Iron Lizzie
Ahh, life on the sea was a fine fine thing.
Of course, that was before the debts started to catch up with her.
And the threats. First in dark alleys, and then, eventually, in open
daylight.
It wouldn't have happened if she'd been a little wiser, or a little
more diplomatic. But she'd never been strong on either of those
points. Oh, she could get along well enough with the salty dogs on
her ship. She could visit the local tavern anywhere she went and
leave the graybeards at the captains table roaring with laughter, a
great smile on their faces.
She'd been brought up with sea-folk, after all. The sea shaped her
first steps, her first words. She teethed with a rough hemp rope
clutched in her tiny fists. She was born to the sea, and she knew it,
and the old graybeards knew it, too. They could see the ocean depths
in her eyes, and knew that the sea had her just as it had them.
But the sea never meant that much to merchants, their fat fingers
dripping with rings, who hired ships by the score. And that... well,
that made life as an independent captain more than a little bit hard.
The first time one of her contracts was broken, there wasn't much
pain. The ship had to take on a little less water, a little less salt
pork. The grog still held, and the crew held with it. She nearly
spat in the man's face when he told her he'd found a faster ship--a
better ship--a ship captained by a son of a father.
The spitting didn't help one bit.
The second time, the merchant had heard about the first. He sent a
lackey around to make his excuses. She barely found a bit of cargo to
pay the ship's way back to home port... and the hands were thinner by
the time she reached home.
The third trip tore it--they'd taken a loan to get a full load of
supplies for the trip, and had a written guarantee of goods at their
destination. A storm took them on the way, and they had to tow their
boat to a small island to cut replacement masts. While they lay
sheltered in a small cove, ten of their men were taken from camp,
without leaving a sign. And that's what made her a legend to them.
Although the rest of the men clamored to get gone and make their trip
on time, she commanded that they set out to rescue the missing hands.
That night, the drums echoed across the small island, as they made
their way to rescue the missing crew. Their abductors, it seemed,
were small, wiry humanoids, their skin wrinkled, their hair like
porcupine quills. It was a night of fire and madness, but in the
midst of it all, her booming voice maintained order.
At the end, none of them came out unscathed. Most of the men walked
together, practically carrying each other. But she walked in the
lead, a triumphant smile upon her face--she had brought her men home.
No regrets for the torn and bloodied jerkin, no regrets that her
rapier had been broken midway through the battle, and she'd had to go
the rest of the way with her longknife and a spit she'd taken from the
fire... She'd brought them home.
Three weeks later, when they finally limped into port, they found a
merchant's lackey waiting. This time, she'd had enough. She grabbed
the lackey by the neck and frogmarched him up to the merchant's
quarter. When she'd found the merchant, and he *still* refused to
pay, she beat him bloody, and spent the rest of the day in chains.
And then the next day.
The third night, her men came and broke her out. The law had come to
claim her ship, they said, but they were having none of that. *She*
was their captain, and no fat man's dandy was going to have them as
crew.
She embraced them, and they took the ship out under quiet orders, and
ate wind on the way home... Home, where the debts, and the rule of
law were even then laying in wait.
After that, they took to piracy, of course. It seems that after all,
the merchants didn't want an independent working for them, so she may
as well work against them. She had crew to feed, and debts to pay to
some of the darker elements in town by this point. She even learned a
little bit how to be diplomatic, as it doesn't pay to spit in a
thief's soup any more than it does to spit in a merchant's.
They had a good time of it--ten years later, the merchants still
didn't like her much, but she'd earned their dread, and that's also a
kind of respect. The old graybeards who'd once laughed at her bawdy
jokes now grimaced and spat as they muttered her name, and told the
story of how she was driven to piracy. The new young-bloods made
secret plans of how they'd fight her off to the last breath if she
tried to take them. The smart ones thought again when she stood on
their decks.
Yes, they were good days, until they were brought short by the man
she'd taken for a brother, he being raised on the same deck as she.
He understood why she had had to turn pirate--the sea was in her
blood, and the landsmen wouldn't let her have the sea any other way.
And she had a responsibility to the crew of course, and they to her.
Sea salt makes for family closer than blood.
And she understood why he had to take her in. She remembered what a
pirate was to a merchant captain. And even though she'd tried to
avoid the greatest excesses associated with pirates, there'd been a
few times when the tide ran high and they'd done what they had to do.
And so here she was, jailed again, bound more likely for the gallows
than for prison, when the call went up for crews to sail against the
bloody elfs. She heard that, even from the depths of her cell.
She stood, then. Her joints creaked from the damp as she stretched,
and then walked towards the cell door, still with a bit of swagger in
her step. Her clothes were ragged, but her graying hair was still
neatly pulled back in a sailor's queue.
"You there, boy!" her voice rang out. It was tinged with the tones of
command, even here. "Tell your masters they might have some good of
me, yet. If my name makes their bowels turn to water, just imagine
what it will do the elfs!"
-----
Iron Lizzie, human swashbuckler (or fighter), most likely. She is smart,
charismatic (in a voice of command kind of way), and tough. She is
faster than she is strong, and while the life of hard knocks has
taught her many lessons, she's still a little more foolhardy than she
should be.
She's getting on in years--she was probably in her late 20s when she
made captain, and it's been more than ten years since then. They
weren't kind years, but the washed out the dross as well as battering
her bones. This might make application of the Middle Age stat changes
(-1 str,dex,con and +1 int,wis,cha) appropriate. Probably depends on
how other stuff goes, with character creation.
The swashbuckler class from CW is my first pick for this character, as
it's a fighter class with more emphasis on fighting smart and fighting
quick than with bashing away. It also provides more skills than a
fighter would. Fighter/rogue is a possible alternative, as is
straight fighter. The Dread Pirate PrC from CA is also an eventualy
possibility, but, well, the name's a bit cheesy, and I'm not sure it's
necessary.
Access to the Leadership feat *might* be appropriate eventually,
as Lizzie's former hands come back into the light to fight by
her side once again.
I think that level-wise, any level could work here, although 3rd+ is
probably more workable than lower. As for how to relate level to
the fact that she's and older hand than most of these folks, well,
most people don't have any class levels at all. ;> Perhaps doing
something new will pump new life through those veins.
-----
Of course, all up to the DM whether this concept is even workable.
