Post by emorichey on Aug 16, 2015 20:21:18 GMT
Profile
Name: Capt. Cornelius Codd
Age: He's gotta be over fifty but reckons he's fuckin thirty two or summat
Gender: Male
Race: Human I suppose but only cause 'prick' or 'bullshitter' ain't a race
Height: I dunno, I've not measured the cunt but he's a bit taller than me. Mind you, that's not any fuckin achievement to write home about. My Aunt Doris used to ask how my career as a jockey was shaping up every time I went over there for family gatherings.
Small sense of irony like when her husband Uncle Derek (who we're not allowed to mention anymore) ran off with his personal trainer, Nigel. So they only jockey in the family was that cock jockey.
Fuck... Let's call him 5ft 10
Weight: He doesn't look fat but then he has got a kinda middle aged spread goin on. Umm, let's see... My Dad's a fat fuck and weighs about 21 stone... In American that's ... 21x 14 = 294? And he's not as fat as Da'
5' 10 is what? BMI of about 12st or summat... Let's say 14stone
14x 14= 196lbs
Rank: Ah, tricky one this. He's a Capt. According to him but that means fuck-all because he talks shite most of the time. Within the Etirath place he has no rank anyway so leave it at citizen.
Basic Appearance: He looks like someone pickled a tumour and then stuck a body on it.
He has a bottom lip that sticks out so far, I worry a fuckin pigeon might shit on it. His hair is fuckin dyed black but it's obviously grey underneath like. You can see it's fake as fuck because he's chosen fuckin Elvis style boot polish black an his complexion is like someone spilled flour on a ghost and then photographed it and the film got exposed to the light so came out all white.
His clothes are like a early 19th Century sailor with shiny black shoes with these fuck-off brass buckles on... Like Captain Hook off Peter Pan's shoes I suppose, and he wears these coats in red or blue felt... I made the felt up actually. Fuck knows what material it is. Cloth or some shit. He even sometimes wears a tricorne hat as though he's Admiral Nelson. I don't think he's ever been on a boat but he'll tell you how he circumnavigated the globe aged seven probably. Total bullshitter.
Combat Credentials
Combat Style: tricky. He boasts all kinds of martial proficiency but I reckon it's all crap. He shudders if a fuckin wasp comes near him. There's loads of stuff down here that he's meant to be able to do but in my heart of hearts I can't fuckin see it myself. 'An expert with a blade' prolly means he can butter his toast or some shit. He does have a gun so look out for that.
Abilities: Again, take all this with a pinch of sea salt (which he wouldn't recognise anyway) but it says 'sense of direction: impeccable' I mean fuck's sake, I wish his wardrobe was a bit more fuckin impeccable like. Shit clobber on every hanger. 'A master fisherman' - prolly fished his goldfish out to clean the bowl once or summat.
Y'know what? Fuck this sheet. I'll tell you what to look out for with this cunt. He's fulla himself. His confidence is fuckin limitless, like I think he actually believes all his bullshit. So to listen to him, you're gonna convince yourself he's for real like, y'know?
Weapon(s): Gun: A flintlock 1798 cavalry pistol. Fuck knows where he got it but somehow it works. Shit at any range as it's from like musketball times but he hides it in his coat and will stick you at close quarters. Devious little bastard like. He thinks it's clever, outwitting opponents like that. Underhand little twat.
A cavalry sabre, proper mint like. Silver handguard and all that shite. He keeps it in a nice little scabbard that he reckons he lifted from the King of Spain's corpse but I found a fuckin receipt to some discount costume store for '1x pantomime scabbard' so I'm onto the lying turd like
Gear: A pouch of gunpowder, a silver pennywhistle, a spare brass button, another pouch with several gold and silver coins inside. A spyglass (really shit one)
A compass (never opened)
Two maps that are good for fuck-all
A half of flatbread
A small silver flask of Rum (but it's really warm ale)
An eyepatch (for disguises)
A dead shrew named Brian
Background
Born in Edwardian Britain, Cornelius was the second son of a wealthy merchant from Portsmouth and his fat bitch wife. Honestly, you wanna see the portrait of this manatee like. I know they say the easel adds ten pounds but this easel musta been a fuckin acre big.
Anyway, maybe she wasn't a bitch, I was just bein a sexist fuck there so sorry and shit. But this bitch mollycoddles the little Cornelius whilst older bro Horatio was out to sea or helping their Dad count money or whatever. Horatio was dashing (not a homo) and Cornelius looked like a barnacle had shagged a sea slug and then that fat bitch had shat it out. And then sat on it. And farted. Twice.
