Vincent Tarridor's page

The Formidably Maid itself is somewhat rundown and a little dirty but surprisingly well lit. Regardless it's well known reputation for never watering it's liquor explains why the only seat available was across from a weary looking man, already well into drowning his troubles for the evening. Despite the mud and salt crusting him, you imagine he'd be the type to look quite respectable with a shave and a bath...or three. His shirt, who's white color is now little more than a distant memory and black, high waisted pants have the look of a uniform but without a jacket in sight it's difficult to discern any particular affiliation. The fact that he occupies his small table alone despite the packed common room was hardly an encouraging sign but it beats standing all night.

The man looks up from his cup as you settle in, a sardonic smile pulling the right corner of his mouth, "At last a man either brave enough or sufficiently lacking in prejudice to join me. Personally I'm hoping for the latter but life's full of disappointments now isn't it?", he lifts the bottle of what looks to be absinthe beside him to pour you a drink before discovering it empty, "For instance...", he turns and calls loudly to the bar, "Margery! Another bottle for me and my companion if you'd be so kind!". The bustling wench behind the bar who's face falls just shy of comely rolls her eyes at the man's request before pulling another green bottle off a back shelf and bringing it over. Once close she tosses it to the inebriated man who, to his credit catches it deftly and begins pouring an ample measure into his cup. She looks down at him with an annoyed expression, "That's the last one your tab's good for Master Tarridor, once it's gone I want you out of here.". Sparing you little more than a glance, Margery turns on her heel and returns to the bar.

You stare at the man across from you intently as he fills his cup. The barmaid's use of the title was positively mocking despite the fact that even a relatively unworldly man such as yourself recognizes it. His pour finished, the man chuckles as he notes your expression, "Aye, there's nothing wrong with your ears. After all, who in these parts hasn't heard of the famous Commodore Andrax Tarridor of the Chelish Navy, eh? Personally delivered over two dozen pirate captains to the gallows...or so I've heard. Rather certain they were considering appointing the hard nosed prick Admiral proper for bagging his nineteenth just a few months ago but "two dozen" just sounds better I suppose.", he chuckles, "Now don't be intimidated, this particular apple's fallen so far from the tree as to be in a different orchard entirely...", still chuckling, he slides the full cup towards you before plucking the bottle from the table and draining half it's remaining contents in one swig.

Setting the bottle back down, he shakes his head and blows out a lungful of air to clear the heavy fumes, "I'm Vincent by the way. A ponce name for the ponce my ponce father hoped to make of me...", he blinks slowly as the absinthe his him, "My that's some fine stuff. By now you're probably wondering how any man born to a famous bellend washed up here...of course not, but I'll tell you anyway. I've had just about enough of talking to myself lately." He takes another pull from the bottle, "See, I was always a cock-up from decent society's point of view but it's never been particularly noticeable before. People pay less attention when you're getting blackout drunk in "respectable" establishments most nights rather than dingy holes in the wall. Expensive maybe, but hardly noteworthy. Of course at a certain point, dear old dad tried to cut me off...which really worked better than he could have hoped. If I hadn't been forced into entering less-than-legal fighting tournaments for drinking money I might never have discovered my natural-born talent for beating the piss out of people. Without that, I'd undoubtedly have stayed as far away from his overly uniform footsteps as possible. I swear he nearly cried when I told him I wanted to enlist, or at least he might have if he weren't a particularly ill tempered eel in human skin. Still, I figured spending the rest of my life kicking the tar out of pirates and drinking their rum might not be the worst fate imaginable."

Vincent pauses to take another drink before motioning to the cup in front of you, "Come on now, drink up. You heard the lady, I'm tapped out and no offense but I'd wager another bottle is out of your price range.", with another sip, he continues, "Surprisingly, I actually took to naval life rather well. My name if nothing else fast-tracked me for officer and, to my extreme surprise I found I rather enjoyed sailing. A ship is rather like a woman actually, once you figure out how to unfurl 'er sails and where to drop anchor it's pretty much smooth sailing from there. Not two years in I was first mate on a warship with a commission to hunt down piracy. I figured I was cutting the fat hog in the rear then. We'd have some fun chasing scurvy ridden pricks and maybe I'd even make a name for myself in the process. But you know...after six decidedly unfruitful months I began to notice something. Despite our government backing, our drilled discipline and all the rest of that garbage, the damn pirates always seemed to be one step ahead of us. Can't find the pricks cause if they know you're in the area, they just go plunder somewhere else and even if you do manage to chase 'em, they just disappear into that big bloody storm faster than your coin on a bender. Began to wonder if we weren't on the wrong damn side of things."

"Then one night, we're drifting in this bloody fog, so thick you couldn't make out your own pecker looking down...and we get raided by the very pricks we're supposed to be out hunting. Again, I can't for the life of me figure out how they found us in all that fog...I'd have been hard pressed to find my own boots in all that white but they damn sure didn't seem to have much trouble. Snuck up on our aft, had a dozen of them aboard before we even raised the alarm. Our chances were already pretty grim but the time the captain made it on deck and he realized it pretty quick. Could hardly see his face as they were closing in the pair of us but his voice had that unmistakable "go out in a blaze of glory" tone to it. Now I'm generally all for that sort of thing but only on my schedule and I'm just not ready yet. So I figured this was my moment to take bold action...", Vincent drains the last of the bottle, "Now, nothing's official yet but I have to imagine knocking your captain ass over teakettle into the ocean is a fire-able offense. Probably best to just assume I've been discharged, no? So anyway, being the now ranking officer on board, I officially surrender the ship to our attackers. Told them they could take what they want and even offered to Captain our ship for them from that point on, provided they spared the rest of my crew.", he picks up the now empty bottle and grimaces, "Course...they elected to torch the ship. Take the crew as slaves and toss my sorry butt into the poorest excuse for a dingy this side of the maelstrom and leave me to die as soon as a decent storm hit. Can't really blame 'em, I'd have done the same thing with an obviously untrustworthy mutineer like myself.", he leans forward and grabs the untouched cup of absinthe from in front of you with an apologetic look before downing it in 3 large gulps.

Sighing, he looks back at you, "Obviously, I didn't perish on that little boat. The week of drifting that followed was the worst experience of my life though. Just about ate my left foot before the end and I only just, just talked myself out of trying to get overly familiar with a fish...but in the end I was picked up by a merchant ship who dropped me off here. The silver belt buckle my father gave me when I got my commission has kept me sufficiently drunk for the past two...three days but as my tab is right out, it appears I need a new plan at this juncture. Probably see if I can't hire on to a crew down at the docks come...come the morning...probably leave the part about tossing my captain in the drink out of my resume...not the sort of thing one wants to lead with...", young Vincent Tarridor opens his mouth to continue, but instead vomits into his lap before dropping face first onto the table and snoring loudly.

After a few moments, two large men stand up from a corner table and each grab his unconscious form under an arm, "By the abyss, I thought he'd never go...", hauling him up, the nearest one, his bald head tattooed with a ship's helm turns to you, "Don't trouble yourself, this one's not worth the effort mate.", he tosses a gold coin on the table in front of you, "Have a drink on us...", with that, they drag Vincent's body to the door and are gone.

I am generally available to post multiple times a day during the week and can commit to at least once per day on weekends, often more but once at minimum. As for reliability, my Crucible of Freya Campaign (currently on summer hiatus until next month) has been running for the better part of two years now. A quick glance there will show you my usual posting frequency/quality.