Grey
Dialectical Hermeticist
Long ago, when the Empire was at its zenith and the seas were a tamed thing, the Crown was challenged by a fleet of pirates; disaffected governors, thief-kings, and traitorous commodores who dared deny Her Majesty's law.
And so the Royal Navy descended upon them like the wrath of the gods, scattering their forces and breaking the will of their leadership - all but thirteen captains, each a deadly cutthroat and corsair in their own right.
Reeling, the captains were seduced by a crazed prophet who spoke of a voice from the deep and a treasure that could fuel a war for freedom. They traveled to a barren rock at the very edge of the world, and there made a compact.
Now, after a century or more of decline, madness, and heresies, the Empire crumbles - sickness and blight spreads through her cities, and men are made into monsters, and the release of death is denied every last one.
Terrible things rise from the depths and the very ocean seems bent on mankind's doom. Some brave soul must heed the call others are too craven to hear; defeat the Thirteen Captains of the Black Tontine or the demons they have become, before the Deep consumes us all.
Maybe you’re the one to answer that call.
You are of the Deadmen, those damned souls trapped in their own corpses. You can be killed, aye, but you come back with a head full of nightmares and bit less of yourself. Sooner or later all Deadmen get overgrown, becoming feral, bloodthirsty revenants with the sea singing in their veins. Some are even transformed; the curse bursting through their flesh as barnacles and tentacles, teeth and eyes, the ghastly visage of the deep seas’ secret rulers.
Some can be put to work in mines or mills, but the Empire most often piles the freshly dead on coffin-barges and casts them out to sea before they wake. Maybe you were one of these exiles. Maybe you were a proud and noble soul who found the Black Spot upon them and set out while still lucid to seek a cure. Perhaps you dragged yourself from a shallow grave on some rotting colony island, or washed up on a foreign shore.
What really matters is where you'll die next, but where did you come from?
---------------------------------
A long term roleplay of eldritch strangeness, high seas adventure, and gnostic horror.
No more than six players. It'll use a relatively simple custom dice system. More details will become available in the HP when we move ahead, but I know some of you have seen some development fragments for this one.
@Anomaly @Wixard @High Moon @Tedronai @Jaye @TheCountryWarrior @Scattered Ambitions @Teh Frixz @Silvertongued @Bone2pick
I know that's more than six of you, but I figure not all of you are available right now. And maybe I'll open slots as we proceed.
And so the Royal Navy descended upon them like the wrath of the gods, scattering their forces and breaking the will of their leadership - all but thirteen captains, each a deadly cutthroat and corsair in their own right.
Reeling, the captains were seduced by a crazed prophet who spoke of a voice from the deep and a treasure that could fuel a war for freedom. They traveled to a barren rock at the very edge of the world, and there made a compact.
Now, after a century or more of decline, madness, and heresies, the Empire crumbles - sickness and blight spreads through her cities, and men are made into monsters, and the release of death is denied every last one.
Terrible things rise from the depths and the very ocean seems bent on mankind's doom. Some brave soul must heed the call others are too craven to hear; defeat the Thirteen Captains of the Black Tontine or the demons they have become, before the Deep consumes us all.
Maybe you’re the one to answer that call.
You are of the Deadmen, those damned souls trapped in their own corpses. You can be killed, aye, but you come back with a head full of nightmares and bit less of yourself. Sooner or later all Deadmen get overgrown, becoming feral, bloodthirsty revenants with the sea singing in their veins. Some are even transformed; the curse bursting through their flesh as barnacles and tentacles, teeth and eyes, the ghastly visage of the deep seas’ secret rulers.
Some can be put to work in mines or mills, but the Empire most often piles the freshly dead on coffin-barges and casts them out to sea before they wake. Maybe you were one of these exiles. Maybe you were a proud and noble soul who found the Black Spot upon them and set out while still lucid to seek a cure. Perhaps you dragged yourself from a shallow grave on some rotting colony island, or washed up on a foreign shore.
What really matters is where you'll die next, but where did you come from?
---------------------------------
A long term roleplay of eldritch strangeness, high seas adventure, and gnostic horror.
No more than six players. It'll use a relatively simple custom dice system. More details will become available in the HP when we move ahead, but I know some of you have seen some development fragments for this one.
@Anomaly @Wixard @High Moon @Tedronai @Jaye @TheCountryWarrior @Scattered Ambitions @Teh Frixz @Silvertongued @Bone2pick
I know that's more than six of you, but I figure not all of you are available right now. And maybe I'll open slots as we proceed.
