Hey guys Please be gentle - I am not an artist and made my picture, quite quickly, using good old paint, and I'm not yet awake enough to string together a half decent sentence - but I would love to win one of the outfits :} I always liked the idea of a pirate poring
Your character name: LucretiaBlade
Name of Poring like monster: Cap'n Petey.
What is its favorite food? Citrus fruit to fend off scurvy, peco legs, roasted Savage and rum - a proper pirate feast.
What is its personality like and what does it like to do? Petey may look a l'il fierce with his eye patch but really he is a friendly pirate, content to lie in a hammock and re-run his old pirate adventures in his mind, dreaming of ships and pieces of eight. But mostly he dreams of the feasts.... soooo many feasts.... including one infamous one aboard what is now the ghost ship.
If this pet could talk, what would be its favorite phrase? 'Yaaaaarrr!'
Short story/Detailed Description: Cap'n Petey was born as plain old Peter, son of a simple poring family, but as a lad he would sit on the coast of Izlude and watch the boats sailing past. Great uncle Pedro poring would tell him tales of adventure and daring-do, of great Captains and the villains of the high seas. Great uncle told many stories but the pirate adventure stories were Peter's favourites and he would hang on every word, begging his great uncle for 'more stories, more... more!' until way past his bedtime.
As Peter grew older he grew determined to join the ocean faring warriors and buccaneers - never listening to the taunts of the other poring children who told him his head was in the clouds and he'd never amount to much more than 'plain old boring Peter poring'. In the summer months he would wander down to the shoreline and scan the horizon for distant sails, while the rest of his poring friends were bounding through the long grass, tripping through the feet of annoyed rockers, and when the colder nights drew in, Peter would wobble into town and sneak into the backrooms of the inns; there he would hear stories being told in hushed tones by the various travellers passing through, fuelling Peter's imagination and dreams of 'one day' adventures.
On one such evening a tall stranger appeared within the 'Wailing Whisper' tavern, ducking as he entered through the creaking wooden doorway. As his heavily booted feet rang out on the inn's floor, customers turned to stare, mouths opening in thinly disguised wonder, as the stranger made his way to the bar, where round faced McGuiness, the owner, was bent over, wiping beer foam from the counter top. The stranger reached into the deep pockets of his richly brocaded coat and pulled out a pile of gleaming strange golden coins, and he slammed them onto the bar 'A drink, bar keep!'. McGuiness grunted and looked up, unaccustomed to rudeness, opening his mouth to utter a contemptuous response 'Don't you.....'. His voice faded away, lips still moving, as he took in the face of the tall man stood before him, McGuiness's eyes opening wide - he paused then, swallowed and raised up his hand to scratch his cheek 'Well I'll be darned! Drake you old dog you, what brings you to my small corner of the world?'. Both men laughed then, leaning over the counter top toward each other, where they embraced warmly, hands slapping each others backs. Hidden at the back of the room, Peter watching rapt, eyes like saucers, and he stayed there for the rest of the night, listening to the man speaking, laughing, reminiscing, drinking flagon upon flagon of ale - long after the rest of the customers had left for home.
By the time Drake had drawn up his long form from the bench where he had been sat for several hours, pulling his hat from the bench beside him and tugging it down over the his large bristling eyebrows, Peter had decided he was going to follow him. And follow him he did - as stealthily and secretly as a poring can! - down dark alleys and along the edges of the cobbled streets. Unaware of the streets falling away, the brightly strung bunting of the town now eerily grey overhead, the dull peal of a distant bell, Peter kept his focus trained on Drake and his secret pursuit of him. A dank fog had risen from the bay and drifted around them, Drake's boots rising and falling easily still, his long legs making short work of the journey, but Peter began to tire. As they reached the merchants building Peter saw Drake stop, looking as if he was checking his pocket for something and Peter took advantage of the pause - his pink cheeks puffing with effort, he closed his eyes for just a moment.
'Hey, eh, what the...?' Peter felt disoriented and.. oddly weightless... he opened his eyes to find he had been hoisted into the air, and appeared to be nestled under the arm of a human. Gingerly looking up he noted the unruly beard and weathered cheek of.... Drake?!!.... and Drake was now peering down at him?!! Peter felt himself begin to panic. Mum and dad will be really cross! What had he done? 'Now then little lad - don't look so fearful of me' came the Captain's voice, 'my travels have taught me many things, one of which is how to understand you, so you get to thinking and I can kinda tell what it is..... now what's your name? Peter you say.... now that will never do as a pirate name little pink... no no, now how's about I call you Petey - a fine name - brings to mind an old sea dog I once knew.... arrrr, I'll call you Petey. Now lets be going Petey, I've a sail to trim and a crew to rouse, and as my new cabin boy, you've got some decks to swab..... adventure awaits!' Gesturing grandly in front of him with his free arm, Drake lengthened his stride. Peter... Petey felt the panic inside him start to dissipate, and in its place he found there was a new feeling.... excitement. Petey was going to sea!
Edited by LucretiaBlade, 26 August 2013 - 05:40 AM.