Seized the Maiden's Kiss during a raid on a Sporesworn smuggler's cove east of Fort Valiance. The ship's former captain betrayed them at sea, summoning an avatar of a forgotten sea god. Reevanthara killed the captain and defeated the entity, claiming her dominion by right of conquest and will.

Leads not by command but by example — first into the fray, last to leave. No map, no divine favor, no mercy. She trusts instinct over charts and sails toward the horizon where lesser captains fear to venture.

A mysterious Water Genasi found adrift in a sealed glass bottle during a moonless night, consciousness barely flickering. She has no memory of her origin—no name, no past, no face in her mind's eye. Yet she possesses an intuitive understanding of machines, runes, and the deep equations that bind metal and magic.

Sheldon believes she is a “Living Fragment of the Deep Equation,” a being woven from arcane theory. She maintains the Maiden's Kiss with obsessive precision, building devices that shouldn't work but do. She feels the ship's heartbeat and knows when it suffers.

Age 60. Maintains crew records, maps, celestial charts, and an extensive index of sea myths and eldritch anomalies. Works closely with Marée, puzzling over the ship's impossible architecture. Holds night watches because “the sea dreams loudest when no one listens,” and he listens with the patience only a Tortle can muster.

Believes the Maiden's Kiss may be more than a ship—an arcane vessel of old, stitched together from forgotten blueprints and elder magic. He seeks the truth in whispered winds and star charts, leaving cryptic notes for the crew to find.

When the party claimed The Maiden’s Kiss, the dying captain dropped a tattered black tome—stitched in sharkskin, etched with coral script that shimmered under moonlight. Theobald picked it up. He didn’t mean to keep it, not at first. He was just going to study it. Just a peek. But the book opened of its own accord.

That night, he dreamed of cathedral spires beneath the sea, of golden leviathans singing in dead tongues, and a tide that pulled not water—but memory. Since then, his spells have changed. New power thrums behind his voice. He thinks it’s a gift from the sea—an echo of the god the old captain tried to call. But he doesn’t know its name. Angharad, the Bound Abyss, has begun weaving tendrils through Theo’s soul.

As Quartermaster, Theo tracks the ship’s stores, trade goods, contraband, and cursed relics—even items no one else realizes are cursed. He handles strange tomes, deciphers arcane symbols etched into the ship’s timbers, and occasionally speaks in tongues while dreaming. A master manipulator and smooth negotiator, Theo speaks for the crew when rum meets ink and contracts need crafting.

The LAST surviving original crewmember. Joined decades ago under Captain Dorrin Kley, who pledged his soul to Angharad and led the crew into darkness. Drog pretended to be dim, shuffling through the galley with vacant eyes while he observed, listened, and survived the cult’s slow corruption spreading like rot through the ship.

When the new crew overthrew the cultist captain, Drog welcomed them with a smile and a ladle. His stews change flavor based on the ship’s emotional tone—fire-bright when the crew hungers for battle, honeyed when joy is needed, black and bitter when loss weighs heavy. He is mother, elder, and keeper of secrets.

Nonbinary (they/them). Born under the Storm Altar, raised by coastal druids of Thrymr in tide pools and sacred groves. Joined the pirate vessel Leviathan's Mercy seeking freedom and found only blood. Left adrift after a deadly raid, drifting toward the Maw of the Abyss, Rynesh felt Angharad's call—a siren song of power and dominion—but resisted, clinging to their humanity.

Now they seek redemption by healing coastal settlements ravaged by piracy and eldritch horror. Carries a shard of blue coral from the Deep and speaks in poetic riddles. Their moods shift like tides, gentle one moment and storm-fierce the next. Violence is their last resort, but when it comes, it comes like a gale.

Speaks ONLY in mimicked voices—dead sailors' last breaths, sea shanties sung centuries ago, cultic prayers, the screams of the drowned. Orphaned when a deep-sea leviathan attacked his flock, leaving him alone in the dark waters. A thunderous alien chant saved him that night, a song so ancient and powerful it burned itself into his soul. That song now lives inside him, waiting to be sung.

