Utterly Mad

NAME: Thomas Marston
AGE: 54
POSITION: THE VALIANT FIRST MATE
TITLE: The Old Sea Dog
COLOR: "I'm in my golden years, and yet I still sail the seas."

APPEARANCE: He's a rough looking old man that has probably seen violence plenty of times judging by the scars and clouded left eye on the wrinkly seadogs face. His hair is as pale as a ghost, and thick like a mushroom tree (whatever the fuck that be); he's got mutton chops that are the size of a "ship's mast" that connect into a chin curtain. His crooked rows of teeth are stained with years of sea breeze and tobacco. Standing at average height the ole' bastard may have some fight in him left.
ARMOR: A stab prove vest under his first mate getup, steel-toed boots

LIKES: "I'm an old bastard that likes the smell o' da' sea, a good brew in me belly, and a nice crew that actually fookin' listens to their superiors. Oh and treasure lads.[/i]"
DISLIKES: "Well for starters I've never been a big fan o' dem magic users, too many a time has a sailor fallen in love wit' dem witches and lost dere' souls I tell ya'. Also does' elritch monsters skeeve me out just tinking' bout'em. What else... uhhh, oh does' basterds that don' know how to listen to their capn's tats' whats wrong wit' tis generation o' sailors. I might also have a hatred towards' dem powedered wigs up in dem towns, always having their noses so high that you could mistook'em for a mountain. HAR! HAR! HAR!"
FEARS: "BAH! A sailor never fears death! But he be having a death wish if he were to not fear what lurks deep beneath dem' waves; whether it be monsters, cursed treasure, or some spook story comin' true. Aye've gotta tell ya' lad, it ain't pretty seeing a man being ripped to shreds by someting' you can't be seeing. Arrr...."

BACK STORY:((Not really going to fill this out, but I'll put some highlights and some of his starting motivation)) [Escaped from his families estate being burned down] [Joins up to be apart of the Royal Navy] [After a year of service is captured by pirates] [Thomas overthrows the pirate captain after staging a revolt] [As the new enacting captain leads a life of adventure] [After gaining plenty of experience and time settles down for a bit with his swag] [Many years pass and the loot is running dry, his wife left him and his daughter has taken a liking to being a brothel maid.] [With nowhere left to go, and feeling his time on this planet is reaching its end agrees to take up being the First Mate with his new found crew (YOU GUYS)]
PURPOSE: "I got notin' left to me name, my wife ran off with some wig, my daughter has become a whore, and I might as well go on one last adventure."
GREATEST DESIRE: "To live out my grandest adventure yet as yer' first mate. That and if we actually do make it back, retire with what little treasure we might make."
WHAT WOULD YOU GIVE...: "Anything I got left really, and that ain't much but me cutlass, the clothes on me back, and my soul."

SANITY: ||||||||||
HEALTH: ||||||||||

INVENTORY:
-Hip flask with fancy engravings on it that shape into some obscure family crest. Normally filled with rum or some other hard liquor.
-A cutlass that probably looked regal at one point judging by the faded and scratched gold, the blade itself has been worn down by the general wear and tear of the salty sea air; it is a warped opaque green with a few spots of discolored metal and dried splotches of blood. While the edges of the blade are jagged at the tip, it hasn't dulled, according to Thomas an old nun blessed the blade at one point; but even he says its probably a load of whale-sh!t. The hilt has various engravings of sea dragons and octopus men, they're mostly covered by a leather strap grip that Thomas tied around the handle.
-A pocket watch with a artist's rendition of a young Thomas and his family, it appears that the clock is either busted or synced up with another time zone.
-Matchbox with a box of rolled fine tobacco cigars. Thomas said he bought it in some foreign port many tides ago, never smoked them and actually forgot about them until he was packing is stuff.
-General luggage containing clothes, personal effects, and other such bobbles and trinkets. (Kept in his cabin)

Let's start this shit

Since all the cool kids are doing it, I'm re-dropping Allan's sheet here for easy access.

NAME: "Allan Fraser, at y'service."
AGE: "M' not that old, ser. Turned t'irty three no' bu' a month ago."
POSITION: "I'm 'ere as an engineer, ser."
TITLE: "Back a' th' fac-try, they called me Fixer Fraser."
COLOR: "They gave me a code 'fore I got on 'ere. The man tells me not to ferget it. S' #0a6308. Search me why 's impertant. Spy secrets, mor' n' likely."

APPEARANCE: "Wull, no two ways 'bout it, ser, m' short. Prob'ly 'round five n' a 'aff feet. I got no hair on m' head, shaved it off biffor joinin' the navy. Helps with the swimmin'. Got m'beard, though. It's a short one, fer sure, but it's carryin' my mum's golden color innit. M'eyes are blue, n' squinty. I been workin' on m' fathers farm fer some time, an' its given me plen'ny of strenth in m' arms."
ARMOR: Leather overalls. Cotton long-sleeved shirt. Water proof-ish boots. Short, stout brown cap. Pair of tinted goggles. Cotton bandanna, worn around the neck or mouth.

