Captain Fidley

Blast and damn, just when interest picks up I have to leave the country! I'm going to be gone for around two months, sorry.

[OOC]

It had been a long journey, and Dusty had been unprepared for the wide and forsaken wilderness that spread before him. With little more than his hard hat, a pickaxe and his trusty spade lashed onto his back, he had braved it anyway. He was young and foolish, after all, with that particular streak of invincibility that seemed to infect the youth. Years working in the mines of the Blackhorse Hills had inured him to the fear of death. After seeing so many accidents and losing friends, he had just stopped caring about it. He'd accepted a simple truth adopted by many of the mining ponies- that there was a time and a place he would pass, and there was nothing he could do about it. He hadn't expected to die in the desert, though. A cave-in or gas explosion, sure. Nice and quick. But the baking heat of the daytime and bone-rattling chill of the night, draining him until he simply collapsed? Never. He had cursed himself a thousand times for being too proud to ask for advice or for help, too foalish to take charity when it was offered. "Celestia help me." he wheezed, sinking to his knees and staring up at the merciless sun. "I swear on the sun and the moon, if I ever get out of here I will never be prideful again." The bedraggled, dust-streaked stallion muttered to nopony in particular, racking his throat for enough spit to finish the oath but finding none of it. The desert was silent, save for a thin moaning wind coursing through some distant canyon. "Blast and damn." Dusty muttered, "Like that old oath would do a damn thing." He squinted at the horizon, looking for anything that could be his salvation. There! In the hazy blur of the mirage! Was it a building? No, a town! A whole herd of buildings! He felt his spirit returning, and enough energy for one last hope. Slowly and painfully he pushed himself back to his feet, and trotted towards the image. ---- The doors of the Rhinestone Quarry slammed wide as an emaciated and dust-streaked stallion staggered through and collapsed in the entryway. The bundle of tools on his back slipped off and skidded across the smooth floor, fetching up against a table. His yellow hard hat likewise skidded into the bar. "Waaaater." the stallion moaned in a rattling-barely there voice, reaching upward with a forehoof as if supplicating a deity. Then he collapsed, his eyes rolling closed and his tongue hanging out.

"Researcher" is a little vague. Is he a historian, archaeologist, geologist, surveyor, astronomer, etc etc? There's plenty of ways to narrow down what he does and expand the character in doing so. Your mention of him enjoying frugal conditions reminds me of the stories my grandfather told me. He worked on petroleum exploration teams in west texas and had some great yarns about working out in the boonies.

Obviously the four ponies of the apocalypse, imprisoned long before luna.

It certainly looks good, and what an awesome image. I linked the profile of the captain and airship below. viewtopic.php?f=33&t=346

"Stormalong's what I'm called." the bosun grunted, throwing back the rest of his mug and tapping the bar for a refill. "Keep it coming, son." "You must be a snipe." Stormy said simply, taking another pull from his fresh mug. "You've got a faint whiff of coal dust and lube oil about you, though that might just be that foreleg of yours. I hope it ain't pryin' to ask where you came by it? I've never seen the like in all my years." [OOC]

It had been a long time since Bos'n Stormalong had made port in Rockwington. Talonopolis had eclipsed the sleepy city of artisans as a main hub of trade decades before, and with the railroad there was little reason for the great merchant airships to call anywhere else. But the Cap'n was mixed up in something big, and the Venture went where the Cap'n willed, and Stormy along with her. He was pleased to find one of his old haunts still existed. The tiny grog-shop in the central marketplace was dirty and poorly lit, but the location was incredible for Griffin-watching. Stormalong considered himself to be a fairly good judge of history and character- it came with the business of being the senior rated sailor on the ship. Which explains why he was intrigued by the female who came walking up the sidewalk. She was tearing into a bass steak like it was the first real food she had eaten in years. Maybe it was. Her bearing was stiff, her walk prideful. Common amongst a proud race like the Griffins, but Stormy had hung around enough ports and dodged enough press gangs to spot military a mile off. Fresh off the boat, perhaps, given the wary readiness in her eyes. Then he saw the gleaming steel leg and knew for sure. The naval crest embossed on it was clue enough. Definitely a veteran. he thought. "Hey, Navy!" he called, standing up from his spot at the streetfront bar. "Buy you a drink?"

