Pirates of the Calarian Main (IC: Low Fantasy, Char/Ship RP)

[Dyelli Beybi]

OOC & Signup | Discord

Co-OPed by Arengin Union, Bingellia, Europa Undivided, Khasinkonia and United Federation of Terrans

Welcome to 'Pirates of the Calarian Main'. In this RP you will play the part of privateer looting shipping in a part of the world known as the 'Calarian Main' in a fictional early modern world. I would ask that if you are making an app for a ship, that you also app the Captain, if not more members of the crew. You can also app for a person on someone else's crew... though just make sure you talk to them first!

This RP exists in the same world as 'Pike and Shot', but if you aren't part of that RP and have never read a word of it, it doesn't matter! There is zero requirement that you know anything about that RP to participate.

This is a low fantasy RP. Magic does exist in the setting, though your characters are not magically gifted.

In terms of non-magical tech and societal development, the part of the world you are in will have tech approximately equivalent to the mid 17th century.

The peoples described in the OP are European/North African/Amerindian types, though if you want to create a character from further afield, definitely feel free. Join the Discord and we can do a bit of world building!

The societies in the world are early-modern and female characters will face prejudice from colonial authorities etc., though this is a pirate RP, and there were plenty of female pirates (Jeanne de Clisson, Sayyida al-Hurra, Grace O’Malley etc) so you definitely aren't discouraged from writing one!

This RP will be open to latecomers. There is always scope for new ships and crew!

---

Prologue: A Letter of Marque
(With theme music because that's practically a rule)

Mina-Sakh was an oasis on the border between the Circle sea and the inland sea of sand. A dust blown walled city that rose out from the rocky shore with thick ancient walls protecting the elegant towers and arches of the city itself. The city had a port, fully walled, with a small entry point that the garrison could control entry to with a harbour chain. As if the squat fortress and chain tower bristling with artillery were not enough of a deterrent to unauthorised entry.

The Amir of Mina-Sakh, safe in his palace at the heart of the city, liked to think of his city as the South Coast's premium trade port. Which it probably was, but it was better known as one of the largest pirate ports on in the circle sea and the merchants of the city had no qualms in trading for both the loot from captured vessels and any unfortunate captives who happened to be unable to pay a ransom to whichever Pirate had taken them.

The sun was high in the sky. The spring night chill was well and truly burned off and the day beginning to become unpleasantly hot. Down by the Port, a young Monchian woman, pale in comparison to the locals, with big blue eyes sat drinking arak with one of the local men, a muscular Addonian with a couple of day's growth of scruffy stubble on his chin. She had put on a local tunic and sandals which were more comfortable in the warm weather than one of the thick, multi-layered dresses that were fashionable in the Northern lands. She lifted the glass of arak in front of her in a toast to her companion, "Well, here's to another successful voyage my friend."

The Addonian lifted his own glass and they clinked them together. The pair were in the shade provided by the colonnades that ran all sides of the port. The slight breeze carried the smell of salt air and fish, "The Imperials seem to be out in force," he remarked darkly, "Their bounty hunters seem to be getting more common by the day," he gave a wry laugh, "It is almost like they are preparing for something, or perhaps sensing a change in the wind."

The woman pouted, taking a sip from her drink, "Do you mean to say it isn't my brilliant sailing that got us away?"

"Oh absolutely," he waved to the barman who approached with the bottle to top them up, "Simko!" he called the man by name, "Pour yourself a drink. Come join us for a moment."

The bartender did as he was asked, returning a few moments later with his own arak, sitting down between the two of them in the shade, "So, , what can I do for you two today?" he asked, apparently assuming they wanted to discuss something.

The woman giggled, "So suspicious! But yes.. I think Momin was about to ask what news there is about port?"

Simko say back, running a hand though thinning hair, "Well, as it happens, there is something worth you knowing," he paused, perhaps for dramatic effect, "The Ambassador from the Union has someone issuing letters of marque at Palace Court, they're not being particularly fussy about who they issue to from what I hear."

The pair exchanged a glance before the man, Momin turned back to Simko, "That, my friend, is very helpful news."

