This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Ability scores: 15131016914
A large man approached the boat carrying over his left shoulder a seven foot long oar made from a deep, dark red wood, the blade of the oar edged in iron. Dressed in stout, hand sewn cotton duck pantaloons, a vest of similar material and a broad leather belt which held a well used, heavy-bladed cutlass, he held a bulging sack in his right hand and on each wrist the remains of the sort of shackles galley slaves were chained with. He wore no shoes, hard calluses indicating that his feet had not see a pair in a long time and, plainly demonstrated to any with a knowing eye, that he had worked on the decks of boats for many a year. But it was his physical presence that demanded attention. Well over six feet tall; heavily muscled, especially about the shoulders and upper arms; skin the color of well weathered walnut shells, one ear cauliflowered from some old blow, the hint of whip scars around his shoulders and a slight dent on the right side of his face.
With a slight toss of the shoulder, he dropped the oar, handle first, where it thudded into the dock with a sound that informed the savvy that this oar was made from some very heavy stuff indeed (one who was well versed in wood types would know it to be ironwood) and not something casually moved around by the average person.
Leaning forward toward the Easy Drift he said in a voice that sounded hoarse and oddly high coming from such a large frame, "I bes 'earin' the Easy Drift be needin' some crew; 's that true?" Sea-green eyes glittered in the waters reflected light, "Name's Sølvloki, I knowd water 'n boats better than me own mare, that I do. I kin out row, out sail, out drink 'n out fight any man alive what fights bar knuckled. Don't do none o' that whilst I'm workin' ye ken, jes fer fun," he scowls fiercely, "lessen they's trying t' take m' boat o' course, then," with a sudden slashing motion he makes his oar leap into the air in a slashing whirl as though Sølvloki were wielding a Greatsword, "I smashes 'em t' flinders."
Ability scores: 15 13 10 16 9 14
A large man approached the boat carrying over his left shoulder a seven foot long oar made from a deep, dark red wood, the blade of the oar edged in iron. Dressed in stout, hand sewn cotton duck pantaloons, a vest of similar material and a broad leather belt which held a well used, heavy-bladed cutlass, he held a bulging sack in his right hand and on each wrist the remains of the sort of shackles galley slaves were chained with. He wore no shoes, hard calluses indicating that his feet had not see a pair in a long time and, plainly demonstrated to any with a knowing eye, that he had worked on the decks of boats for many a year. But it was his physical presence that demanded attention. Well over six feet tall; heavily muscled, especially about the shoulders and upper arms; skin the color of well weathered walnut shells, one ear cauliflowered from some old blow, the hint of whip scars around his shoulders and a slight dent on the right side of his face.
With a slight toss of the shoulder, he dropped the oar, handle first, where it thudded into the dock with a sound that informed the savvy that this oar was made from some very heavy stuff indeed (one who was well versed in wood types would know it to be ironwood) and not something casually moved around by the average person.
Leaning forward toward the Easy Drift he said in a voice that sounded hoarse and oddly high coming from such a large frame, "I bes 'earin' the Easy Drift be needin' some crew; 's that true?" Sea-green eyes glittered in the waters reflected light, "Name's Sølvloki, I knowd water 'n boats better than me own mare, that I do. I kin out row, out sail, out drink 'n out fight any man alive what fights bar knuckled. Don't do none o' that whilst I'm workin' ye ken, jes fer fun," he scowls fiercely, "lessen they's trying t' take m' boat o' course, then," with a sudden slashing motion he makes his oar leap into the air in a slashing whirl as though Sølvloki were wielding a Greatsword, "I smashes 'em t' flinders."
https://ddb.ac/characters/44342763/jPTgWT
I have a bit more equipment to add, but that is pretty much it for now.
Panic is a mechanism that strengthens the gene pool.