name is --"
"Say he has noticed and you adding the serpent confirms your authority. Might not be a dependable map if you miss so big a feature."
"Would you return to a city terrorized by a sea serpent, Josiah? By ship at that."
"Pardon my interruption. I am --"
"I would not," Josiah replied with an eyebrow cocked as he thought. "But I deal in maps and navigation and only sparingly go out into the unknown. This Portuguese is a sailour. Bit of danger suits him. To the real question, Henry. What if the serpent is friendly?"
Mouth agape, Henry ran an ink-blotted hand over his head. Dark black streaks from his fingers lined the bald skin, a near match for faded ones. "You want me to put a sea serpent off the coast of Porto, but it'll be mint because he'll be grinning ear to bloody ear?"
"Please, I am here on behalf of --"
"Well that's rich, Henry. Here I thought we were being serious. You know full well snakes do not have ears."
"Capitáno Miguel Avecedo."
The chattering cartographers paused and finally observed their visitor. Henry, mouth still wide open, sat his quill down and walked out from behind the large table that separated the entry from the work area. Fresh, white parchments stacked on top of far older, yellowed ones all around their work. So much clutter in a place producing such precision.
"Thought you'd be older, Captain. And forgive me, I thought a man of your station might dress --"
"He is not Miguel," Josiah interrupted, rising from his stool and wiping his hands on the cloth hung from his apron. "Too young. Miguel would not come in person, anyway."
Francisco cleared his throat and decided to, once more, attempt an introduction. "My name is Francisco Bagua. Capitáno Avecedo asked me to bring this to Mister Kenway." He pulled the parchment from his satchel and handed it to Henry. "He asks you confirm what it shows."
The mapmakers exchanged glances. After a moment, Josiah replied, "The last time I saw Miguel he was a lieutenant. Your visit comes as a surprise."
"Bloody hell, I'll say it," Henry exclaimed. The man placed his hands on his sides and leaned forward. "Don't look like you keep the company of Spanish captains. How do we know you aren't a privateer seeking free help?"
"Capitáno Avecedo took me slave ten years ago."
Josiah nodded and took the map. "This must be difficult for you. I have no power over your situation, but I can offer you coffee and a food in the least."
"Am I missing something?" Henry replied, grabbing and opening the map. "This Miguel some kind of slaver?"
"When I apprenticed, my Lord, some thirty years ago now," Josiah sighed. "Miguel came in on behalf of his captain for a map to Africa. The specifics made it quite clear they were in pursuit of, well, merchandise. I was a boy excited for work. It's not something I'm proud of."
Francisco pulled a corner of the map out of Henry's hand. On the right the West Indies and there ports were clearly illustrated with red and green marks pointing to them. Dotted lines with arrows moved between the ports and around the map, some south, others north, and a few ultimately leading east toward Africa. Small, black bodies appeared across the African coast. Neither of the mapmakers uttered a word as he observed the map.
"Slaves," Francisco whispered. His face paled suddenly. "How long would the trip to Africa take?"
Josiah fumbled with his spectacles. "I'm no sailour. Maybe two months. Longer with bad weather. Mister Bagua, you, uh, you weren't there were you?"
Blinking back tears, Francisco replied, "No. But my father was."
@BlondyMcHuggles Thank you very much! I'll start on a post shortly.
By the way, stumbled across this map resource that could prove helpful.
By the way, stumbled across this map resource that could prove helpful.
NAME: Francisco Bagua, Known simply as "Mullato" by Spanish authorities, Otherwise called "Juracán" or "Huracán" (Taíno, Spanish respectively)
SEX: Male
DATE OF BIRTH: 11 September 1687
PLACE OF BIRTH; A village just south of Arecibo, Puerto Rico
BACKSTORY: The island of Borikén attracted many suitors with imperial dreams. Though the Spaniard Cristóbal Colón arrived earliest among the Europeans to lay claim, this did not stop other powers from trying for the island. This tension led to a number of conflicts. It was during one such conflict that a particular African taken as a slave by the Spanish found himself freed from his shackles. Meanwhile, a young officer by the name Miguel Avecedo was praying as British forces surrounded him. His prayers were answered by the African who took up arms and dealt a decisive blow against the attackers. A number of slaves acted accordingly, but Miguel Avecedo had known of the African already and felt shamed by his prior actions. This African alone regained his freedom -- a fact that shaped his life from then on.