---

The Palace Court

Unlike the sandstone that most of the city was built of, the Palace itself was made of white marble that reflected the sun back quite uncomfortably for anyone trying to study the intricate geometric patterns etched into the columns of the Court Colonnade. The Doel representatives had set up in the shade provided by one of them. They looked hot in their thick Northern coats. The Naval Officer seated at a desk with a quill even had one of those long, curly wigs on that were so fashionable amongst the nobility, though he had hired a young local boy to fan him constantly. Probably not a bad idea.

Momin and his companion had slouched against a column some distance away, "Well, Captain, want to get your letter?" he asked her.

The woman looked up at him, then gave a small smirk, "Yes... but let's just wait for a few moments. I'm interested to see who else is looking for a contract to go raiding. I'd wager they'll be trying to get us to hit the Calarians out in the Main."

Momin inclined his head in agreement, "Almost certainly."

A war was brewing. Though whether it was between the Calarians and the Doel and their Northern Allies or with the Empire was anyone's guess. Calaria was growing more powerful by the day and other states looked at them with fear, greed or both.

[Tesserach]

Co-written by Dyelli Beybi, Tesserach, Pragia, Demencia and Sivio

It had begun in one of the local taverns and was first heard from the palace as a distant thing, like a commotion from the market square or a coming storm. One by one, like a shambling horde of undead, limp figures began disentangling themselves from prostitutes, barmaids, local women - and men - along with one another, shuffling forth into the streets past the upended tables and chairs, over floors covered with broken glass.

Curses and strange oathes rang out, like crows calling out to one another, or geese preparing to take flight, they gathered together as though animated by some unseen hivemind. Presiding over it all one then among them emerged, firing his flintlock pistol into the air and waiving his fine nimcha in the air as though spurring his men onto battle.
Like a great beast stirring and setting itself to motion, they surged forth like a tidal wave down the main thoroughfare of Mina-Sakh, their voices rising in mad, gibbering, feverish intensity, gathering strength and numbers to the raucous, bacchanalian march, incoherent singing still fueled by drinking that had never truly since since they'd arrived some three weeks earlier - a truly legendary run of drunken revelry as even Mina-Sahk had scarcely known before.

Gathering strength and numbers to the procession as they marched, this bacchanalian parade surged toward the Amir of Mina-Sahk's palace. Chants could be heard from its colonnaded halls, "Doel! Doel! Doel!" and "To the Calarian Main!" accompanied by the stoccato sound of celebratory pistols being fired into the air, and the acrid scent of plumes of black powder.

Bewildered palace guards found themselves confronted by this heavily armed mob. Not merely the crew of the Hamsat al-Marid, swelled with crews of several other companies, not the least of which The Pride of the Main, caught up in the frenetic energy of the moment; such that the bewildered guards found themselves, quite suddenly confronted, by a small army that descended upon them like a sudden storm. "Let us in, we're expected!"

Some small conflagration flared up, with shouts from alarmed palace guards that were quickly swallowed up as a hundred hands lifted and braced carts against the panicked closing of gates. The soldier's shouts were lost as they were swept up in the surging river of singing, yelling bodies pouring forth through the gates into the courtyard.

Yelling began to be shouted out, pirates fanning out, making camp in the palace courtyard. Breaking from the rest a party of a dozen or so marched up the steps towards the Palace Court and its elaborate colonnades. "Captain Aghilas Jêle Doeli has arrived!" A tall, scarred elgafolk sailor yelled over the chanting din of sailors, the elgafolk was clearly not the man himself.

"Let's get this started, shall we!?" The man at the center of the group yelled out as he and his armed band approached the court. He was a massive man, broad-shouldered, ruddy-faced, with a great big bushy beard. "I heard someone put out a call for such men as might strike terror across the Calarian Main! Well here we are!" Cheering and celebratory gunfire erupted behind him from the courtyard at this announcement.

Surrounded by nearly a dozen of his men, Captain Aghilas cast his arms wide, as though to ask whether the Amir of Mina-Sakh truly expected a more genteel brand of pirate to answer his call. "I heard there's a Letter of Marque on offer."

The Doel Officer, to his credit didn't seem off-put by the fracas. He was used to dealing with people like Aghilas, it seemed, instead he beckoned Aghilas across, "Commodore Mollens, acting on behalf of His Majesty, the Steward of the Doel, to offer letters of marque and reprisal to those who would conduct acts of reprisal against Calarian vessels, public or private, goods and effects, of or belonging to the Doge if Calaria or his subjects. Do you read Sir?" he asked politely, "Or would you prefer to have the terms read?"

