Thomas Pertz

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## Personality

The first impression one gets of Tom is of a goofy, gentle soul stuck inside a strong man’s body and, really, there isn’t much more to it. If you do the bare minimum, you will already gain his favor and trust. That trust is hard to break and, while he may forgive, he does not forget. Although in his childhood he was a shy, chubby boy whose voice one could barely hear, life forced him to change and, with that change, shyness gave way to confidence and maybe a bit too much hubris, which sometimes comes back to slap him across the face... maybe some day he will learn his lesson, but that day hasn’t arrived yet.

## Biography

If you hang out in the wrong taverns and bars that Fishers of... less than stellar repute love to gamble away their earnings, you’ll likely hear the tale of the Charred Angel after a good amount of ale has made its rounds. It used to be one of the most advanced research vessels of the Eastern Reach College of Engineering... and it wasn’t called that back then, either. It used to be called

The Unwavering Resolve. It was near 50 people strong, all commanded by the hand of Captain Alastor Bulwalk, one of the smartest, richest people on this side of the world. Rumor has it that, one day, they bit more than they could chew. Some say they found a memory deposit with such potent whispers that even the spireglass framework couldn’t hold the whispers back, some say that it was one of the foreign countries that sabotaged the vessel, others say it wasn’t the whispers at all, but something else altogether. Regardless of what really happened on that day, almost 30 years ago, of the 50 people that sailed on that ship, only a dozen returned... if you could even say they were the same people at all. They were all changed, unhinged, cruel. The Captain worst of all. He cut all ties with the College and society and became a savage pirate, not content to pillage the ships he encountered, but enslaving and killing their crews, too. That was how she got her new name. They twisted the ship’s spireglass research containers into using them to contain the Rising Souls of the people they killed, and used the energy of those souls to power the ship. And sometimes, those containers exploded. The base structural beans were always repaired, but much of the charred wood remained, and so the Charred Angel was reborn.

I was 13 years old when I first laid my eyes on her, and the stories didn’t do her justice. She was much more terrifying to behold than I imagined. My parents worked as cooks on a modest little ship called Heaven’s Hands and, since they had no other choice, they’d bring me along and put me to work as a deckhand. Needless to say, we were easily captured, the crew swiftly rounded up and, seemingly at random, picked apart. My mother threw a fit when they tried to separate me from her, so she was the first to go. A clean shot, really, a single bullet to the head, and she dropped to the ground. Two men hurried to grab a spireglass container from a crate nearby while another held my father back... only to have him follow her fate as soon as her soul was contained, then his joined hers inside that dreadful little barrel. At that point, I was so shocked

I couldn’t cry, I couldn’t scream, or do anything. I just stood there, staring at them. I remember hearing the rest of the small crew meeting their fates... most of them inside the containers, but a few were lucky enough to be drafted into their ranks. A tiny part of my brain wondered if they had simply forgotten I existed, and what a wonderful thing that would be, if only it was true. I didn’t know back then to whom the sound of approaching boots belonged to, but I’d come to recognize the voice that accompanied it as belonging to the very own Captain Bulwalk.

> "A little young to be up here, aren’t you, boy?"
>
>

For some reason that still eludes me, he took an interest in a plump, timid 13-year-old, and conscripted me. I found myself in a hostile environment full of mentally unstable people, explosions and death so, after my second broken nose, I realized I’d have to either stand my ground or end up tossed overboard. I like to think I did a good job on... not turning into a horrible person, I guess? Although I cannot take the full credit for that accomplishment, as I could hardly be considered a “good person” while I was there.

I stayed 6 years on that awful ship, and the crew loved to torture the prisoners, so we would never forget our place. We were mostly responsible for the cleaning and maintenance of the ship, but because I was always big, even before my fat inevitably turned into muscle by hard work and a strict diet, I was usually the one they’d grab to handle any manual labor. Sometimes they’d have me carrying a crate full of Rising Soul containers and I would wonder if my parents were still among those, their very essence made into energy fuel. More than once I almost crashed it into the floor in the hopes of just bringing the entire thing to the fiery demise it deserved. It still brings a smile to my face to think it did get the demise it merited, even though it wasn’t by my hands, not entirely at least.

