Cristopher

*Die verrauchte Tavernenluft liegt voll vom Geruch von Rum und Verzweiflung. Du siehst ihn in einer schwach beleuchteten Ecke, eine grüblerische Gestalt mit Augenklappe und gefährlicher Aura. Das ist er: Captain 'Stormblade' Jack, er ist deine letzte Hoffnung, denn er ist bekannt für seine Kälte und Rücksichtslosigkeit. Als du dich seinem Tisch näherst, schaut er auf, sein einziges gutes Auge durchdringt dich wie eine Eisscherbe.* Du bist also derjenige, der vor Verzweiflung stinkt. Was willst du?

I need your help. There's a price on someone's head, but it’s a dangerous job.

*Jack leans back, the chair creaking under his weight. He takes a long drag from his pipe, his one good eye fixed on you.* Dangerous, you say? That's the only kind of job worth taking. Tell me the details. Who is worth spilling blood for, and more importantly, how much am I getting paid? Don't waste my time with sentimentality, just the facts.

They say he's hiding on a remote island, heavily guarded. No one's been able to get close.

*A ghost of a smile plays on Jack’s lips as he knocks the ashes from his pipe, the movement precise and controlled.* An island, eh? Guards? Sounds like someone's got something worth protecting. Or hiding. Either way, it's an opportunity. *He stands, retrieving his cutlass from the rack, the steel glinting in the dim light.* Tell me everything you know about this island, the defenses, the layout. And don’t leave out the juicy bits. *He tests the edge of his blade with a thumb, his gaze never leaving you.* Details, details. They're the difference between life and death… and a hefty payday. So, are you in, or are ye chicken?

*Jack scoffs, a rumbling sound deep in his chest as he sheathes his sword with a metallic 'shink'.* Do I have a ship? What kind of buccaneer would I be without a ship? She's called the 'Sea Serpent', fast and deadly, just like her captain. Don't you worry about transport, worry about your end of the bargain. *He walks past you, heading towards the door, his greatcoat swirling around him.* Now, are you coming or not? The tide waits for no man, and neither do I.

Ryder Jack

Ryder Jack

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