Difference between revisions of "Charlie Vane"
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'''Do not hesitate to edit the rumors part if you have anything to spread on her!'''</p> | '''Do not hesitate to edit the rumors part if you have anything to spread on her!'''</p> | ||
<center>~*~[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QHWAzBZ2hDA Musical themes to entertain your reading]~*~</center> | <center>~*~[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QHWAzBZ2hDA Musical themes to entertain your reading]~*~</center> | ||
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| − | <p style="text-align: justify;"> | + | <p style="text-align: justify;"> The canons blasted off the masts, making the ship unable to take the wind, immobilizing it in the treacherous waters near the Storm Eye islands. Another blast, and the strikeship's main deck was pierced with holes, blowing off the most unfortune men. The Scream of Garuda was approaching the strikeship, the black flag dancing in the howling wind, dark sailclothes giving the ship a sinister appearance. The figurehead made of skeletons was the first glimpse of death the men would catch as the pirate ship would violently ram the vessel before coming alongside. Howlings could be heard, evil screams and laughs echoing in the storm as the pirate ship was pouring its crew on the main deck like voidsent hurling themselves out of a portal to devour the souls of mortals. </p> |
| − | <p style="text-align: justify;"> | + | <p style="text-align: justify;"> The crew, all dressed in dark clothes, painted faces and hellish masks, was deaf to begging and blinded to the white flag. In a blink, the main deck was already flooded with corpses and blood as the tapping of boots echoed. The glow of a tainted sword caught the attention of sailors begging for their lives as they were gathered in the main deck, circled by the pirates, forced to bend their knees and lowered their gaze as they could not dare to watch the face of the one who was carrying the howling sword, whose sound was like the chant of a siren, as dreadful as mesmerizing. And those who would dare would fail to understand why captain Vane was but a mortal, and not the voidsent demonborn everyone pictured as ugly and terrifying as hell. </p> |
| − | <p style="text-align: justify;"> | + | <p style="text-align: justify;"> The captain of the strikeship was dragged before Vane, threw at his feet. Vane thrusted his foot in his face and watched him cry like a little girl, blood flowing from his nose. |
| − | + | "I'm -very- angry right now. Ya think ya can sails my seas without gettin' invited? Ya think this is all yars, heh? 'Tis pirate's nation here. The whole seas belong to us. Not ya. Ya're not wantin' here. How many of ya must I slaughter before ya understand? See where it leads us?" | |
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| + | The man tried to mutter something but Vane interrupted him abruptly. "What ? Are ya sayin' something? Speak up, boy. Louder. Louder, I can't hear ya." Vane grabbed him and forced him to stand on his feet, puting his arm around his waist as he made him face his own crew. With his other hand he unsheated a dagger. "I said louder." He plunged the blade into the man's flesh and his cry of pain died in his throat. "Louder. Cry." The man's scream escaped his lips as blood flowed from the wound. "Cry for help." Vane thrusted the weapon in its flesh. Again. And again. The scream filled the air untill the body laid flat on the floor. Vane cleaned the dagger on the dead man's jacket, before his one eye sared intensely at the sailors. A deadly silent fell on the seas, and only the unnatural howling of Vane's blade could he now heard amongst the clashing of the waves. </p> | ||
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| + | <p style="text-align: justify;"> "Now, ya have a choice. Everyone of ya is a slave. A servant to the city-states. Oppressed, blinded, chained. Yar slave driver is dead. Ya may now chose to live like a free man, or die like a dog. I can free ya, one way or another... If ya chose to stand up and join the nation of the free men, then ya'll have to fight for it, 'cause one thing that angers me is coward and weak bitches thinking they can join my crew just because they want to live. There's not room for everyone, ya'll have to -earn- it with yar bear fists. As for the others, they'll make a good example. I'll hang ya with yar guts on throw yar bodies on the shores for everyone to see that none can mess up with pirates and get away with it." </p> | ||
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| + | Some would usualy dare to stand up. And amongst them very few survived the trials. But those who did were now standing by Vane's side, butchering the others, flooding ships with their blood, and taking what was theirs. What they deserved and earned by their own -respectable- work. "One day", Vane thought, "I will make a nation where all free men would gather. Fuck their laws. Fuck their rules. Fuck the city-states. I am free and I live by my Code."}} | ||
{{FancySection | {{FancySection | ||
Revision as of 16:04, 21 February 2016
| La Pacificatrice | |
Error creating thumbnail: File missing Captain Howling Wind Vane, of the Scream of Garuda. | |
| Gender | Female |
| Race | Elezen |
| Clan | Wildwood |
| Citizenship | Free |
| Nameday | 32nd Sun of the 3rd Astral Moon |
| Age | 36 |
| Marital Status | Free |
| Occupation | Sea Pirate |
This page will not contain major spoilers, only easily known details on her life. If you want to know more on Charlie, feel free to walk-up anytime. Do not hesitate to edit the rumors part if you have anything to spread on her!