Sees the thing before it sees you. Peers through a broken spyglass held upside-down. The crew learned to trust his prophecies after the seventh time his warnings saved their lives. He collects shiny trinkets and bloodstained maps. In his voice lives every voice he's ever heard.

Born in Brightwater's Clovewhistle Quay among ledgers and longshoremen. Learned the art of barter before he could read. Was framed for smuggling Dragoblom artifacts in Scuttle Cove by a rival merchant—a frame so perfect he almost believed it himself. Freed by Rynesh’s intervention, though he paid interest on that debt for years.

Now a free agent with a reputation for impossible logistics and a memory for debts that would shame a merchant prince. Always barefoot—“The deck tells you more than any compass.” Carries leverage instead of weapons and calls everyone “friend” until proven otherwise.

Born in the gutters of Highhold Port, where survival meant quick hands and quicker judgment. Became a professional duelist—the kind who can disarm an opponent without spilling blood, humiliate without killing. Someone he loved died because he hesitated in a moment that demanded action. He has sworn never to let indecision cost a life again.

Quietly enamored with Alyrila, though he hides it poorly. His fingers twitch when he lies. He never claimed to be brave, only willing to act when it matters. His soft-spoken politeness masks an observant mind that misses nothing.

Born in pearl-lit Lunathiel beneath moon-touched waves. Has lived under five different names and been courted by three nobles—whom she robbed blind. Possesses “social gravity,” an irresistible allure that makes people want to trust her, follow her, give her everything. Joined the Maiden's Kiss under a false name, but the crew caught her. She dropped the act, and they kept her anyway.

Always in control, always playing a game, always keeping a diary of alibis. Mirthful with a edge of guilt. Knows Damian loves her and cares for him in her complicated way, though love is a language she’s still learning to speak.

Born of noble blood in the Sapphire Trench sea courts, raised in bioluminescent halls and ancient stone palaces. Joined pirates at 13 out of boredom, won her own ship at 17, lost everything to a massacre by Angharad cultists. Cried out to the sea in her rage, and Angharad answered—lightning whispers now in her breath, power now flows through her veins.

Wields “Tidecleaver,” a drowned empire relic that drinks deep. Has complex rivalry with Reevanthara—respect mixed with heat. The tension with Alyrila swings between flirtation and genuine hostility. She is loud, magnetic, reckless in her loyalty, and secretly a worshipper of the very god that destroyed her life.

Nephew of Pirate King Grib Sharptooth, banished for being “too entertaining.” Three feet three inches of vivid green skin, patchy pirate garb with hidden compartments, and four stolen rings that chime as he moves. His boots squeak like frogs, a sound he refuses to replace. Ship's chaos engine—he knows the right song to calm panic, the right joke to distract nobles, the right moment to snatch a coin purse.

Guided by impulse, led by whim, contagious laugh that’s saved lives in tense moments. Plus-nine Sleight of Hand and unreliable to friends in equal measure. The crew never knows whether he’ll save them or sell them, but the odds are usually good enough.

Until a week ago, Cervantez lived a quiet life in a small Thalassian coastal village, fishing and hauling rope on merchant skiffs. His father—a veteran sailor-mage stationed at Silverwatch Haven—taught him the practical arcane arts: rune-etching, arcane sealants, enchanted harpoons, and ward-binding. Not academy magic, but survival magic—the kind that keeps ships afloat and crews alive.

When the Iron Covenant struck Silverwatch Haven with ruthless precision, Cervantez arrived the morning after to find the city still smoldering. His father’s body was never recovered—only a salt-stained brass insignia pulled from the rubble. Three days later, a sealed command from the High Court of Thalassia ordered him into service aboard an external expedition. He expected a relief crew. Instead, the Maiden’s Kiss arrived, and its scarred crew came ashore asking for him by name.

He boards carrying his father’s broken insignia, a personal arcane toolkit, and unfinished schematics for a storm-compass. His magic is humble and hands-on: charm-etched nails, arcane lashing knots, tempest wards, and runic chalk-lines. He is not a master—he is a working-class mage of the docks and waves, driven by grief, duty, and the need to make his father’s teachings mean something.