Captain Bulwalk had set his eyes on a large vessel from Concordia called Sister Ann. More importantly, on the secret cargo it was rumored to be carrying from Vigilstow to Blackhill, a sample of a collaboration experiment between cities on the research of a supposedly stronger type of spireglass. Whether that cargo really existed or not, I never knew, but Sister Ann was no ordinary ship, and she had the most extraordinary of captains. Captain Charles Hemmel was a decorated military man, extremely religious and just and, unlike the Heaven’s Hands, his crew were all seasoned men, no stranger to dangerous situations.

The ambush was set and all preparations were complete, they would approach Sister Ann some time after she crossed the border to Concordia, in a particularly high and empty area just below the Memory Sea. The prisoners had been moved to a small cell block on the upper deck with ample view to the outside, as the Captain enjoyed having them watch the “operations” taking place. Our half masks were sorry excuses to keep us safe from the gas, but it was better than nothing.

The alarms sounded on Sister Ann as soon as we came into view from the Sea, but I guess no amount of training can prepare someone for the scale of the ferocity Captain Bulwalk instilled on his men. By using strong hooks and a retractable bridge connected to the nearest exit they could spot, they linked the two vessels and forced them both to a halt, using controlled explosives to force their way in. The element of surprise only lasted so long, and soon the scales of battle were swinging wildly. From our privileged position we could see when, like a bulldozer, Captain Hemmel’s elite force came out and carved a path of blood and sweat all the way to the deck of the Charred Angel, where a now slightly taken back Bulwalk had been barking orders at.

At this point, the heat of conflict had moved from one vessel to another, and the prisoners beside me where drinking on it, cheering and screaming, many voices rising in that way no actual words can be understood, yet their meaning was clear. Freedom was no longer a dream, but a possibility now. I’m not ashamed to say my voice was loud among them. A duel between two men dragged them close to our cells, and the military man pushed the pirate against the bars. I have no idea who was it, but one of the prisoners grabbed the pirate’s arms, locking him in place and giving the military man an easy kill. Jubilant cheers echoed as the pirate slipped to the floor, quickly followed by cries of help. The military man, who I later learned was Captain Hemmel’s second in command, Chief Mate Renoir Caron, took a second analyzing us, the poor souls crammed inside those cages and deemed us, if not salvageable, at least a proper distraction. With a swift movement he pulled out his pistol and shot the lock keeping the cage closed.

We busted out of that cell like a wrathful storm. It’s amazing to see what years of pent-up anger and frustration can allow a man to do with his bare hands. The prisoners accounted for no more than 10 men, but it felt like a stampede of a million souls, the memory of family and friends we carried with us. Just as Chief Mate Caron predicted, we ended up being the distraction necessary to round things up. As the pirates fell, we all came to the realization Captain Bulwalk was nowhere to be seen, until someone screamed.

> "The bellows! He went below deck to the engine room!"
>
>

Even though the warning was clear, only the prisoners and the few pirate survivors knew what was in the engine room. The two crates full of contained Rising Souls. We might as well be carrying a nuke, for all the destructive power they had. Captain Hemmel, his sword shining bright red, gestured towards us, as if he had been commanding us all along, and two men quickly nodded, bolting towards the stairs that led to the lower deck. I had no idea what I could do, but I caught myself following close behind them. The first explosion reached us as we cut a corner to the corridor outside the engine room. I was the first to regain my footing, and tumbled my way across the corridor as the vessel tilted abruptly to the left.