The canons blasted off the masts, making the ship unable to take the wind, immobilizing it in the treacherous waters near the Storm Eye islands. Another blast, and the strikeship's main deck was pierced with holes, blowing off the most unfortune men. The Scream of Garuda was approaching the strikeship, the black flag dancing in the howling wind, dark sailclothes giving the ship a sinister appearance. The figurehead made of skeletons was the first glimpse of death the men would catch as the pirate ship would violently ram the vessel before coming alongside. Howlings could be heard, evil screams and laughs echoing in the storm as the pirate ship was pouring its crew on the main deck like voidsent hurling themselves out of a portal to devour the souls of mortals.
The crew, all dressed in dark clothes, painted faces and hellish masks, was deaf to begging and blinded to the white flag. In a blink, the main deck was already flooded with corpses and blood as the tapping of boots echoed. The glow of a tainted sword caught the attention of sailors begging for their lives as they were gathered in the main deck, circled by the pirates, forced to bend their knees and lowered their gaze as they could not dare to watch the face of the one who was carrying the howling sword, whose sound was like the chant of a siren, as dreadful as mesmerizing. And those who would dare would fail to understand why captain Vane was but a mortal, and not the voidsent demonborn everyone pictured as ugly and terrifying as hell.
The captain of the strikeship was dragged before Vane, threw at his feet. Vane thrusted his foot in his face and watched him cry like a little girl, blood flowing from his nose. "I'm -very- angry right now. Ya think ya can sails my seas without gettin' invited? Ya think this is all yars, heh? 'Tis pirate's nation here. The whole seas belong to us. Not ya. Ya're not wantin' here. How many of ya must I slaughter before ya understand? See where it leads us?" The man tried to mutter something but Vane interrupted him abruptly. "What ? Are ya sayin' something? Speak up, boy. Louder. Louder, I can't hear ya." Vane grabbed him and forced him to stand on his feet, puting his arm around his waist as he made him face his own crew. With his other hand he unsheated a dagger. "I said louder." He plunged the blade into the man's flesh and his cry of pain died in his throat. "Louder. Cry." The man's scream escaped his lips as blood flowed from the wound. "Cry for help." Vane thrusted the weapon in its flesh. Again. And again. The scream filled the air untill the body laid flat on the floor. Vane cleaned the dagger on the dead man's jacket, before his one eye sared intensely at the sailors. A deadly silent fell on the seas, and only the unnatural howling of Vane's blade could he now heard amongst the clashing of the waves.
"Now, ya have a choice. Everyone of ya is a slave. A servant to the city-states. Oppressed, blinded, chained. Yar slave driver is dead. Ya may now chose to live like a free man, or die like a dog. I can free ya, one way or another... If ya chose to stand up and join the nation of the free men, then ya'll have to fight for it, 'cause one thing that angers me is coward and weak bitches thinking they can join my crew just because they want to live. There's not room for everyone, ya'll have to -earn- it with yar bear fists. As for the others, they'll make a good example. I'll hang ya with yar guts on throw yar bodies on the shores for everyone to see that none can mess up with pirates and get away with it."