Francisco was born a little way south of Arecibo. His father farmed coffee, while his mother worked at a church in town. His mother, a Catholic with both Taíno and Spanish blood, taught him letters and the state of the world. His father told him stories of Africa and taught him to farm, hunt, and craft. Despite their best intentions, Francisco felt as if a keg of powder lay within his chest. He felt hatred. The island was plagued by slavers dealing in Black flesh to work fields. Spanish soldiers thought themselves heroes each time they deflected other European ships, then promptly took their 'rewards' from those in town. Each disgusting act filled the keg with more powder. One night Francisco accompanied his mother and younger sister into town to deliver coffee beans and purchase supplies. The trip was not long but tired them regardless. Spanish soldiers greeted them upon their arrival, looked over their cargo, and approached his mother. They whispered at first and he could see the discomfort on her face. She turned away, but one of the soldiers caught her chin in his hand and pulled her close. They did not notice Francisco reach into their wagon, they did not hear the flintlock's mechanism click back prepared to fire, and he felt no compulsion to warn them. His powder keg was filled. He fired and the soldier reaching to grope his mother flung back with a red spray bursting from his chest. Suddenly the attention of the soldiers directed to the young man who, defiantly, gripped the rifle as if ready to club. The soldiers overpowered Francisco in short order and their fallen had already returned to his feet, chest speckled with spots of blood from the birdshot. He'd successfully pulled the attention from his mother.
Firing upon a Spanish soldier was a turning point. Francisco sat in a cell beneath Arecibo for days until receiving visitors. His family came in first with warm embraces and kisses, learned of his condition, then said their goodbyes. His father delayed to give him a piece of advice, "A man may be bent. Broken in every way. And that same man can still stand up when the moment's right." In the night a soldier, navy by the look of his coat, arrived with a torch in hand. Francisco vaguely remembered him as a Spaniard from his father's past. Capitán Miguel Avecedo explained to Francisco the weight of his actions and his fortune that the soldier was only lightly wounded in a manner reminiscent of his father. They spoke for at least an hour, during which Francisco managed to inspire a laugh and learn a lesson or two. The next morning three naval soldiers arrived and escorted Francisco out of the cell in shackles. Though just after dawn, the sun overwhelmed his eyes, he could still hear his family calling out. His mother, father, and sister walked along the group expressing their love and faith in him. He did not understand until he'd arrived aboard a naval ship preparing to depart.
A decade has passed since Francisco set foot upon La Cadena Negra. In that time he's thought of the experience as both curse and blessing. His role has been, officially, that of a slave in service to Capitán Avecedo. The reality of his service has been closer to that of a helper assisting wherever needed with tasks big and demeaningly small. In the beginning, the captain sought to break him, tasking the youth to follow the repairmen's orders and clean in any moment between. He continued onto learning to rig and, from time-to-time, going ashore for supplies to maintain ship and crew. A year in and the purpose of the ship shifted from securely moving cargo to that of a guardian for vessels ill-equipped against the growing scourge of piracy. Francisco learned combat with a blade and, despite the first mate's caution against any kind of slave touching firearms, he received standard training with rifles as well. La Cadena Negra successfully defended three dozen voyages in as many months. When not guarding ships or finding rest at a port, Avecedo sought pirates still, though the men could not complain after the claiming the bounties. Such was Francisco's life until recently when Avecedo accepted a different kind of job.
They were to sail for Africa.
