edward kenway (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
jackdawvision) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
singillatim2024-02-11 09:17 pm
jackdawvision) wrote in singillatim2024-02-11 09:17 pm
[open] the water's rising quicker than light or sound
Who: Edward Kenway and you!
What: local pirate follows a dog to a nice safe cabin and eats some mushrooms he maybe shouldn't have.
When: early to mid-February
Where: outskirts of Milton.
Content Warnings: drugs, temporary amnesia, mentions of piracy and amputation and blanket Assassin's Creed warnings (violence and murder).
i. it's that dog!
[The last time Edward tracked a dog around here, it tried to lead him into a pit. So this time he's wary of following the tracks for this new one, arm tensing as if he's only just stopping himself from flicking a hidden blade out. But he kneels down anyway and checks the tracks, before standing up as someone else approaches. He gives them a tight little smile, crosses his arms across his chest, and nods towards the tracks.]
These tracks seem fresh. What do you think, is it clever enough to lead us to a trap or is it just trying to lure us away to eat us?
ii. a pirate's life for me
[Edward's been occasionally picking mushrooms for a couple of weeks now, ever since the dream that gave him the ability to run better over rooftops and through tree branches. Look, he gets hungrier now these days and he needs the fuel, so he thinks nothing of picking some oyster mushrooms and cooking something up for himself.
Oh, these mushrooms are very delicious. He ought to bring them to Adé and have the Jackdaw's cook add them to their provisions, they're quite tasty even with his own lacking skill at cooking—
—that can't be right. That can't...
Edward shakes his head, feeling the cold prickle over the back of his neck. That's wrong, it's not supposed to be cold, not in Nassau in the midst of summer with the heat roasting them all. He touches fingers to his temple to try and stave off the headache, only to see that one hand is short a finger, which is. What the bloody fuck.
He stumbles out of the house, looks around, and has just one thing to ask some poor passer-by, full of barely-restrained panic and anger at this strange new situation he's found himself in:] Where the bloody hell am I, and where is my bloody ship?
iii. consider this the wild card option! hit me up on plurk at mollymauktealeaf or on Discord at foggytealeafs if we want to plot something else out.
What: local pirate follows a dog to a nice safe cabin and eats some mushrooms he maybe shouldn't have.
When: early to mid-February
Where: outskirts of Milton.
Content Warnings: drugs, temporary amnesia, mentions of piracy and amputation and blanket Assassin's Creed warnings (violence and murder).
i. it's that dog!
[The last time Edward tracked a dog around here, it tried to lead him into a pit. So this time he's wary of following the tracks for this new one, arm tensing as if he's only just stopping himself from flicking a hidden blade out. But he kneels down anyway and checks the tracks, before standing up as someone else approaches. He gives them a tight little smile, crosses his arms across his chest, and nods towards the tracks.]
These tracks seem fresh. What do you think, is it clever enough to lead us to a trap or is it just trying to lure us away to eat us?
ii. a pirate's life for me
[Edward's been occasionally picking mushrooms for a couple of weeks now, ever since the dream that gave him the ability to run better over rooftops and through tree branches. Look, he gets hungrier now these days and he needs the fuel, so he thinks nothing of picking some oyster mushrooms and cooking something up for himself.
Oh, these mushrooms are very delicious. He ought to bring them to Adé and have the Jackdaw's cook add them to their provisions, they're quite tasty even with his own lacking skill at cooking—
—that can't be right. That can't...
Edward shakes his head, feeling the cold prickle over the back of his neck. That's wrong, it's not supposed to be cold, not in Nassau in the midst of summer with the heat roasting them all. He touches fingers to his temple to try and stave off the headache, only to see that one hand is short a finger, which is. What the bloody fuck.
He stumbles out of the house, looks around, and has just one thing to ask some poor passer-by, full of barely-restrained panic and anger at this strange new situation he's found himself in:] Where the bloody hell am I, and where is my bloody ship?
iii. consider this the wild card option! hit me up on plurk at mollymauktealeaf or on Discord at foggytealeafs if we want to plot something else out.