It had been a long journey, and Dusty had been unprepared for the wide and forsaken wilderness that spread before him. With little more than his hard hat, a pickaxe and his trusty spade lashed onto his back, he had braved it anyway. He was young and foolish, after all, with that particular streak of invincibility that seemed to infect the youth. Years working in the mines of the Blackhorse Hills had inured him to the fear of death. After seeing so many accidents and losing friends, he had just stopped caring about it. He'd accepted a simple truth adopted by many of the mining ponies- that there was a time and a place he would pass, and there was nothing he could do about it. He hadn't expected to die in the desert, though. A cave-in or gas explosion, sure. Nice and quick. But the baking heat of the daytime and bone-rattling chill of the night, draining him until he simply collapsed? Never. He had cursed himself a thousand times for being too proud to ask for advice or for help, too foalish to take charity when it was offered. "Celestia help me." he wheezed, sinking to his knees and staring up at the merciless sun. "I swear on the sun and the moon, if I ever get out of here I will never be prideful again." The bedraggled, dust-streaked stallion muttered to nopony in particular, racking his throat for enough spit to finish the oath but finding none of it. The desert was silent, save for a thin moaning wind coursing through some distant canyon. "Blast and damn." Dusty muttered, "Like that old oath would do a damn thing." He squinted at the horizon, looking for anything that could be his salvation. There! In the hazy blur of the mirage! Was it a building? No, a town! A whole herd of buildings! He felt his spirit returning, and enough energy for one last hope. Slowly and painfully he pushed himself back to his feet, and trotted towards the image. ---- The doors of the Rhinestone Quarry slammed wide as an emaciated and dust-streaked stallion staggered through and collapsed in the entryway. The bundle of tools on his back slipped off and skidded across the smooth floor, fetching up against a table. His yellow hard hat likewise skidded into the bar. "Waaaater." the stallion moaned in a rattling-barely there voice, reaching upward with a forehoof as if supplicating a deity. Then he collapsed, his eyes rolling closed and his tongue hanging out.

So are we making a Griffin military, sky pirates, etc, official? This is very interesting to me.

The plan is for him to drift into the Gulch and settle down for a spell. I'll update it when it happens.

I did my best to add some of that. What I'm trying to go for is a "man with no name" sort of concept. Obviously a gunfighter wouldn't fit the rp, so I'm going with a miner. Not so sure how to express that in terms of personality. Guess he's quiet, with a spine of iron.

[ Pony Related Character ] Name: Dusty Spade Gender: Male Age: 20s Species: Earth Pony Pelt Color: Pale white, when it isn't full of dust. Mane/Tail Color & Style: Gold-flecked black Eye Color: Gold Cutie Mark: A Spade Physique: Rangy and thin, like he hasn't had regular meals recently. Residence: Currently a drifter Occupation: Miner Motivation: Digging holes. Really big holes. Technical holes. Character Summary: Born into poverty in Trottingham, Dusty never knew his parents. He grew up in an orphange and spent his youth playing the the backyard sandbox- until his increasingly intricate tunnel network caused a near-collapse of the foundations! To pay for the damages and to learn some self-control he was apprenticed off to a master miner in the hill-country to the east of the great city. He outgrew his youthful rebelliousness during those long hard hours deep underground, replacing it with quiet determination and a sense of professionalism. He doesn't talk much anymore, and when he does its in a low growl. Now he has finally paid off his debt, completed his apprenticeship and tied up all his loose ends. He sets his sights on the West, where he's been told there are riches to be made and opportunity to be grasped. Equipped with little but his hardhat, light and trusty shovel he sets off on the road...

Much like your car, passenger cars have a simple alternator driven off of one of the axels. I also saw the lamps in the train as oil lamps, which are adjusted by changing the length of the wick with a small wheel.