The exchange was watched carefully by a tall, muscular Addonian man who appeared to be a nautical sort. Next to him was possibly another captain, though she didn't have a crew with her, just someone who might be dismissed as a concubine from the North... if you didn't know who she was.

Captain Aghilas' face contorted into a ghastly white grin wreathed in a black, bushy beard as he continued to addressed Mollens. "I read well enough Commodore Mollens, but these other gentlemen? I think they want to hear some terms." He leaned to one side cocking his ear towards the crowd, whose voices briefly fell away as they strained to overhear the men relaying what was being said. "What say you all, shall we hear terms?!" Once again the crowd was whipped into a frenzy.

"TERMS! TERMS! TERMS!" More gunfire from the courtyard. Aghilas' white teeth gleamed as he beckoned Mollens forward to address the assembled mass of pirates to read out the terms of the letter.

There was a subtle but visible increase in the number of guards overlooking the courtyard. White robed, turbanned troopers with flintlock arquebusses. Apparently the Addonians were ready to conduct their own reprisals though the Doel Commodore seemed unphased by the whole thing, rising from his seat to address the crowd. There were plenty of legal terms but it basically boiled down to what he'd said before. Capture Calarian shipping, bring it back to the Doel Courts and it would be legally theirs... with the usual caveats of observing the rules of war and not attacking friendly vessels, which meant those with a flag of the Union or Brendahland.

Behind the fractious crowd of privateers was a small procession of men in finery, flanked by two columns of five men bearing halberds clad in steel cuirass and holstering multiple pistols across their breasts, for all their arms they carried themselves with an uncharacteristic professionalism.

At the head of the more organized platoon was a true mass of a man, wearing a green tunic with golden inlays and studded with small citrines. Parted brown hair and a large manicured beard would frame a grinning face who looked out upon the many men, their demands were music to his ears. Alberto’s fat, sausage-like fingers gripped his belt as he looked to the Doel emissaries, his heavy brow raised with a confident curiosity as he allowed the Doel to make their offer to the masses who would fight and die in their service.

The Trade Prince had little care for such things, even as they spoke his quartermasters were offloading purchased goods in the harbor. Indeed, if one were to look out into the harbor behind him, they would see the towering shape of the Pride of the Main just off the docks, the natural harbor allowing it much closer to be unloaded.

This was the true way of the high seas, to profit off the movement of exotic goods from far away lands. The Pride would be ready for this campaign to come, and only the likes of Alberto Grosso knew how far ambition would take them. When the Doel were finished with their proposal, the large man would speak, his voice naturally booming, befitting a once-captain of men of war.

“Sadly, I cannot pledge myself or my ship to acts of piracy against my homeland, that said I am sure there are many here who would be glad to engage in such activities, and I would not be a proper purveyor of goods to deny my ship as a place of business for those who do find themselves in your employ.” Some laughter rose from the crowd among his crewmen, who knew well the way of business.

The sea of men parted at the trade prince's arrival, the cheering that initially greeted his speech tapered off near the end, the celebratory gunfire coming to a halt amidst a few muttered 'boos'; whereupon the great mass of sailors from the Pride quickly drowned out the rest by sheer weight of numbers with their excited applause and sycophantic cheering. The pirates among them looked momentarily dismayed by this, several words - and also a fist or two - being exchanged among the crews.

Before the matter went anywhere though, the enormous Addonian Captain Aghilas cried out over the chaos. "Well all the more fucking booty for the rest of us, no?!" A cry that was met with renewed shouting, gunfire and thunderous applause as the courtyard filled with drifting clouds of black smoke. "So who else sails with us? Who else will answer the Amir's call!?"

As the commotion at the palace of Mina-Sakh reached its peak, Captain Romain Bouchard and a selected contingent of his crew from Le Renard Noir found themselves amidst the raucous celebration and burgeoning chaos. Amongst his own crew, it was a mixed bag of chaos and order.

Romain, standing tall and imposing, observed the proceedings with a mix of amusement and strategic contemplation. His crew, which was predominantly Monchian but mixed with individuals from diverse backgrounds, composed themselves and mirrored his calmness, their hands rested near their weapons. As Aghilas and the Doel officer exchanged words, Romain's sharp eyes scanned the courtyard, taking in the heightened security, various factions of pirates, and notable figures making their entries and declarations. With cries for terms and subsequent reading, it drew a frown to Bouchard's face.