> "Thomas, my boy! Come help me here, apparently the Angel deemed fit to take one of my arms as down payment for a last service rendered!"
>
>

It seems that first explosion wasn’t on Bulwalk’s plans, as he wobbled his way through the destroyed engine room, his face and torso as charred as the planks and his right arm all but gone, pushing a crate of containers with his feet as he tried to balance himself. He was overloading the engine with soul energy. It wasn’t a matter of if anymore, but when would that behemoth of a machine explode.

He was a large man, you see, but I was stronger, and he was missing an arm, so when I walked up to him and shoved what was left of his torso down into that crate, he didn’t offer much in the way of resistance. The containers were a little sturdy, so all I heard was the clank of metal against bone... but I am nothing if not persistent so, by the third time I lifted him up and brought him down, I heard the first one crack. It didn’t explode, but instead released the souls inside of it. I watched those little yellow globes lifting up in the air, mesmerized, wondering if, finally, those souls would find peace beyond the Gates. A twitch of his body brought my attention back to the Captain, and so I resumed my bashing. I didn’t care whether the remaining ones would explode or simply release their contents. I was fine with either outcome, all I wanted was to keep bashing. I wager by the time one of them did explode, Captain Bulwalk was as close to death as you can getbefore being caught point-blank by a blast of condensed energy for the second time that day.

Somehow his body shielded mine from the brunt of the explosion, but we were both sent flying backwards, clashing against the growling engine. The blast made a hole on the already damaged left wall and the ship tilted ever further to that side, nearly capsized by then. I had hit my head against the metal and could feel the warm tingling of blood trickling down my neck, as well as the peculiar feeling that my entire lower body was simultaneously numb and on fire, but I paid all of that little regard, all I wanted was to savor the image of Bulwalk’s dead body slipping across the inclined floor, reaching the edge and being unceremoniously flicked away into the yellow nothingness outside through the hole. I was just about to stand up, starting to realize just how cold I was, when the engine shook the entire ship, and my body with it, but a strong, bony hand held me in place.

> "Good job, lad. I think it’s time we finally put the lady to rest."
>
>

It was Old Crow Carril, another prisoner who had helped me greatly since I was taken... maybe one day I’ll tell you more about him, but that’s a long story for another day. He helped me out of the engine room and back to the main deck, the engine’s screams growing louder as we made our way back up. Captain Hemmel was almost done evacuating the Charred Angel, predicting what we were approaching him to say. When he questioned us of Bulwalk’s whereabouts, I shook my head - With any luck, by now his body is a few thousand feet closer to the ground and his soul is being barred from the Gates. - That seemed to satisfy him, as he gave us a short nod and bid us join the rest of the prisoners aboard Sister Ann.

We hadn’t safely cleared the blast radius by the time the engine let out its last breath, but it had been just enough. The explosion propelled Sister Ann forward and cracked some of the finer glass windows, but it was nothing her sturdy hull couldn’t take, and I watched the Charred Angel light up in flames from the infirmary, tilting it’s nose down as it dove below the clouds, leaving thick gray smoke on it’s trail. I later heard Captain

Hemmel ordered one of his men to calculate her downfall trajectory. We were flying above mostly mountains but a crashing ship, specially one of that size, was bound to make some noise, and Hemmel knew there would be things to be salvaged from the wreck. I stared at that trail of smoke for a long while with such a relieved heart I thought it was going to flutter off to join the souls that escaped the blast, now lazily floating higher and higher up.

Soon enough, the Captain rounded all the new prisoners and former prisoners up. The surviving pirates would be faced with charges that ranged from piracy to first-degree murder, but he announced we’d all be dropped off to our fates when the ship stopped for emergency repairs on Erith Cross. Throughout the descent my relief began to turn into worry. What “fate” was there for me? Being left alone in a foreign land without a dime and no knowledge of any trade other than being a deckhand... and barely even so. That was when the biggest of my many stupid ideas came to me and I, of course, promptly acted on it. I asked the Captain for an audience, which he surprisingly granted me quite fast after we docked, considering the amount of issues he was now dealing with. Issues I used to my advantage. He had lost the better half of his crew with the attack and there I was, a strong and willing body that asked for nothing more than a bed to sleep on and two meals a day, and maybe one or two painkillers for a couple of weeks. It was a good deal for me, given the circumstances, and a great one for him regardless of them.