APPEARANCE: Francisco is average in height in build with the exception of notably broad shoulders. Since boarding La Cadena Negra he allowed his hair to grow long, wearing it now in thick black braids that hang to the middle of his back. His skin is darker than any Spaniard, but lighter than his father or most others he has known from Africa. It's clear he is not Spanish, yet likely unclear what exactly his origins might be. Adorning his arms and back are various tattoos depicting symbols from his heritage. Most notably among these tattoos are the and sun and moon on his wrists. Though he is generally treated far better than any slave, when it comes to wardrobe, what he was given was purely essential. Francisco wears a roughspun tunic, heavily patched pantaloons that end just below the knee, and a pair of cracking leather boots and a tattered sailor's coat taken from a dead pirate.
MOTIVATION: Francisco dreams of stumbling upon a world lost to him. Living exclusively on Borikén, he has only heard rumours of lands untouched by invaders.
SKILLS/STRENGTHS: Francisco is capable. His father took care to ensure he knew how to provide for himself, while his mother believed knowledge the greatest key to a good life. From their teachings he is a capable hunter and farmer, he can craft basic tools, and he knows letters. In short, Francisco has the foundation to survive in civil society or the wilds.
His ancestry can open doors. Growing up in a village near Arecibo taught Francisco the importance of community and culture. Unlike those in San Juan exposed chiefly to Spanish influence, he was able to grow up with many African and Taíno stories instead. Capitáno Avecedo has noted and exploited this part of Francisco, knowing full well how said roots run in parts of the Carribean.
Francisco is no soldier, don't let that deceive you. He remembers well his father's story of the Spanish slave ship that took him as a boy. The lesson, aside from understanding the horrible acts the Spanish might do for greed, was to be prepared. His father taught him to grapple. Later in life, Avecedo's crew expanded the lesson to include the Spanish ways of swordsmanship and how to use a rifle.
WEAKNESSES:
Trust me, they see colour. His father was stolen from his land, put in chains, and taken across the sea. His mother's people were largely either eradicated or enslaved. Francisco was raised with a keen awareness that his value as human-being, in the eyes of many, is questionable and this prejudice can have an effect on everyday life.
Retribution is best served cold. Francisco and his family have suffered greatly due to human-trafficking and imperialism. As a result, he is easily tempted to lash out at those who benefit from pursuits without consideration for his own well-being (similar to his response to his mother being harassed).
Without a name or land. Francisco lacks a recognizable name, land, or any reputation aside what he's gained aboard the La Cadena Negra. Leaving the ship means leaving behind most everything he's earned in his adult life.
ROLE ON SHIP: Slave Hand
NAME OF SHIP: La Cadena Negra
NAME OF CAPTAIN: Capitáno Miguel Avecedo
SHIP DESCRIPTION/SPECS: The ship is a fifth-rate two-decker armed with 40 guns suitable scouting and speed. (Chances are this will not be the ship we see Francisco on for long.)
SEX: Male
DATE OF BIRTH: 11 September 1687
PLACE OF BIRTH; A village just south of Arecibo, Puerto Rico
BACKSTORY: The island of Borikén attracted many suitors with imperial dreams. Though the Spaniard Cristóbal Colón arrived earliest among the Europeans to lay claim, this did not stop other powers from trying for the island. This tension led to a number of conflicts. It was during one such conflict that a particular African taken as a slave by the Spanish found himself freed from his shackles. Meanwhile, a young officer by the name Miguel Avecedo was praying as British forces surrounded him. His prayers were answered by the African who took up arms and dealt a decisive blow against the attackers. A number of slaves acted accordingly, but Miguel Avecedo had known of the African already and felt shamed by his prior actions. This African alone regained his freedom -- a fact that shaped his life from then on.
