Spirit's Blessings, an old ship which carried Ames off on his adventure would have been sunken only a few months after it's departure. All aboard the ship would have been assumed to have been deceased as no one investigated the crashed known mercenary ship.
Eight years later, a middle aged man with grizzled hair standing at the head of a small sloop docked at the ports of Regalia. His outgoing yet crude demeanor would be all that would set him apart as he marched across the small sloop, ordering an imaginary crew as he worked roughly on manning the "ship". Coughing fits and a sudden burst of rage as he threw a flask across the empty deck spouting "Do your job monkey-brain!", he docked the sloop, tossing a single ten-piece regal to any who would try to approach him as he marched along.
Those watched as he stomped off, watching the back of his torn trench coat flutter along with the Autumn wind. A faded icon of a growling Bloodhound, scratched away from years of ware and tare, and oddly.. a hook attached where his right hand should be. Losing interest, any dockworkers watching him would continue on with their work, some though side glanced to view the sloop. Damaged and barely afloat, it would almost seem a danger to leave port in what was named promptly on the side "Driftwood"
Eight years later, a middle aged man with grizzled hair standing at the head of a small sloop docked at the ports of Regalia. His outgoing yet crude demeanor would be all that would set him apart as he marched across the small sloop, ordering an imaginary crew as he worked roughly on manning the "ship". Coughing fits and a sudden burst of rage as he threw a flask across the empty deck spouting "Do your job monkey-brain!", he docked the sloop, tossing a single ten-piece regal to any who would try to approach him as he marched along.
Those watched as he stomped off, watching the back of his torn trench coat flutter along with the Autumn wind. A faded icon of a growling Bloodhound, scratched away from years of ware and tare, and oddly.. a hook attached where his right hand should be. Losing interest, any dockworkers watching him would continue on with their work, some though side glanced to view the sloop. Damaged and barely afloat, it would almost seem a danger to leave port in what was named promptly on the side "Driftwood"
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