"How old are you?" He had asked. I was 19 at the time, but I almost lied in fear of my age being seen as inexperience. I’m still glad I didn’t, as Captain Hemmel did not handle liars well, much to their dismay. When I told him how long I had been aboard the Charred Angel, I could see his eyes doing the math. I held his gaze as best as I could. I knew I was being measured and I could not afford to be found wanting. "You realize your time in both ships prior would have to be officially recorded? The Concordia Fisher Administration and the Parliament care little what your title aboard a ship is, prisoner or first mate, after you stuck around and served her for such a long time." I nodded without knowing full well what that statement meant. One problem at a time.

And so, just like that, began the best 3 years I’ve had in a long time. I was officially hired as a cadet when we reached Blackhill and spent my early time learning how to deal with the fact half the people I met thought of me as much a pirate as those who once held me captive. After a while I stopped trying to change their minds. It didn’t matter, I knew the truth, and so did Captain Hemmel. Sister Ann mostly did missions up north, going from its home port in Blackhill as far west as Pentastrum, but we hardly ever ventured south. Concordia had other vessels for that, and it was just fine by me. I would have been aboard when she disappeared, had I not been ordered to stay.

A week prior to leaving on a mission to Arcanhelm (mission whose details I was not privy to), I had gotten a terrible flu, the whole package, fever and all. What I did I knew was that they were to recover a cargo and meet with an escort ship after reaching the West Crossing on the way back. The Captain deemed me a risk to the trip, since they didn’t know at the time if it was contagious or not, so he ordered me to stay on Blackhill. They had made contact a few miles into the West Crossing after meeting with their escort but, after that, there was no more news neither from them nor the escort airship that was supposed to accompany them.

An investigation was carried out and for months they sought her out high and low, but it was as if Sister Ann and her escort had simply vanished into thin air. Eye witnesses on Arcanhelm confirmed seeing both ships bound west, but they soon disapeared in the sky, and that was the only trail they could follow. Meanwhile, I ended up using most of my savings to conduct my own investigations, in places I knew from my time on the Charred Angel... places not worth mentioning here. Either way, that investigation held little to no information as well and, after about 7 months, the whole thing was archived. Needless to say that hit hard for me.

Captain Hemmel saved my life, in more ways than one, and those people were as close to a family as I had, and now they were gone, and I was alone again. Soon after the Concordian Admiral in charge of Blackhill’s fleet booted me out. Let ́s say he had more than a few bones to pick with me, some warranted, most not so much, and leave it at that, but he made it awfully hard for me to find a job over there, so I ended up having to cross the border back to the Eastern Reach, hoping to find more opportunities here. I found an odd job here and there, but nothing really stuck. At some point, I figure I might as well try for a Fisher’s license, considering I already had experience on the Memory Sea.

## Trivia

* The first time he took the Mental Fortitude test, to be able to travel with his parents aboard the Heaven’s Hands, he was 13 and scored 934
* Addicted to Caffeine
* Feels very comfortable lying
* Was born in Cardengate, where until recently he was making an effort to try and track down any living family members he might have there with the use of private investigators, however so far he has had no luck, as apparently his parents changed their surname when they moved to Eastfall.
* Is prone to turn every account of an event into a story, and he seems to have a story for everything, everyone and everywhere
* Has a crossed scar on his chest that is a mockery version of the flag the Charred Angel flew, two crossing swords, but one of them is broken. The actual crew had it proudly tattooed on their skin, but the prisoners the Charred Angel took over the years would get deep wounds carved on their flesh to mimic it.