Francisco was born a little way south of Arecibo. His father farmed coffee, while his mother worked at a church in town. His mother, a Catholic with both Taíno and Spanish blood, taught him letters and the state of the world. His father told him stories of Africa and taught him to farm, hunt, and craft. Despite their best intentions, Francisco felt as if a keg of powder lay within his chest. He felt hatred. The island was plagued by slavers dealing in Black flesh to work fields. Spanish soldiers thought themselves heroes each time they deflected other European ships, then promptly took their 'rewards' from those in town. Each disgusting act filled the keg with more powder. One night Francisco accompanied his mother and younger sister into town to deliver coffee beans and purchase supplies. The trip was not long but tired them regardless. Spanish soldiers greeted them upon their arrival, looked over their cargo, and approached his mother. They whispered at first and he could see the discomfort on her face. She turned away, but one of the soldiers caught her chin in his hand and pulled her close. They did not notice Francisco reach into their wagon, they did not hear the flintlock's mechanism click back prepared to fire, and he felt no compulsion to warn them. His powder keg was filled. He fired and the soldier reaching to grope his mother flung back with a red spray bursting from his chest. Suddenly the attention of the soldiers directed to the young man who, defiantly, gripped the rifle as if ready to club. The soldiers overpowered Francisco in short order and their fallen had already returned to his feet, chest speckled with spots of blood from the birdshot. He'd successfully pulled the attention from his mother.
Firing upon a Spanish soldier was a turning point. Francisco sat in a cell beneath Arecibo for days until receiving visitors. His family came in first with warm embraces and kisses, learned of his condition, then said their goodbyes. His father delayed to give him a piece of advice, "A man may be bent. Broken in every way. And that same man can still stand up when the moment's right." In the night a soldier, navy by the look of his coat, arrived with a torch in hand. Francisco vaguely remembered him as a Spaniard from his father's past. Capitán Miguel Avecedo explained to Francisco the weight of his actions and his fortune that the soldier was only lightly wounded in a manner reminiscent of his father. They spoke for at least an hour, during which Francisco managed to inspire a laugh and learn a lesson or two. The next morning three naval soldiers arrived and escorted Francisco out of the cell in shackles. Though just after dawn, the sun overwhelmed his eyes, he could still hear his family calling out. His mother, father, and sister walked along the group expressing their love and faith in him. He did not understand until he'd arrived aboard a naval ship preparing to depart.
A decade has passed since Francisco set foot upon La Cadena Negra. In that time he's thought of the experience as both curse and blessing. His role has been, officially, that of a slave in service to Capitán Avecedo. The reality of his service has been closer to that of a helper assisting wherever needed with tasks big and demeaningly small. In the beginning, the captain sought to break him, tasking the youth to follow the repairmen's orders and clean in any moment between. He continued onto learning to rig and, from time-to-time, going ashore for supplies to maintain ship and crew. A year in and the purpose of the ship shifted from securely moving cargo to that of a guardian for vessels ill-equipped against the growing scourge of piracy. Francisco learned combat with a blade and, despite the first mate's caution against any kind of slave touching firearms, he received standard training with rifles as well. La Cadena Negra successfully defended three dozen voyages in as many months. When not guarding ships or finding rest at a port, Avecedo sought pirates still, though the men could not complain after the claiming the bounties. Such was Francisco's life until recently when Avecedo accepted a different kind of job.
They were to sail for Africa.
APPEARANCE: Francisco is average in height in build with the exception of notably broad shoulders. Since boarding La Cadena Negra he allowed his hair to grow long, wearing it now in thick black braids that hang to the middle of his back. His skin is darker than any Spaniard, but lighter than his father or most others he has known from Africa. It's clear he is not Spanish, yet likely unclear what exactly his origins might be. Adorning his arms and back are various tattoos depicting symbols from his heritage. Most notably among these tattoos are the and sun and moon on his wrists. Though he is generally treated far better than any slave, when it comes to wardrobe, what he was given was purely essential. Francisco wears a roughspun tunic, heavily patched pantaloons that end just below the knee, and a pair of cracking leather boots and a tattered sailor's coat taken from a dead pirate.
MOTIVATION: Francisco dreams of stumbling upon a world lost to him. Living exclusively on Borikén, he has only heard rumours of lands untouched by invaders.
SKILLS/STRENGTHS: Francisco is capable. His father took care to ensure he knew how to provide for himself, while his mother believed knowledge the greatest key to a good life. From their teachings he is a capable hunter and farmer, he can craft basic tools, and he knows letters. In short, Francisco has the foundation to survive in civil society or the wilds.