Romain, being well aware of the gravity from such an offer, could hold his ambitions on the Calarian Main. However, his mind raced ahead, calculating all the risks, rewards, and loyalty of his men. The experiences he has had, as well as his intuition, whispered of both opportunity and peril in the chaotic unity forming before him.

As the crowd erupted in approval at the promise of plunder and the clear stance made by Grosso, Romain turned slightly to address his first mate, Étienne Duval, with a voice barely above a whisper but still carrying the weight of command. "Better keep a close watch on anyone here, especially this lad. This assembly might offer more than just riches - it could form any potential alliance... or reveal potential rivals."

Turning back to the scene, Romain raised his voice, calling out to Aghilas and the assembled horde. His words cut through the din with clarity of a ship's bell, "Captain Roman Bouchard at your service. My crew and I of Le Renard Noir will answer the Steward's call. Our blades are sharp, and our resolve is unbreakable." His crew stood steadfast, mirroring his determination and ready to follow him into the tempest on this new endeavor. This was more than a chaotic assembly for him: it was a chessboard of the high seas, and he was ready to make his move.

Using the sound of shouting and general restlessness as a guide, a group of women dressed in seasonally inappropriate clothing neared the scene. The fur trim around the leader's shoulders made her stand out from the locals, as the group entered the courtyard. There were terms of this arrangement which did not particularly seem to interest them much, they seemed to have a single interest in mind.

"We do not care for fancy words." spoke the woman in front. "What matters is there is raiding to be done. If someone is willing to pay to go on a viking, then we would be fools to ignore."

The Commodore cleared his throat, "The Steward's call," he corrected, "The letter is issued on behalf of the Steward of the Doel rather than the Amir of Mina-Sakh."

He didn't say anything about pay. There wasn't any, but having the paper he was offering would make selling looted goods a lot easier and that I'm turn would mean a better rate.

After a pause the short woman with the big Addonian piped up, "I will sign for the crew of the Vengeance."

That got a raised eyebrow from the Commodore who, seeing a Northerner dressed as a local, had probably thought she was the Addonian's concubine. He didn't contradict her so when she stepped forward the Commodore handed her a letter and quill. She took a few minutes to read through it - clearly whoever she was, she was literate - then signed it with an elaborate flourishes of a signature.

A commotion among the assembled pirate crews in the courtyard occurred then, accompanied by pushing and some small level of fisticuffs as the crowd converged upon a group of men hauling a wagon laden with an enormous wooden cask of spirits - whence it had come, no one could say. With much ceremony one of the men mounted the wagon, sledgehammer in hand, and drove the spigot into the front of the barrel.

Captain Aghilas and his men were already passing around overflowing cups, side-stepping a fistfight that erupted as the crowd converged. "Where I come from, a contract ain't worth a swipe of the arse if it ain't sealed with a drink!" Mugs continued to pour forth, spilling onto the courtyard and court floors, passed around, offered to the officials present.

Aghilas, rum spilling down through his beard called one last time. "And if anyone else wants to join a group of the greatest heroes to ever scourge a sea - the paper's right fucking here!"

[Pragia]

Aboard the Pride of the Main
Co-Write with Dyelli Beybi

The Trade Prince's throne room was a spacious affair, a trait rarely granted to any shipboard cabin, but the room was extended three decks in the aftcastle, with adjoining spaces connected by balconies with finely-made woodwork. It doubled as a dining hall for officers at meal times, but presently it was decorated with fine rugs and artwork on the walls.

A velvet carpet rolled out from the main doors toward a large gold-inlaid wooden chair at the head of a small table with five empty chairs arranged along it. In the throne sat the owner of the titanic vessel that they were now aboard. Alberto was wearing fine linens now, in simple red and yellow colors, a small hat on his head as he looked in the direction of the new arrival.

Coralie D'Ambois gave a quick, appraising glace about the room. Money, lots of money.

