Bio

The Hole… an apt name for this run-down bar in the Docks district. I pushed open the warped wooden door and squinted into the gloom. The air was thick with smoke and silence as the patrons nursed their drinks and their broken dreams. No one came to the Hole by choice—it’s where you fall to when you can’t go down any further. They ignored me as I walked in, lost in the fog of their private sorrows. That suited me just fine—I was there for business, not pleasure. As my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I found the target. A massive, powerfully-built man in a worn leather jacket emblazoned with a faded fist, he held a bottle loosely in his hands. Although he had his back to me, I could tell he was sizing me up. I took a step forward and he tensed, and suddenly the comforting weight of the pistol at my hip was agonizingly far away. A few seconds of eternity later, he relaxed and turned.

“You must be here for the interview.”

I let out the breath I had been holding and, my throat dry, nodded. He gestured to the stool next to him, and as I went to take it I ran through what I knew about him. Robert Stormsail, alias “Breaker”, age 35. Convicted of 3 counts of misdemeanor assault and 1 count of destruction of public property, paid his fines. Suspected pirate, known Renegade. A dangerous man… I would have to be careful if I wanted to walk out of here intact.

“So, where do we start?”

I suggested he start from the beginning. He laughed at that, a harsh bark paired with a grim smile.

“Not sure why I’m even doing this. A man’s secrets are his own. Heh, I suppose the pay might have something to do with it.”
At this, he eyed me suspiciously.

“I know what I’m getting out of this. What about you? Why do you care about an old Renegade’s past?”

He stared at me intently for a moment and I met his eyes. After a long moment, he shrugged.

“Not my place to pry. Alright, it’s your dime, Downer. I grew up in a small town called Stormwatch—you heard of it? ‘Course not. It’s hardly a speck on the map. It’s about a week south of here, right by where the Eastgale and Southern Stream meet. The winds brought life to that little town—some of the best fishing this side of the Cloudsea. There are types of Sailgliders that you can’t find anywhere else, some so big they could swallow a fisher skiff whole. The winds brought trade, Punks restocking on food and fun during a long journey. The winds brought death, too… storms that tear the flesh from your bones; rain that washes away homes without a trace; lightning that splits earth and sky alike. Still, it was quiet there, far from the city lights. My mother was a baker and my father was a fisherman; I grew up with my hands on a ship’s helm. My father was famous for going further into the winds than anyone else dared, and as soon as I was old enough I joined him. The work was hard and numbing, but nothing compares to sailing into the heart of the winds”

He went silent at that, a distant look in his eyes and a hint of a smile on his face. After a minute, I coughed quietly. He glared, but his look softened and he poured himself a drink.

“You don’t want to hear about that, though. You don’t care about when I first learned tie a knot or how I once caught a Skystar with my bare hands. No, you’ve got no interest in ancient history, I can see it in your eye. “

I say nothing to this, but I can’t hold his gaze. My eyes search over his worn and weather-beaten face, settling on a jagged white line above his left eye.

“I see you’ve found my first scar. I got that in a fight when I was 8. Threw that punk through a wall. He never touched me—the throw brought the whole wall down on top of me. Anyway, when I was 15 I realized I was rusting away trapped in that town. I took my father’s boat and never looked back… I didn’t have time to. The Crosswinds are no place to sail through alone, and after 4 days I could stay awake no longer. Without a hand at the helm, my skiff drifted into the heart of a storm. All I remember is blinding light and utter darkness, pierced only by the howling of the wind. Eventually, I woke up surround by the wreckage of my father’s ship. As I was getting my bearings, I heard laughter.”

At this, he lifted his glass and downed it in single gulp, his hand trembling slightly. He stilled it by making a tight fist.

“Gods, that laugh. I can still hear it today. I was in a foul mood, so I took a swing at him. He caught the punch effortlessly and dislocated my arm, laughing the whole time. He said he liked my spirit but that my form was terrible—like the flailing of a newborn kitten, only far less threatening. With a haymaker aimed straight at my head, he told me that I was his pupil starting immediately.”

His whole arm was shaking with barely-controlled rage. I inched my stool back as quietly as I could.

“I fought that man for five years. FIVE. YEARS.”

At this, he smashed the glass to powder and shards. Without a word, the barkeep placed another glass in its place.