His ancestry can open doors. Growing up in a village near Arecibo taught Francisco the importance of community and culture. Unlike those in San Juan exposed chiefly to Spanish influence, he was able to grow up with many African and Taíno stories instead. Capitáno Avecedo has noted and exploited this part of Francisco, knowing full well how said roots run in parts of the Carribean.
Francisco is no soldier, don't let that deceive you. He remembers well his father's story of the Spanish slave ship that took him as a boy. The lesson, aside from understanding the horrible acts the Spanish might do for greed, was to be prepared. His father taught him to grapple. Later in life, Avecedo's crew expanded the lesson to include the Spanish ways of swordsmanship and how to use a rifle.
WEAKNESSES:
Trust me, they see colour. His father was stolen from his land, put in chains, and taken across the sea. His mother's people were largely either eradicated or enslaved. Francisco was raised with a keen awareness that his value as human-being, in the eyes of many, is questionable and this prejudice can have an effect on everyday life.
Retribution is best served cold. Francisco and his family have suffered greatly due to human-trafficking and imperialism. As a result, he is easily tempted to lash out at those who benefit from pursuits without consideration for his own well-being (similar to his response to his mother being harassed).
Without a name or land. Francisco lacks a recognizable name, land, or any reputation aside what he's gained aboard the La Cadena Negra. Leaving the ship means leaving behind most everything he's earned in his adult life.
ROLE ON SHIP: Slave Hand
NAME OF SHIP: La Cadena Negra
NAME OF CAPTAIN: Capitáno Miguel Avecedo
SHIP DESCRIPTION/SPECS: The ship is a fifth-rate two-decker armed with 40 guns suitable scouting and speed. (Chances are this will not be the ship we see Francisco on for long.)
NAME: Francisco Bagua, Known simply as "Mullato" by Spanish authorities, Otherwise called "Juracán" or "Huracán" (Taíno, Spanish respectively)
SEX: Male
DATE OF BIRTH: 11 September 1687
PLACE OF BIRTH; A village just south of Arecibo, Puerto Rico
BACKSTORY: The island of Borikén attracted many suitors with imperial dreams. Though the Spaniard Cristóbal Colón arrived earliest among the Europeans to lay claim, this did not stop other powers from trying for the island. This tension led to a number of conflicts. It was during one such conflict that a particular African taken as a slave by the Spanish found himself freed from his shackles. Meanwhile, a young officer by the name Miguel Avecedo was praying as British forces surrounded him. His prayers were answered by the African who took up arms and dealt a decisive blow against the attackers. A number of slaves acted accordingly, but Miguel Avecedo had known of the African already and felt shamed by his prior actions. This African alone regained his freedom -- a fact that shaped his life from then on.
Francisco was born a little way south of Arecibo. His father farmed coffee, while his mother worked at a church in town. His mother, a Catholic with both Taíno and Spanish blood, taught him letters and the state of the world. His father told him stories of Africa and taught him to farm, hunt, and craft. Despite their best intentions, Francisco felt as if a keg of powder lay within his chest. He felt hatred. The island was plagued by slavers dealing in Black flesh to work fields. Spanish soldiers thought themselves heroes each time they deflected other European ships, then promptly took their 'rewards' from those in town. Each disgusting act filled the keg with more powder. One night Francisco accompanied his mother and younger sister into town to deliver coffee beans and purchase supplies. The trip was not long but tired them regardless. Spanish soldiers greeted them upon their arrival, looked over their cargo, and approached his mother. They whispered at first and he could see the discomfort on her face. She turned away, but one of the soldiers caught her chin in his hand and pulled her close. They did not notice Francisco reach into their wagon, they did not hear the flintlock's mechanism click back prepared to fire, and he felt no compulsion to warn them. His powder keg was filled. He fired and the soldier reaching to grope his mother flung back with a red spray bursting from his chest. Suddenly the attention of the soldiers directed to the young man who, defiantly, gripped the rifle as if ready to club. The soldiers overpowered Francisco in short order and their fallen had already returned to his feet, chest speckled with spots of blood from the birdshot. He'd successfully pulled the attention from his mother.