She had received the invitation to speak to the other Captain with a degree of surprise. She had been keeping a bit of a low profile, unlike some of the others... well one of the others in particular who had brought his crew to meet the Commodore and rum. But the Trade Prince seemed to know who she was so she'd ditched the Addonian tunic in favour of a very pretty, richly embroidered and tight-waisted red Northern style dress that would not have looked out of place in a Human Court. She'd decided Alberto Grosso would respond better to Coralie D'Ambois, Vichian blueblood than Captain D'Ambois, Monchian pirate. The dress had been a bit annoying while coming aboard but it was worth the effort for the overall result. She dropped a well practiced curtsey when she entered his rooms, "Sir," she greeted politely. She wasn't actually quite sure what his title was; she hoped that that, along with the curtsey would suffice to communicate that he was respected.

The Calarian would gesture out with a mitten-sized hand, offering her a seat at the opposite head of the table. "Please, Lady D'Ambois, you can call me Alberto. Prince is an honorific I do not need for dealing with those of high standing" he says in an airy, conciliatory tone.

His dull blue eyes looked the smaller woman over "It's fortuitous that you have decided to cross the great ocean in times like these, and I could not help but notice. The call of the Doel comes at a... convenient time."

"And Lady is a title I'm not entirely sure I'm entitled to. I did rather blot my copy book," she paused, giving a wry, if slightly sad smile, "Though I did quite enjoy blotting my copy book," she added confidentially as she sat down opposite Alberto, leaning forward ever so slightly, "So please call me 'Coralie'. And it is a convenient time... I find I rather enjoy the thought of selling my prizes at a market rate."

"And why stop at that?" The large man would say with a hearty chuckle "Very well, Coralie" his tone clearly one that viewed that choice as a joke more than a serious decision of identity "But this flotilla of privateers are going to be making more than just coin so far from the storms on the horizon."

Coralie rested her chin on her hand thoughtfully. But what else is there for me to make? Get a bigger ship? Piece together a flotilla? Eventually get shot or hanged? She had always thought of herself as someone who would get out of the privateering game once she had the money she wanted. Admittedly she wanted a lot of money... "What more do you imagine we'll make?" she asked. She didn't think Alberto was talking about capturing ships. Perhaps he had aspirations of taking over someone's colony? His ship was certainly large enough.

His answer confirmed her suspicions "Well, taking goods and ships will only be the beginning. And from there, a chokehold on the main could well become something greater, befitting a woman of your mother's name." He smiled, an even thing that had a certain smugness and playfulness that was hard to gauge.

"Ah... think we can create a new Empire out in the Unexplored West?" she asked with a roguish grin, "Have a husband in line for me?" she asked. That was the next step for most people interested in the Hasikos dynasty.

"More like leverage." He spoke, a pair of servants coming out with plates bearing ever-elusive greens and roasted chicken. "With enough eager profiteers, the princes of Calaria will plead for a deal to be cut. I have no men in mind yet, the conflict to come will certainly present opportunities for more than just wealth, and we will be comfortably distant while profiting all the same in these opening moves."

"Well I like the idea of 'profit' and 'comfortable distance'," Coralie gave a wry laugh, "So where does my esteemed ancestry come in?"

"I think by the time we have made our coin in the colonies, there may well be a good hand to be had, and an empire to be claimed."

Coralie gave another wry laugh, "Potentially there is," she said before adding with a slight smile, "I usually count my chickens after they hatch, but that would be something, wouldn't it?" The Empire was in strife. It strained under the weight of tradition, oppression and incompetence. Perhaps it would begin to disintegrate. Perhaps not. If it did there would be a lot of money to make...

Alberto would sigh, taking a large bite of the lightly-spiced meat down his gullet before saying "You don't see it, but you'll come to." he would keep a neutral expression despite his words "For now, why not do what you do best, and gather as many looters as you can to your cause. There's a whole new world to see, a handful of ships has plenty of sea to cover. But I will tell you this; to take gold is an exercise, to have people willingly give it to you is an art, and in that way I am quite the artist." he'd gesture about "I have a feeling you could be an artist as well, if you have the will to become one."

Coralie studied Alberto thoughtfully for a few moments before adding, "I'm half-way there," she gave him another of her roguish grins, "I rather find most people llike me when I'm not relieving them of their worldly possessions," she drew her hair back, turning her head so she was in profile, "Think I'd suit an equestrian portrait?" she joked. It was more than a joke; it was a signal that at least in part she understood what he was talking about and wasn't closed to the idea.

