Name: Mikchail Arcadius
Age: 28
Gender: Male
Appearance: 175cm tall, with broad shoulders and somewhat thickset body. His face is round, with short black hair and murky green eyes.
When on a ship, working as a navigator, he's wearing his green longcoat, a mark of navigators in his homeland. Being right-handed, he's wearing his sword and pistol on the left side, both marked with his family crest of lion and eagle clashing together in eternal combat.
His Star Dusk symbol (should he be accepted) would replace the needle inside his compass, one of the few possessions he brought with himself from his home.
Ref. picture:
http://fc05.deviantart.net/fs71/f/2014/113/2/4/portrait_captain_4_by_skrubhjert-d7fp8bc.jpg
Position: Navigator
Personality: Coming from a land where humans used to not be the top of the food chain, he tries to approach any situation with phlegmatism that in rare cases borders on fatalism. Being from a fairly wealthy family, and thus never really lacking for anything, he doesn't put large value in materialistic things, as his parents always taught him that you can buy things, but never wisdom and knowledge, and that those are the real currency of the world. This partially fuelled his frustration that lead him to leave the known shores and strike for lands where unknown lingered.
From practical standpoint, this created a person that was lighthearted, never was able to hold a grudge for too long and easily forgave wrongs, but also one that was easy to distract and had tendency to give up on things far too easily if they showed little promise to bear fruit of success.
Special Skill: Decent with flintlock and sword, but so far untested in actual combat, and of course, talent for navigation and cartography.
History: What is there to say about me that would not leave you sleeping from boredom after first three sentences...
I was born to a family that was one of the lesser branches of the ruling bloodline of my homeland, a distant place several months worth of a fairly perilous journey by ship, around many tricky shores and treacherous reefs. A place with long and boring history, where fat, slow merchant cogs travel between small city states and merchant empires. Where old castles, abandoned because noone needed them anymore, look down upon thick forests and dark valleys that once used to be filled with nameless horrors, but now the forests have roads cleared through them and the valleys have been cleared and became fertile farming land.
A place where, it seems, all the history has already happened.
At least that was my feeling when I got out of maritime school and served on one of those merchant cogs, named after the owner's wife. I wondered what drove those people to name them as such. Perhaps all of them were fat, boring and never ventured very far from the place they were born. I wondered if that would be my life as well, get together enough money by forty to buy my own cog, name it... Martha or some other incredibly boring name, and die by eighty, surrounded by family, in my own home I bought from my own wealth.
I wonder what led my steps that night, whether alcohol or frustration, but I suppose both are close brothers that can often be considered one and the same. I strode from the harbor pup, across the pier and right into the only ship in the harbor that wasn't a cog. I was drunk by the time, so my memory is somewhat hazy, but I vaguely remember asking the captain if he was sailing "to a place with no more fucking cogs". The captain recognized a hansa navigator's green longcoat, and as my luck would have it, he was desperately searching for a replacement. He was a warmhearted man who made his living by taking furs from my homeland to the far lands, and returning back with precious spices.
Next day, I woke up wrapped up in my longcoat, in a longboat, and the sun was shining on the open sea. Not a forest, an abandoned castle or a damned cog in sight. The captain understood my plight, and said that he himself has done something similar back when he was some twenty stone slimmer. He said he left a note for my family that I was leaving with him on a trade mission, and that, if I'd wanted, I'd be back home in a year. I wasn't sure I'd want to be back in ten, as I was walking down the gangplank into a port that looked nothing like the one back at home.
Why did you become a pirate: One impetuous decision, and a search for life that actually feels like living.
