Post by surrealximagery on Dec 17, 2007 21:39:40 GMT -5
Blackwood had taken up a sort of residence amid the populace of the islands. He could be found in any one of a hundred taverns, in any one of the many gaming hells, a painted tart at his side, a pistol in his hand. The man turned up like a cursed doubloon, one moment he was no where to be seen the next he was simply there an observer to whatever chaos and clamor seemed to follow in his boot tracks.
No one questioned where Julian found his money, regardless of how destitute his clothing, or how scraggly his appearance he always had a purse tucked safely within his shirt with which to afford the necessities of life. And life required only three things, Women, Rum and Ammunition. The women were prostitutes, well endowed, free of disease and the best of the lot in any port. The Rum was negotiable, if Rum was not to be found any liquor or ale would do, as would a variety of opiates. Ammunition, he tended to rely on his blades more than his bullets and a brace of perfectly balanced and razor sharp throwing blades crossed his chest or were kept in reach during even the most intimate moments.
Julian had fallen prey to the wiles of the flesh, the demon in the bottle and the blades of his adversaries. He'd sacrificed those once drawing room perfect good looks, an evil scar cut through his brow and down his cheek the injury had taken his right eye. His health was far from prime, he'd survived the wreckage of three ships and a shark attack in the Mediterranean. He steered clear of the cold northern climes now, choosing to offer his services only close to the equator.
For all his shortcomings, those physical and in his character he was still the best d**ned navigator any Captain would be lucky to find. His eye was keen, his instincts unparalleled. He could draw you a map to the Indies on the back of a harlot and never once run you into so much as a shallow. He was dangerous with a pistol, and lethal with a blade, even half blinded he was ten times deadlier than most. Very possibly because he believed he had already died twice and been returned, so he had no fear of those dark waters. If push came to shove and he was forced to strap himself to the wheel he'd steer you through any squall or storm the devil could throw his way. And the women that shared his bed...he might not be as pretty as he once was but something about Julian Blackwood had nightingales in every port of call fighting for his attention be there coin or baubles in it for them or not. He could charm a working girl into forgetting her fee if he so much as decided it was his wish.
He was a very dangerous man.
No one questioned where Julian found his money, regardless of how destitute his clothing, or how scraggly his appearance he always had a purse tucked safely within his shirt with which to afford the necessities of life. And life required only three things, Women, Rum and Ammunition. The women were prostitutes, well endowed, free of disease and the best of the lot in any port. The Rum was negotiable, if Rum was not to be found any liquor or ale would do, as would a variety of opiates. Ammunition, he tended to rely on his blades more than his bullets and a brace of perfectly balanced and razor sharp throwing blades crossed his chest or were kept in reach during even the most intimate moments.
Julian had fallen prey to the wiles of the flesh, the demon in the bottle and the blades of his adversaries. He'd sacrificed those once drawing room perfect good looks, an evil scar cut through his brow and down his cheek the injury had taken his right eye. His health was far from prime, he'd survived the wreckage of three ships and a shark attack in the Mediterranean. He steered clear of the cold northern climes now, choosing to offer his services only close to the equator.
For all his shortcomings, those physical and in his character he was still the best d**ned navigator any Captain would be lucky to find. His eye was keen, his instincts unparalleled. He could draw you a map to the Indies on the back of a harlot and never once run you into so much as a shallow. He was dangerous with a pistol, and lethal with a blade, even half blinded he was ten times deadlier than most. Very possibly because he believed he had already died twice and been returned, so he had no fear of those dark waters. If push came to shove and he was forced to strap himself to the wheel he'd steer you through any squall or storm the devil could throw his way. And the women that shared his bed...he might not be as pretty as he once was but something about Julian Blackwood had nightingales in every port of call fighting for his attention be there coin or baubles in it for them or not. He could charm a working girl into forgetting her fee if he so much as decided it was his wish.
He was a very dangerous man.