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Biography

I awake in the darkness of my cabin, chilled to the very marrow of my soul. The dream was so real that my flesh still tingles with its memory. And yet I know that it wasn’t just a dream, it was my past come back to haunt me. I can nearly taste the coppery scent of blood all around me... but I digress. The dream is always the same, more like memories actually, only this time I watch as events unfold, as if it were someone other then I. It begins in an alley where a younger, blood splattered version of myself looks quietly back at me with a gleam in her eye that can only be described as a joyous fury which resides deep within. It was a fury which ceased to acknowledge friend from foe, peace from war, and truth from suspicion. I look down and try to make excuses. I think to myself that with enough cruelty one can become like an animal, but even I don’t believe that. After all, does an animal hold malice in its heart for things it kills? Can an animal find joy in watching the life drain from a person’s eyes as he or she is dismembers it piece by piece? Would an animal feel the warmth of glee and joy fill the very core of their being, at the sight and sound of their prey’s pain? I look around and see myself walking through the poor streets of my village and having to fight for every scrap I ate, and attempting to find peace from those who wished to molest unwary prey as they slept. I know that these are the circumstances which bred my survival instincts. Sure at first it was pure luck which mixed with raw and untrained talents, but in time I soon honed them beyond the rough methods of a child. I found I was capable of slitting a man’s throat in the space of less then three breaths. In my dream, I watch my younger self keep walking away, but I stop to admire her work. I can’t help but take pride, as the surprise turns to horror in the dead eyes of her prey as they bleed out. The monster I had become reveled in the blood lust, but didn’t take the time to think about anything more. This is the world into which I was brought, but not the one in which I stayed. The dream blurs for a moment and time fast forwards slightly, suddenly I am 11, and I have decided to leave my clan, runaway and seek my fortune abreast the sweet waves of the sea. I remember thinking I had to flee from the destiny I felt had been created for me. That somehow there had to be more. Along my voyage I watch myself laughing, and smiling as if I hadn’t a care in the world. I change my name of course and befriended the ship’s scribe. In the beginning I devoured books as if the was indeed my sustenance. I scream out and try to stop my younger self from making the mistakes I know lie ahead, but it is all of no avail. I meet a dashing young English Captain. He was very prim and proper, a pillar of society, at least to the naked eye. He made a striking picture in his uniform. At the age of 18, I thought I could become someone else. I walk away and realize that some lessons are only learned the hard way. You see my Husband’s heart was blacker then any assassin, or pirate I had ever known. Evil comes in many forms, and you can’t always see them approach. I remember the shock of waking up in the middle of the night, bound and gagged. I watch helplessly, as I see myself struggle against the shoulder which was carrying me away. Later I found that my children and I were sold into slavery to pay off my husband’s gambling debts. What I would have given that night to have gotten my hands on my dirk before they had taken us?! It was my fault, I let my guard down. The world I thought I knew shattered that night. And once again things changed. That is when I knew then that it was better to be the monster I am, than the sheep I had pretended to be. Many a slave master attempted to beat the rage and stubbornness out of me. And in the end, I do not believe it had quite the effect they had hoped for. The scars each tell a story my lips are not ready to revisit, but in the end my “teachers” all paid with their lives. Their lives were not lost in vain however, their mistakes served to teach me very valuable lessons like detachment, discipline, and probably most important was how to bide my time and savor the suffering of my tormentors. I had FINALLY learned patience. These new skills did little to ease the need for vengeance, however. In time, I was sold to a man who valued the skills in which I excelled. I proved myself to be quite an adept student to a gentleman whose trade is not talked about in polite society. I bid my time and helped in the apothecary learning all that I could about some of the more subtle arts of killing, and in time earning my freedom. The images, and carnage go on and on until I wake in a cold sweat, but is it repulsion or excitement which has my heart beating so fast? I realize that I will be unable to return to sleep for awhile. And I decide to make an entry in my personal journal. I thumb through the entries I have made over the years, and muse over some of the things I have logged. I have dined with Kings and Queens. I have befriended Madam’s, Captains, and Thieves, Assassins, Barbarians, Ogres, Warlocks, priestesses and Dragons. I have known Walkers and runners, gamblers and scoundrels, Pirates and Dogs, Admirals and Clergy, Ladies and wenches, Bards, and minstrels, Fighters and Knights, jesters and Commodores, Dock workers, Harbormasters, and oh so many more… My mind begins to wander to the events which followed after I earned my freedom back. I took to the sea once again. This time it was aboard The Raging St. Mae. She was my home and her Captain was my dear friend. I was offered the position of Master Gunner, and gladly took it. I found that I took great pleasure in the battles we fought. And as long as I kept myself busy there was no need to look any further for happiness. But in time I realized that there would never be enough blood shed to quell the rage within me. I watched as my Captain fell in love and I even took part in her wedding. But I knew it was time to set off. I needed to settle some old scores and take care of some old business. My Captain was able to fill my position with a more then able bodied man. Captain Hawk told me that I would still have a place upon her ship if I ever wished to return, as Coxswain. In the end though, I felt it would be unfair of me to promise more then I could deliver. I became a Freelance Mercenary for a time after I left The Raging St Mae. I did work which was usually of a highly secretive nature (dirty work, that no one else would or could be trusted to do, I made a living of making myself invisible.).My work needed to remain quiet. As my clients required that things take place quickly and efficiently without burdening their tender sensibilities. I was able to enjoy a certain degree of anonymity for many years. Along my travels I ran into an old friend from the Apothecary, Captain Morgan. There was something about him that had a calming effect on me. Over the years when we would run into each other he never once judged me for the life I had chosen, but always made the same offer. If you ever need a place to belong, or a friendly ear you have a home aboard my ship. And every time I would thank him and walk away. But this time for some reason I found myself considering the possibility. Could it be that I was burning out on my life of solitude? I told him that at the moment I was in the middle of some “side jobs”, but if they would have me I would enjoy the opportunity to once again venture out to sea. For several months I would show up unexpectedly and leave in the same way. The First Mate, Mistress Blade, jokingly called me their Ship’s Ghost. In the beginning I don't believe the crew quite trusted that I would actually return each time I left, and frankly I didn't know either. But something kept drawing me back. In time I was able to earn their trust. I now felt more at home aboard then away, able to feel at ease in one place. I ended up working my way up to the position of the Quartermaster aboard The Wolfsbane. That is until we blew her up. We now sail aboard The Crimson Storm. Then just as we had begun anew on a fresh ship, my Captain gave me a fresh name. Tempest Stormbringer. I have known many names, in my day. I came into this world fighting and struggling, born of violence and baptized in the fires of blood and pain. Life began in a brutal fashion and more than likely I will probably go out the same way. For as long as I can remember chaos and destruction have surrounded me, I heard it said that violence begets violence. It was a legacy I gladly perpetuated for many years. But now there are times in my life, glimpses really, where I find moments of serenity, tranquility and peace … (Strangely though these epiphanies almost always coincide with the end of a battle, as I stand among the dead)... I wonder what that means. For now this is my home. To be cont….