Some would usualy dare to stand up. And amongst them very few survived the trials. But those who did were now standing by Vane's side, butchering the others, flooding ships with their blood, and taking what was theirs. What they deserved and earned by their own -respectable- work. "One day", Vane thought, "I will make a nation where all free men would gather. Fuck their laws. Fuck their rules. Fuck the city-states. I am free and I live by my Code."
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- Freedom
- Killing sprees
- Raiding
- Gambling
- Making up stories
- Sailing
- Ishgard
- The city-states in general
- Civilization
- Women's condition
- Weakness
- Naivety
- Cry-babies
- Heroes
- Storm Eye Island
- Lemieux's Skytrade Co.
- Limsa's inns and ports
- Ul'dah markets
- Ishgardian pistols
- Limsean ships
- Limsean rum
- Uldian beer
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Charlotte Aven is borned in Ishgard, daughter of Diane, a lovely maid serving a minor House, and Theodore, a cobbler in the Brume. They lived in poverty but managed to be just fine thanks to Diane's employment. Sometimes, Charlotte would assist her father. In the best days they'd be rewarded by some food or 1 or 2 gils for repairing dirty shoes. The times were hard, the war was still raging and they held on to survive. And though it was harsh to live day by day not knowing if tommorrow would bring enough money, they were a loving family, filled with dreams, hopes and illusions of better tommorrows.
But their hopes were brutaly smashed when Charlotte's mother fell pregnant. Too young to realise why this news casted a dreadful shadow on their lives, Charlotte failed to understand why her mother became so gloomy, why she would hide and cry all her eyes out in the times she was so rarely here to hug her daughter and tells her how much she loves her. Her father became desperate, cold, distant. She made all the efforts she could to assist him, be a good girl, but it didn't changed anything. Months later, she was blessed with a little brother.
A few days following the "happy event", Charlotte's mother was arrested, accused of having stolen a precious artefact by the Lord she was serving. She was imprisonned, interrogated by the Inquisitors as they say they had find a cultist rosary in her belongings. Dimed as an heretic, neither her husband nor her daughter had permission to speak to her, not even when they learned the sentence and started to realise they would never see her again. Her loving mother, an heretic? Bullshits, Charlotte thought - but why would the Lord lie?
After the tragedy they went through, they still had to earn a living. Charlotte's father was a responsive man and all he had left was his precious daughter. He had barely time to sleep and although he was working so hard they could not manage to earn as much money as before. Food was lacking, as much as energy. Theodore wanted his daughter to live, his last living memory of his loving beautiful wife. So he gave her everything, untill he was too feeble to even work. On the saddest dawn of her life, she held his hand as he kept whispering in her ear how much he loved her, how much her mother loved her, and that everything which happened was not her fault, that she had to survive this. That they would always watch over her. Untill finaly he could not speak anymore. Untill finaly even the sun would not warm his hand anymore.
The world is a cold, harsh, and lonely place. Alone like a street-rat, either she would accept her fate and follows the same path, or she could chose to refuse the oppresion. With time she realised that men of power and wealth would take everything from her. They would do like this Lord: lie, manipulate, take what they wanted and just thrown you in a pit to die like a dog. What choices had she? Letting men enjoy her for money? Begging those who threw her mother into a dark cell for a living? Accept to repair the dirty shoes of oppressed people, so weak and desperate they could not even find the strenght to be revolted? No, she was not going to let all of this bend her. She would never bend to anyone's will. She would take what's hers. She would take everything from them.
She started robbing food at first. A girl had to eat. And when she finaly got confidence she started a small gang in the Brume, robbing nobles, taking everything she could from their dead hands. And one she managed to gather enough gils, she fled that damn city to start her life anew. To conquer her freedom. She changed her name for Charlie Vane and chosed to get rid of all she hated in her past life, including her feminity. And the rest, they say, is history.
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