Firing upon a Spanish soldier was a turning point. Francisco sat in a cell beneath Arecibo for days until receiving visitors. His family came in first with warm embraces and kisses, learned of his condition, then said their goodbyes. His father delayed to give him a piece of advice, "A man may be bent. Broken in every way. And that same man can still stand up when the moment's right." In the night a soldier, navy by the look of his coat, arrived with a torch in hand. Francisco vaguely remembered him as a Spaniard from his father's past. Capitán Miguel Avecedo explained to Francisco the weight of his actions and his fortune that the soldier was only lightly wounded in a manner reminiscent of his father. They spoke for at least an hour, during which Francisco managed to inspire a laugh and learn a lesson or two. The next morning three naval soldiers arrived and escorted Francisco out of the cell in shackles. Though just after dawn, the sun overwhelmed his eyes, he could still hear his family calling out. His mother, father, and sister walked along the group expressing their love and faith in him. He did not understand until he'd arrived aboard a naval ship preparing to depart.
A decade has passed since Francisco set foot upon La Cadena Negra. In that time he's thought of the experience as both curse and blessing. His role has been, officially, that of a slave in service to Capitán Avecedo. The reality of his service has been closer to that of a helper assisting wherever needed with tasks big and demeaningly small. In the beginning, the captain sought to break him, tasking the youth to follow the repairmen's orders and clean in any moment between. He continued onto learning to rig and, from time-to-time, going ashore for supplies to maintain ship and crew. A year in and the purpose of the ship shifted from securely moving cargo to that of a guardian for vessels ill-equipped against the growing scourge of piracy. Francisco learned combat with a blade and, despite the first mate's caution against any kind of slave touching firearms, he received standard training with rifles as well. La Cadena Negra successfully defended three dozen voyages in as many months. When not guarding ships or finding rest at a port, Avecedo sought pirates still, though the men could not complain after the claiming the bounties. Such was Francisco's life until recently when Avecedo accepted a different kind of job.
They were to sail for Africa.
APPEARANCE: Francisco is average in height in build with the exception of notably broad shoulders. Since boarding La Cadena Negra he allowed his hair to grow long, wearing it now in thick black braids that hang to the middle of his back. His skin is darker than any Spaniard, but lighter than his father or most others he has known from Africa. It's clear he is not Spanish, yet likely unclear what exactly his origins might be. Adorning his arms and back are various tattoos depicting symbols from his heritage. Most notably among these tattoos are the and sun and moon on his wrists. Though he is generally treated far better than any slave, when it comes to wardrobe, what he was given was purely essential. Francisco wears a roughspun tunic, heavily patched pantaloons that end just below the knee, and a pair of cracking leather boots and a tattered sailor's coat taken from a dead pirate.
MOTIVATION: Francisco dreams of stumbling upon a world lost to him. Living exclusively on Borikén, he has only heard rumours of lands untouched by invaders.
SKILLS/STRENGTHS: Francisco is capable. His father took care to ensure he knew how to provide for himself, while his mother believed knowledge the greatest key to a good life. From their teachings he is a capable hunter and farmer, he can craft basic tools, and he knows letters. In short, Francisco has the foundation to survive in civil society or the wilds.
His ancestry can open doors. Growing up in a village near Arecibo taught Francisco the importance of community and culture. Unlike those in San Juan exposed chiefly to Spanish influence, he was able to grow up with many African and Taíno stories instead. Capitáno Avecedo has noted and exploited this part of Francisco, knowing full well how said roots run in parts of the Carribean.
Francisco is no soldier, don't let that deceive you. He remembers well his father's story of the Spanish slave ship that took him as a boy. The lesson, aside from understanding the horrible acts the Spanish might do for greed, was to be prepared. His father taught him to grapple. Later in life, Avecedo's crew expanded the lesson to include the Spanish ways of swordsmanship and how to use a rifle.
