Wagons of the Paravaci

Entered on: May 10, 2022 | By: admin
Sponsor Level: Paid
Sponsor Type(s); Fantasy Sim, Role Play Sim
Contact: Wolfe Blackheart
*Stepping into the warm air of the tavern Captain Wolfe Blackheart of the Black Tempest pirates make

*Stepping into the warm air of the tavern Captain Wolfe Blackheart of the Black Tempest pirates makes his way over your table, one hand resting on the hilt of the sharply curved sabre at his side the other hand shoved into the pocket of his coat. The jingling of coins and other baubles heard with each step that he took as his single cold red eye glanced around the tavern and greeting those he knew with a slight nod. Upon reaching the table he pulled his hand from the pocket and pushed the tails of his coat away from his body before in a manner of speaking “plopping” his rather large frame down into a chair opposite in which you are sitting. Leaning back, the chair creaking lightly under the shifting of the weight he kicks his feet up, dirt and drying mud flaking off his boots and onto the table as he eyes you with a cold, calculating smirk. He then reached into the inner portions of his coat and pulled out a dried tobacco leaf and tobacco and hand rolled a cigar before placing it between his lips and lighting it. Only after savoring a few puff of the sweet smelling tobacco did he speak.*

So, ye wants t’ know about how this wee piece o’ Heaven…or Hell was founded do ye? Mighty well then, but I warn ye this might be a long night fer ye.

Like many scallywags now a days this crew didn’ come from this area. Nah by any means…t’ be quite honest I am nah even sure where most o’ me crew comes from, don’t mighty care actually. They do thar jobs ‘n follow orders ‘n that be all I ask o’ ’em. I will tell ye this howe’er, I personally ‘n those within me family all came from the Northern Wilds o’ Torvaldsland. We lived ‘n thrived up thar fer many years but like most we grew tired o’ the harsh winters ‘n havin’ t’ barely scrap by wit’ wha’ wee grub we could manage. All the while watchin’ our closest mateys die, be taken by raiders or simply wander off ne’er t’ return.

Aye we could ‘ave gone further south…joined one o’ those Cities down thar, but lets be truthful here where be the fun in that? Sittin’ behind those tall walls, havin’ t’ be prim ‘n proper full-pocketed curs ‘n proud beauties. So we set out in our last ship huntin’ fer a land wit’ a wee warmer climate but still far enough north that we didn’ miss where we came from or more importantly…forget where we came from.

Fer many, many moons we sailed nah knowin’ when we might find the semblance o’ “Paradise” that we we be lookin’ fer…longin’ fer. The sailin’ itself wasn’t difficult at all, most on the ship we be seasoned scallywags ‘n wenches o’ the sea who grew up on the long boats o’ the north raidin’ ‘n tradin’. I tell ye that…t’ tell ye this…the storm that came upon us was somethin’ the likes o’ ye nor I had ever seen afore. ’twas like the ocean itself was angry wit’ us ‘n trying t’ do everythin’ it could t’ keep us from findin’ wha’ ’twas that we we be searchin’ fer. Many times durin’ that Tempest did I meself reckon that ’twas the end o’ the line fer us ‘n that we we be about t’ sink, but we pressed on through the storm ‘n through the night. ‘n we we be rewarded fer our sacrifice when the dawn broke ‘n the storm cleared. We had found wha’ we we be lookin’ fer, a wee quiet cove nestled upon the bosom o’ the coastline, trees as far as the eye could see ‘n mountains in which thar we be resources ‘n opportunities t’ build wha’ we wants…how we wanted.

So we weighed anchor ‘n set about buildin’ our new home…the Village came first. A galleon where hearty scallywags ‘n strumpets could do a honest days work ‘n go home at night t’ rest thar weary bodies fer the next day without fear if they would awake the next day or be taken in the night by raiders that had come t’ call. As fer me family ‘n I well we had a different plan. We set about diggin’, minin’ ‘n buildin’ into the mountain a fortress t’ overlook our new home ‘n keep it safe from would be attackers. That in itself I tell ye was no easy feat either…many days we passed out from sheer exhaustion our hands ‘n feet bleedin’ from the trials ‘n labors o’ the day. But we pressed on ‘n soon had built our home…’n in honor o’ the storm that seemingly hide it from us only t’ yield and belay that its booty did we name this land Tempest Cove and take the name o’ the Black Tempest Pirates.

Now that ye know the tale o’ how this all came t’ be I ‘ave but one riddle fer ye. Do ye ‘ave wha’ it takes t’ join Tempest Cove Fishin’ Village or join the crew o’ the Black Tempest Pirates?