An ugly kid. He read books and invented adventures for himself that Horatio was having in real life. Sad fuck. Anyway, it all came to a head one night in 17?? (someone spilt curry on the sheet there) when weird noises were heard comin from Horatio's quarters. Cornelius was about 14 by now and could have been forgiven for thinkin these sounds were fuckin sex-noises, y'know? Well, he got the shock of his fuckin life when he burst in and found Horatio balls deep in some big-titted slag whilst a slim redhead buried her face between his arsecheeks.
Sex-noises they were!
Horatio was disgusted his weird bro had interrupted the latest session but instead got the girls to tease the fuck out of Cornelius whilst he carried on hammering them. Cornelius had fuckin had it like! He barricaded Horatio in his room and lit a rag soaked in fuckin lamp-oil...
He woke up with terrible burns to his left arm which is scarred to this day and doesn't move proper cause the skin's fuckin elasticity or whatever burned off.
I dunno, but his folks cast him out for obviously trying to burn his brother and family alive. So he took to the roads of Britain. He travelled from Portsmouth to the outskirts of Portsmouth and back again over the next twenty years, ever found in some Tavern or Inn telling people of his latest voyage. He had his pick of the ladies; Blind Maggie with three teeth and a bald patch or Simple Sally who make animal noises and slept in the pigsty behind the old Belltower.
He preferred Sally until she got with child and 'fell' into the harbour to her watery fuckin grave. It was all well and good in the end as it turned out Sally was wanted for a number of serious crimes as there were notices around town declaring "Must Hang Sally!" And one after the preganancy came to light which added "Must Hang Sally: Now Baby!" Well, she was dead and gone so he guessed they'd better slow their "Must Hang"s down. They'd been appearing all over town.
I digress. The point is, ask anyone in Portsmouth 220 odd years ago and they're gonna tell you Cornelius was this notorious bullshit merchant. Well, merchant's son... Disowned son at that.
He made his living from cheating at gambling, double-crossing rival moneylenders so they'd off each other before he had to repay anythin. He was just a massive twat. His life was wasted and unremarkable and he died in his late fifties of dysentery in some back alley to be found by a bearded prostitute with one tit.
So his reappearance in this Etirath is wholly fuckin bizarre. But what do I care? I'm just his fuckin narrator...
Relations: All long dead, as he was.
Name: Capt. Cornelius Codd
Age: He's gotta be over fifty but reckons he's fuckin thirty two or summat
Gender: Male
Race: Human I suppose but only cause 'prick' or 'bullshitter' ain't a race
Height: I dunno, I've not measured the cunt but he's a bit taller than me. Mind you, that's not any fuckin achievement to write home about. My Aunt Doris used to ask how my career as a jockey was shaping up every time I went over there for family gatherings.
Small sense of irony like when her husband Uncle Derek (who we're not allowed to mention anymore) ran off with his personal trainer, Nigel. So they only jockey in the family was that cock jockey.
Fuck... Let's call him 5ft 10
Weight: He doesn't look fat but then he has got a kinda middle aged spread goin on. Umm, let's see... My Dad's a fat fuck and weighs about 21 stone... In American that's ... 21x 14 = 294? And he's not as fat as Da'
5' 10 is what? BMI of about 12st or summat... Let's say 14stone
14x 14= 196lbs
Rank: Ah, tricky one this. He's a Capt. According to him but that means fuck-all because he talks shite most of the time. Within the Etirath place he has no rank anyway so leave it at citizen.
Basic Appearance: He looks like someone pickled a tumour and then stuck a body on it.
He has a bottom lip that sticks out so far, I worry a fuckin pigeon might shit on it. His hair is fuckin dyed black but it's obviously grey underneath like. You can see it's fake as fuck because he's chosen fuckin Elvis style boot polish black an his complexion is like someone spilled flour on a ghost and then photographed it and the film got exposed to the light so came out all white.
His clothes are like a early 19th Century sailor with shiny black shoes with these fuck-off brass buckles on... Like Captain Hook off Peter Pan's shoes I suppose, and he wears these coats in red or blue felt... I made the felt up actually. Fuck knows what material it is. Cloth or some shit. He even sometimes wears a tricorne hat as though he's Admiral Nelson. I don't think he's ever been on a boat but he'll tell you how he circumnavigated the globe aged seven probably. Total bullshitter.
Combat Credentials
Combat Style: tricky. He boasts all kinds of martial proficiency but I reckon it's all crap. He shudders if a fuckin wasp comes near him. There's loads of stuff down here that he's meant to be able to do but in my heart of hearts I can't fuckin see it myself. 'An expert with a blade' prolly means he can butter his toast or some shit. He does have a gun so look out for that.