The man cracked his lips in an approving smile before saying "Damn things are a pain to do anyways." He would point to one of the walls, showing a statuesque figure on a black destrier that bore only a comical resemblance to the man sitting across from her "I could get some finery fashioned, though you don't strike me as one to prefer that." His mind would wander some "Fah! Wont be able to go riding for weeks now, might take Lorenzo out on the deck for a lap or two."

"I was thinking more a black cuirass," she continued, "Maybe a little gold trim around the edges. Embrace the mystique of humanity's liberator... it's what all the Hasikos pretenders try, before their inevitable brutal public execution," she gave a wry smile. That was what she was trying to avoid. She paused momentarily before switching to the topic of Lorenzo, whom she assumed was a horse, "Well consider that a blessing. I can barely make room on my ship for private quarters, let alone a horse. I somewhat suspect my crew might try to eat a horse. But there are some lovely beaches when we reach the Main, which would make for some invigorating riding. I have some Iktani on my crew, they tend to know some of the more picturesque places we Circle Sea folk are unaware of."

Alberto nodded in return, a bemused scoff at the notion of his prized steed being turned to meat. "Many luxuries to be afforded to the Pride, maintaining food so that is not needed is a great challenge in itself, but if anything her stores are deep." the Trade Prince said matter-of-factly

"Do you figure your guides know more than pretty vistas?" he'd muse, taking another bite of the salad in vinegar.

"Yes, depending on the island," Coralie confirmed, "Good anchorages, navigable rivers, jungle trails... but not cities of gold, sadly."

The fat man chuckled "Well I would hope those savages would have enough sense to keep something like that to themselves!" he was clearly not disillusioned "Do you figure you'll find yourself deeper inland out there? I am oh so curious as to what lurks in those jungles."

"On my one trip out there, more than you might think," Coralie replied, taking care not to sound too much of an expert, "It can be useful for moving about undetected, such as when scouting. It's slower, but more discrete than sailing a ship... though I'm sure you've guessed it can also be dangerous. There are strange creatures on those islands and few settlements once you leave the coast behind."

Alberto would raise his brow "Strange creatures of what sort?" He asked, deeply interested in the unknowns of those far away lands.

"All manner of strange creatures!" Coralie replied enthusiastically. It was a passion, it seemed, that they shared, "Gigantic ostriches and similarly huge eagles that prey on them and are rumored to be able to kill a grown man. Strange jackals that are striped like a tiger. Hares as tall as a man that stand on two legs... which probably all sounds like nonsense but bring Lorenzo out for a ride into the Island interiors and we shall see what you find!"

The middle-aged merchant would smile, not some cynical thing like in his previous musings and machinations "Quite the adventure... sights unseen" he seemed lost for a moment before his more natural wits returned "I may need to place a bounty for what can be brought back here, I was not expecting to build a menagerie, but that is a welcome surprise."

He'd raise the goblet before him in an informal toast before realizing both cups were empty. The attendant to the side of the room would hurriedly come over to pour both of them cups of deep north Calarian red.

"To unexpected adventures," Coralie raised her glass, taking a dainty sip, "On a more practical note, Alberto, I would assume we are travelling in a flotilla for now. Momin, my first mate, and I will do what I can to hold our turbulent crews together. But, if I might be so bold, I would suggest, once we are out of sight of land, that you invite the other Captains to dine here. Cement your position as leader. Not having taken the Stewart's letter offers you certain advantages since I suspect your countrymen would be loathe to attack this ship... but I'm sure you realise that already," she added with a slight smirk.

The Prince would be far less courtly as he drinks fully from the goblet that was a little small in his hand. He would say "The Pride remains neutral ground, and I would gladly host, but this is your campaign of plunder, not mine." He would pause tactfully "Unless, of course, you'd rather help my bid for rulership of my homeland instead." The joviality was now dangerous, his seriousness of such a proposal was impossible to determine.

"Oh no, this campaign of plunder is each individual Captain's and I know this ship is technically neutral... but that is also why you need to establish your position of primacy. Vicious dogs need to know their place unless you want to run the risk of being bitten. I on the other hand am a pedigree hound," she declared with a bright smile, "I think before I bite... and perhaps I will, when the moment is right."