Amongst the bustling commercial docks of Seasaddle Bay there is a small and cozy tavern, well-known to the sailorponies who find themselves making port here. The tavern looks like a ship built for land, with brass-framed portholes and dark, weathered wood planking that looks like it has seen a thousand storms at sea. A ship's mast sprouts from the vaulted roof, colorful signal flags streaming in the wind. To the landsponies they're just colorful decorations, but the old salts of the harbor know their meaning- "Seaponies eat half-off". An old, hand-carved sign swings above the door, flecks of ancient paint visible if you look hard enough. Inside, the tavern is warm and bright, festooned with nautical flotsam and jetsam. Life rings off dozens of ships hang from the walls, old nets and strings of bouys drape the ceiling and an entire ship's wheel hangs above the roaring fireplace. The tavern smells of weathered wood and ocean spray, mixed with a hint of a rich kelp stew bubbling in the kitchen. The proprietor is wrapped up in the middle of an old sea story, "chewing the fat" with some young sailors off one of the trading ships. "...and that's how I fought off the dreaded kraken!" he finished with a laugh, ignoring the incredulous stares of his two guests. "Two beers on me lads, for payin' attention to an old wreck's tale!"

Dang Ashi, you're running at "All Ahead Full" tonight

[ Pony Related Character ] Name: Old Foghorn Gender: Male Age: Definitely grandfather material Species: Earth Pony Pelt Color: Stormy Gray Mane/Tail Color & Style: Deep Blue streaked with white. Eye Color: Blue Cutie Mark: A three-pronged trident Physique: Old and wrinkled, though sprightly for his age. Residence: The Bilgewater, a tavern on the waterfront of Seasaddle Bay. The Fairwind, his creaky old kelping schooner. Occupation: Kelp Farmer, Tavern Keeper Motivation: As a youth he sailed on the great trading ships, seeking adventure and wealth. Now in his old age all he wants to do is sleep in a warm bed and keep his tavern. Likes: Kelp Salad, beer, warm fires, the sea-shore, telling long and drawn out sea stories Dislikes: Loud noises and "newfangled" music. Character Summary: An ancient in every sense of the word, Old Foghorn is a real sea-pony. He's seen things you wouldn't believe, and if you buy a few beers he might just sit down and tell you about them. His tavern is about as nautical as they come, and while the ship docked outside doesn't look like much, he swears she's as sound and seaworthy as the day she slid down the quay. He still takes her out every now and again to harvest the crunchy kelp fronds he serves in his tavern and brews into homemade beer in the backyard.

If you want technical information about firefighting I recently completed my Shipboard Firefighting training and the info is still fresh in my mind. Let me know what you want to know.

Canterlot may be the best place for this.

[ Creature Related Character ] Name: "Stormalong" Gender: Male Age: Past middle age Species: Griffin Eye Color: Dark Blue Physique & Colors: Larger than your average griffin, very fit and well muscled from a hard life and a sailor. His face is wickedly scarred on the right side, as if from a claw. His coloration is much like that of the American eagle, though his forelegs are heavily tattooed with swirling tribal marks. Residence: Airship Venture Occupation: Boatswain (Bosun) of the Venture Character Summary: Stormalong has been a sailor and a vagabond for a very long time. Born to unknown parents in Talonopolis and raised in a rough-and-tumble orphanage, he sailed on his first ship as soon as he could fly. From there hence he's followed the call of the sky, rising to the lofty position of Bosun through long and hard-won experience. He's obviously seen good times and bad, and some folks tend to misjudge him based on the marks a hard passage through life has left on his body. Beneath all that he is fatherly and warm, whilst still being able to flip to being the stern authoritarian persona required of a ship's bosun. He has quite a temper when roused, however, with a quarterdeck bellow that can pierce gales. (Bout time I did this all official-like, the bosun is quickly becoming my favorite. Forgive me for omitting the likes and dislikes section, but I feel they are redundant, given a good character summary.)

Wait, so the ponies have a train, complete with engine, but its being pulled by 4 other ponies? Seems odd to me.

[OOC]

"I hope not either, since I told him that if he was gonna lose it to do it in the bushes." Stormalong said, frowning. "I don't take to ordinary sailors not followin' my orders. Tell you what, I'm going to track him down." He found Tiny in the backyard, drunkenly draped over the huge root of a tree and completely insensible, though thankfully clean. "Hellfire." Stormalong spat. He'd have to carry him home now. "Scuse me, ma'am." he said to Willow Wisp back inside the house. "By any chance have you got any line layin' about? The boy's not going to make it home under his own power so I'm obliged to rig a tow."

Specifically my main Character, Captain Fidley. (Profile linked in sig) Ideally I'd like to see him wearing a classic captain's hat and smoking a pipe. He should have a certain gravitas to him, being an old and serious individual.