His fingers drummed across the table in the tavern, his nails clicking and scratching against the hardened, gnarled wood of the oaken construction."I hate recruiting" he grumbled before knocking back the rest of his grog.He'd rejected every single man who'd applied, for the simple fact they were all sissies, men who'd not worked a day in there miserable lives.Then again, what would one expect from one of the richest of port cities but silly nobles wanting to play swashbuckle.The worn and faded straps of his boots gave a dull shine in the firelight of the tavern as he contemplated his next set of moves, his crew had been suffering a morale low lately so they'd stopped at port to raise spirits...if productivity hadn't been an issue he'd have worked his men to the bone by then.
Tossing a few dubloons on the table he stood up, smoothing out the ruffled old coat he wore, the buckles on which were worn nearly through.His hair fell down his back in long matted blond tendrils, dirty and unkempt, sprawling out from under the tri-coned sailors hat he wore, a fetching black colour, in which strange trinkets and other odd ends were hung.A tattoo sprawled up his neck, visible just under the collar, and his ears had small spacers in them.He was a deeply superstitious man, trusting in strange forces and old beliefs to guide him, and it had proven to work so far.
Stepping out of the Tavern he took a long draw of the salty sea-side air before beginning the long walk back to the cabin of his ship, having never been able to sleep on land, much preferring the rolling deck of a ship.
Tossing a few dubloons on the table he stood up, smoothing out the ruffled old coat he wore, the buckles on which were worn nearly through.His hair fell down his back in long matted blond tendrils, dirty and unkempt, sprawling out from under the tri-coned sailors hat he wore, a fetching black colour, in which strange trinkets and other odd ends were hung.A tattoo sprawled up his neck, visible just under the collar, and his ears had small spacers in them.He was a deeply superstitious man, trusting in strange forces and old beliefs to guide him, and it had proven to work so far.
Stepping out of the Tavern he took a long draw of the salty sea-side air before beginning the long walk back to the cabin of his ship, having never been able to sleep on land, much preferring the rolling deck of a ship.