WEAKNESSES:
Trust me, they see colour. His father was stolen from his land, put in chains, and taken across the sea. His mother's people were largely either eradicated or enslaved. Francisco was raised with a keen awareness that his value as human-being, in the eyes of many, is questionable and this prejudice can have an effect on everyday life.
Retribution is best served cold. Francisco and his family have suffered greatly due to human-trafficking and imperialism. As a result, he is easily tempted to lash out at those who benefit from pursuits without consideration for his own well-being (similar to his response to his mother being harassed).
Without a name or land. Francisco lacks a recognizable name, land, or any reputation aside what he's gained aboard the La Cadena Negra. Leaving the ship means leaving behind most everything he's earned in his adult life.
ROLE ON SHIP: Slave Hand
NAME OF SHIP: La Cadena Negra
NAME OF CAPTAIN: Capitáno Miguel Avecedo
SHIP DESCRIPTION/SPECS: The ship is a fifth-rate two-decker armed with 40 guns suitable scouting and speed. (Chances are this will not be the ship we see Francisco on for long.)
SEX: Male
DATE OF BIRTH: 11 September 1687
PLACE OF BIRTH; A village just south of Arecibo, Puerto Rico
BACKSTORY: The island of Borikén attracted many suitors with imperial dreams. Though the Spaniard Cristóbal Colón arrived earliest among the Europeans to lay claim, this did not stop other powers from trying for the island. This tension led to a number of conflicts. It was during one such conflict that a particular African taken as a slave by the Spanish found himself freed from his shackles. Meanwhile, a young officer by the name Miguel Avecedo was praying as British forces surrounded him. His prayers were answered by the African who took up arms and dealt a decisive blow against the attackers. A number of slaves acted accordingly, but Miguel Avecedo had known of the African already and felt shamed by his prior actions. This African alone regained his freedom -- a fact that shaped his life from then on.
Francisco was born a little way south of Arecibo. His father farmed coffee, while his mother worked at a church in town. His mother, a Catholic with both Taíno and Spanish blood, taught him letters and the state of the world. His father told him stories of Africa and taught him to farm, hunt, and craft. Despite their best intentions, Francisco felt as if a keg of powder lay within his chest. He felt hatred. The island was plagued by slavers dealing in Black flesh to work fields. Spanish soldiers thought themselves heroes each time they deflected other European ships, then promptly took their 'rewards' from those in town. Each disgusting act filled the keg with more powder. One night Francisco accompanied his mother and younger sister into town to deliver coffee beans and purchase supplies. The trip was not long but tired them regardless. Spanish soldiers greeted them upon their arrival, looked over their cargo, and approached his mother. They whispered at first and he could see the discomfort on her face. She turned away, but one of the soldiers caught her chin in his hand and pulled her close. They did not notice Francisco reach into their wagon, they did not hear the flintlock's mechanism click back prepared to fire, and he felt no compulsion to warn them. His powder keg was filled. He fired and the soldier reaching to grope his mother flung back with a red spray bursting from his chest. Suddenly the attention of the soldiers directed to the young man who, defiantly, gripped the rifle as if ready to club. The soldiers overpowered Francisco in short order and their fallen had already returned to his feet, chest speckled with spots of blood from the birdshot. He'd successfully pulled the attention from his mother.
Firing upon a Spanish soldier was a turning point. Francisco sat in a cell beneath Arecibo for days until receiving visitors. His family came in first with warm embraces and kisses, learned of his condition, then said their goodbyes. His father delayed to give him a piece of advice, "A man may be bent. Broken in every way. And that same man can still stand up when the moment's right." In the night a soldier, navy by the look of his coat, arrived with a torch in hand. Francisco vaguely remembered him as a Spaniard from his father's past. Capitán Miguel Avecedo explained to Francisco the weight of his actions and his fortune that the soldier was only lightly wounded in a manner reminiscent of his father. They spoke for at least an hour, during which Francisco managed to inspire a laugh and learn a lesson or two. The next morning three naval soldiers arrived and escorted Francisco out of the cell in shackles. Though just after dawn, the sun overwhelmed his eyes, he could still hear his family calling out. His mother, father, and sister walked along the group expressing their love and faith in him. He did not understand until he'd arrived aboard a naval ship preparing to depart.