Abilities: Again, take all this with a pinch of sea salt (which he wouldn't recognise anyway) but it says 'sense of direction: impeccable' I mean fuck's sake, I wish his wardrobe was a bit more fuckin impeccable like. Shit clobber on every hanger. 'A master fisherman' - prolly fished his goldfish out to clean the bowl once or summat.
Y'know what? Fuck this sheet. I'll tell you what to look out for with this cunt. He's fulla himself. His confidence is fuckin limitless, like I think he actually believes all his bullshit. So to listen to him, you're gonna convince yourself he's for real like, y'know?
Weapon(s): Gun: A flintlock 1798 cavalry pistol. Fuck knows where he got it but somehow it works. Shit at any range as it's from like musketball times but he hides it in his coat and will stick you at close quarters. Devious little bastard like. He thinks it's clever, outwitting opponents like that. Underhand little twat.
A cavalry sabre, proper mint like. Silver handguard and all that shite. He keeps it in a nice little scabbard that he reckons he lifted from the King of Spain's corpse but I found a fuckin receipt to some discount costume store for '1x pantomime scabbard' so I'm onto the lying turd like
Gear: A pouch of gunpowder, a silver pennywhistle, a spare brass button, another pouch with several gold and silver coins inside. A spyglass (really shit one)
A compass (never opened)
Two maps that are good for fuck-all
A half of flatbread
A small silver flask of Rum (but it's really warm ale)
An eyepatch (for disguises)
A dead shrew named Brian
Background
Born in Edwardian Britain, Cornelius was the second son of a wealthy merchant from Portsmouth and his fat bitch wife. Honestly, you wanna see the portrait of this manatee like. I know they say the easel adds ten pounds but this easel musta been a fuckin acre big.
Anyway, maybe she wasn't a bitch, I was just bein a sexist fuck there so sorry and shit. But this bitch mollycoddles the little Cornelius whilst older bro Horatio was out to sea or helping their Dad count money or whatever. Horatio was dashing (not a homo) and Cornelius looked like a barnacle had shagged a sea slug and then that fat bitch had shat it out. And then sat on it. And farted. Twice.
An ugly kid. He read books and invented adventures for himself that Horatio was having in real life. Sad fuck. Anyway, it all came to a head one night in 17?? (someone spilt curry on the sheet there) when weird noises were heard comin from Horatio's quarters. Cornelius was about 14 by now and could have been forgiven for thinkin these sounds were fuckin sex-noises, y'know? Well, he got the shock of his fuckin life when he burst in and found Horatio balls deep in some big-titted slag whilst a slim redhead buried her face between his arsecheeks.
Sex-noises they were!
Horatio was disgusted his weird bro had interrupted the latest session but instead got the girls to tease the fuck out of Cornelius whilst he carried on hammering them. Cornelius had fuckin had it like! He barricaded Horatio in his room and lit a rag soaked in fuckin lamp-oil...
He woke up with terrible burns to his left arm which is scarred to this day and doesn't move proper cause the skin's fuckin elasticity or whatever burned off.
I dunno, but his folks cast him out for obviously trying to burn his brother and family alive. So he took to the roads of Britain. He travelled from Portsmouth to the outskirts of Portsmouth and back again over the next twenty years, ever found in some Tavern or Inn telling people of his latest voyage. He had his pick of the ladies; Blind Maggie with three teeth and a bald patch or Simple Sally who make animal noises and slept in the pigsty behind the old Belltower.
He preferred Sally until she got with child and 'fell' into the harbour to her watery fuckin grave. It was all well and good in the end as it turned out Sally was wanted for a number of serious crimes as there were notices around town declaring "Must Hang Sally!" And one after the preganancy came to light which added "Must Hang Sally: Now Baby!" Well, she was dead and gone so he guessed they'd better slow their "Must Hang"s down. They'd been appearing all over town.
I digress. The point is, ask anyone in Portsmouth 220 odd years ago and they're gonna tell you Cornelius was this notorious bullshit merchant. Well, merchant's son... Disowned son at that.
He made his living from cheating at gambling, double-crossing rival moneylenders so they'd off each other before he had to repay anythin. He was just a massive twat. His life was wasted and unremarkable and he died in his late fifties of dysentery in some back alley to be found by a bearded prostitute with one tit.
So his reappearance in this Etirath is wholly fuckin bizarre. But what do I care? I'm just his fuckin narrator...
Relations: All long dead, as he was.