LIKES: "I love tha smell o' burnin' fuel. The workin' man's cologne. That 'n m'wife. I'd give my world f'her if she asked. I fancy a bit o' dancin', n' berry pie, an' the clear blue sky. S' always a good sign, in my home, when the sky didn't have any clouds innit. Meant that all our friends n' family up n' heaven could see us jus' fine, an' was wacthin' over us."
DISLIKES: "M' pa always taught me t' never love a liar. They ain't fit for speakin' with.  That n' the cold. Winters on m' pa's farm were cold, but they were sooo much colder fer me. N' tickin' noises. Little things, like clocks or mice n' the walls. Drives me nuts listenin' to them fer more than a few minutes."
FEARS: "T' be honest, I'm real afeared of flubbin'. Messin' up 'round these machines makes ya lose a finger, er worse. An', well, I can't seem t' explain it, but since I was a boy, I could never stand bein' out in the open hills with m'self and the sheep. I always felt so lonely. Lost, evun. Big open places still trouble me, even now. N' my biggest fear? Losin' m' wife. She's all the family I got, now. I dun't know what'd happen if I was without 'er."

BACK STORY: A poor shepherd's boy that left to become smart and rich in the city. Things didn't turn out the way he imagined them to, and so he joined this crew to alleviate those problems.
PURPOSE: "Why 'm I here? Moneyh. S' tough, in the city. Ain't enough of it to go 'round. N', well, maybe 'cause things were gettin' a little borin' sittin' in the fac-try, waitin' fer somethin' to break."
GREATEST DESIRE: "I want ta' find the day that I wake up n' know that... That everythin's okay. That I don't got to worry no more. I'll wake up with m' Sarah, in some townhouse where we'd settled down and make a life fer ourselves. A real life. Somethin' worth gettin' up in the mornin' fer."
WHAT WOULD YOU GIVE...: "I... I'd give anythin'. My time, my money, m' right hand. Right up to m' life. No sense diein' before ya can enjoy th' good life, yeah?"

SANITY: ||||||||||
HEALTH: ||||||||||

INVENTORY

• An old photograph of him and his parents in front of a small farmhouse.
• A rusted, red tool box that rattles with the tools inside.
• A tuning fork that plays A flat.
• A few pieces of white chalk wrapped in a handkerchief.
• A thin brass dagger that's halfway dull. It's grip is wrapped in leather strips.

A'ight. I'll get one.

NAME: Irving Verrin
AGE: 28
POSITION: Combatant (Can I have a different postition? Or naw?)
TITLE: The Lead*/The Artist
COLOR: "I think of torture as an art, not a crime! Hahaha, I'm going to Enjoy this."

APPEARANCE: An abnormally tall and skinny man with pale grey eyes and a face that seems expressionless almost always
ARMOR: A pair of black trousers, a pair of black silk gloves, a pair of leather shoes, a white button up shirt, a royal purple pea-coat, and a leather apron which when not in use he keeps in his cabin.

LIKES: Others pain, blades, and, blood
DISLIKES: Dull blades, liars, self pain.
FEARS: "I'm scared of Puppets, centipedes, and heights..."

BACK STORY: He started life as a sadistic child that hurt animals. He was 17 when he tortured and killed his first person, he enjoyed every second. He killed 6 people without being caught. He is now twenty eight and he joined a ship crew.
PURPOSE: "I live to see the strongest man squirm"
GREATEST DESIRE: I want to get the deepest darkest secrets through the greatest art, torture
WHAT WOULD YOU GIVE...: "I'll give you my talents, teeth, solid knees, and arms for you."

SANITY: ||||||||||
HEALTH: ||||||||||

INVENTORY:
His "Tools": It's a big leather doctor's bag containing a handful of blades ranging from small to large, a whetstone, a hammer, and a pair of pliers, he keeps those in his cabin.
A bottle of Gin: A good 'ol bottle of Gin
A rather big and elegant knife, he constantly keeps this sharp. He keeps this in his off hand when in combat.
A billy club, it's big and made of oak wood. He keeps this in his good hand.
A collection of books, these are for before he sleeps.

*Like as in informational lead.

Wait if i can be any proffesion... IM A Correspondent as in a practitioner of the correspondence

Here are some good position options: http://latinamericanhistory.about.com/od/Pirates/p/Positions-And-Duties-On-Board-A-Pirate-Ship.htm

Variations of those are welcome.

I think we should either be monster hunters. scientists. or pirates. OR Monster hunting scientist pirates