A decade has passed since Francisco set foot upon La Cadena Negra. In that time he's thought of the experience as both curse and blessing. His role has been, officially, that of a slave in service to Capitán Avecedo. The reality of his service has been closer to that of a helper assisting wherever needed with tasks big and demeaningly small. In the beginning, the captain sought to break him, tasking the youth to follow the repairmen's orders and clean in any moment between. He continued onto learning to rig and, from time-to-time, going ashore for supplies to maintain ship and crew. A year in and the purpose of the ship shifted from securely moving cargo to that of a guardian for vessels ill-equipped against the growing scourge of piracy. Francisco learned combat with a blade and, despite the first mate's caution against any kind of slave touching firearms, he received standard training with rifles as well. La Cadena Negra successfully defended three dozen voyages in as many months. When not guarding ships or finding rest at a port, Avecedo sought pirates still, though the men could not complain after the claiming the bounties. Such was Francisco's life until recently when Avecedo accepted a different kind of job.
They were to sail for Africa.
APPEARANCE: Francisco is average in height in build with the exception of notably broad shoulders. Since boarding La Cadena Negra he allowed his hair to grow long, wearing it now in thick black braids that hang to the middle of his back. His skin is darker than any Spaniard, but lighter than his father or most others he has known from Africa. It's clear he is not Spanish, yet likely unclear what exactly his origins might be. Adorning his arms and back are various tattoos depicting symbols from his heritage. Most notably among these tattoos are the and sun and moon on his wrists. Though he is generally treated far better than any slave, when it comes to wardrobe, what he was given was purely essential. Francisco wears a roughspun tunic, heavily patched pantaloons that end just below the knee, and a pair of cracking leather boots and a tattered sailor's coat taken from a dead pirate.
MOTIVATION: Francisco dreams of stumbling upon a world lost to him. Living exclusively on Borikén, he has only heard rumours of lands untouched by invaders.
SKILLS/STRENGTHS: Francisco is capable. His father took care to ensure he knew how to provide for himself, while his mother believed knowledge the greatest key to a good life. From their teachings he is a capable hunter and farmer, he can craft basic tools, and he knows letters. In short, Francisco has the foundation to survive in civil society or the wilds.
His ancestry can open doors. Growing up in a village near Arecibo taught Francisco the importance of community and culture. Unlike those in San Juan exposed chiefly to Spanish influence, he was able to grow up with many African and Taíno stories instead. Capitáno Avecedo has noted and exploited this part of Francisco, knowing full well how said roots run in parts of the Carribean.
Francisco is no soldier, don't let that deceive you. He remembers well his father's story of the Spanish slave ship that took him as a boy. The lesson, aside from understanding the horrible acts the Spanish might do for greed, was to be prepared. His father taught him to grapple. Later in life, Avecedo's crew expanded the lesson to include the Spanish ways of swordsmanship and how to use a rifle.
WEAKNESSES:
Trust me, they see colour. His father was stolen from his land, put in chains, and taken across the sea. His mother's people were largely either eradicated or enslaved. Francisco was raised with a keen awareness that his value as human-being, in the eyes of many, is questionable and this prejudice can have an effect on everyday life.
Retribution is best served cold. Francisco and his family have suffered greatly due to human-trafficking and imperialism. As a result, he is easily tempted to lash out at those who benefit from pursuits without consideration for his own well-being (similar to his response to his mother being harassed).
Without a name or land. Francisco lacks a recognizable name, land, or any reputation aside what he's gained aboard the La Cadena Negra. Leaving the ship means leaving behind most everything he's earned in his adult life.
ROLE ON SHIP: Slave Hand
NAME OF SHIP: La Cadena Negra
NAME OF CAPTAIN: Capitáno Miguel Avecedo
SHIP DESCRIPTION/SPECS: The ship is a fifth-rate two-decker armed with 40 guns suitable scouting and speed. (Chances are this will not be the ship we see Francisco on for long.)
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