“One day, he simply stopped and said that my training was complete and to get off his island. I never did find out his name. The next day, a Renegade blown by a storm landed nearby; with a little… persuasion, he gave me a ride to the city of Coppersail. Having finally made it to the city, I wasted no time applying to the Clockwork Phoenix guild. A misunderstanding, a brawl, and an explosion later I became a Renegade with nothing but the gloves on my hands and a $10,000 fine. I was able to join up with a small group of failed applicants—apparently I impressed them when I took down that guard’s Steam Walker. Anyway, we sought our fortune Whaling and Diving; I’ve got a knack for opening things. It’s how I got my nickname.”

To demonstrate this, he ordered another bottle of booze. With a sharp rap of a knuckle, the cap split in two and fell to the counter. He poured himself another glass and continued to speak.

“Everywhere we looked, though, we couldn’t catch a break. Whales sunk just as we arrived; storms fried equipment as we pulled it to the boat. Ancient treasures turned out to be modern fakes. We were on the Leviathan as it sunk, taking all of our hard-earned loot with it to the bottom. Our ship was crippled when a Steamsoul Auto-gyro went out of control at the docks. A client sent us East instead of West and refused to pay for fuel. After years of this, our luck finally began to turn. We managed to find a Whale in near-mint condition, the Argos. You might have heard about it… or rather, you probably heard how a group of brave Punks recovered the fabulous loot it contained. You won’t have heard about any of us, though—bastards stole our ship right out from under us after we finished the salvage then left us stranded to die on that decaying wreck."

Unconsciously cracking his knuckles, he added, “well, it took its time coming but they got their reckoning.” Although I tried not to show it, I had heard the stories. There were tales of how the Renegade crew who Whaled the Argos, the Windriders, was hunted mercilessly for months by the ghost of the Argos itself and suddenly disappeared. There were whispers that the ship still stalked the airways, its ghostly crew hunting for Punks to drag down to the abyss.

He paused, eyeing my expression, and then his face darkened.

“Having lost another ship, things were… difficult. In the time it took to make it back, my crew and I had lost our reputation and jobs were hard to come by. Still, we made do as best we could. Eventually we scraped together enough for a down payment on a ship. We thought for sure the hard times were passed once we made it back out to the open skies. We were wrong. Coming back from our first Dive in over a year, we were caught in a terrible storm. Our ship was smashed into an island, completely destroyed. I was the only survivor.”

He raised his glass in a toast. “To the Steel Knuckles. Wait for me, lads, and we’ll break out together.” I nodded out of respect and he downed the glass.

“That was a year ago—it took some time to get back to the city. One day soon, though, once I’m back in the skies I’ll go back to pay off that loan. I always pay my debts. Now, if you’ll excuse me I think these fine gentlemen need waking up and I’m just the man to do it. All of this sitting’s making me rust away.”

As I ran out the door, I heard shouting, cursing, and the stool I was sitting on break over someone’s head. Over it all, though, cutting through all the noise was a deep, throaty, exuberant laugh.

Character Information:
Enemy: Windriders Renagade crew
Family/Friends: He hasn’t talked to his parents in 20 years (they may be dead, he couldn’t say) and has no other family. All close associates (his old crew) are dead, as far as he knows. Incidentally, he hasn’t returned home because he doesn’t have a boat to replace the one he took—he can’t bring himself to face his parents until he can repay that debt.

Short-term Goal: Make it back to Coppersail and pay off his ship loan ($25,000 w/interest), buy a ship to give to his parents (or to donate to Stormwatch if they are already dead).

Long-term Goal: Take control of his own fate. He’s tired of letting luck decide (gameplay terms, his endgame is buying the Super Luck advantage so he can finally be free)
He’d also like to go and kick that laughing bastard’s ass, but he doesn’t really expect to see him again.

Abstract Goal: Gain control over his own fate, or rather live without being controlled by god, fate, or man. So, his goal is to be a free man.

Steel Knuckle’s Code of Honor:

• Never betray a shipmate
• Never betray your ship
• Repay all debts

Habits, traditions, and miscellaneous quirks:

• Always bakes a cake on his mother’s birthday (Aquarius 3)—white velvet with strawberry icing, her favorite
• Always spends his father’s birthday fishing (Scorpio 5)
• Cracks his knuckles unconsciously (it’s his primary nervous habit)
• Dislikes stealing from the living except as payment of a debt
• Enjoys a good fight. Will kill if forced but prefers not too for the same reason he dislikes stealing—why take from someone what you would want to keep for yourself? A caveat: Breaker has no problems with killing non-sentients, although he takes no real pleasure in it. He doesn’t like draugr, though. Too many bad memories and failed dives caused by their withered, freakishly strong zombie hands..
• Always wears his Jacket, Gloves, and pendant, if stolen he is willing to kill to get them back