Barnabe Olden

## Biography

### Personality

Olden is a quick-thinking, smart and educated mechanic who is lighthearted but likes to display an image of seriousness that is well beyond his own attitude in order to inspire leadership and prevent people from knowing that most of what goes on in his head is silly. His passion is aquatic vehicles, although his thirst for knowledge extends to everything that is and isn't currently explained by science.

Barnabe Olden, having grown up in a peaceful island on the South Blue, never developed a particular rage against a certain group or individual, but did start holding a grudge towards the Flint Pirates since the arrival of (then-captain) Gurthorn.

### Relationships

Barnabe tends to be secretive and methodical. As such, he prefers reinforcing existing relationships than creating new ones more often than not, making him a good ally to have, but hard to get out of his shell.

* No existing relationships to date

### Backstory

*I’m Barnabe G. Olden, known as "Gearfrenzy" by some and called "Gearhead" by those who have a death wish, a young robotics enthusiast who is fascinated by the way everything works: ships, watches, weapons, but also people, plants and animals.*

Quick learner but a little goofy, lighthearted but thirsty for knowledge, my best friends are Archibald, the smartest Scribe Owl I’ve ever met (but always hungry, both for meat and attention) and Kip, another kid from my hometown of Capea in the South, two years younger than me, but a better archer than I'll ever be.

Four years ago, barely a month before my seventeenth birthday, a seemingly old man on a raft drifted to Crabcastle Beach, just an hour's walk north of Capea. He seemed dehydrated and hungry, but immensely imposing and strong. Naturally, Kip and I offered him water and food. No words came out of his mouth, yet he seemed thankful. After his last bite of a mutton chop that Kip clearly overcooked, tears rolled down his eyes as we watched him in disbelief. "I... I..." Words seemed to choke at his throat, trapped in the a cage of emotions that would not let them go. After further glance, I determined that he couldn't have been much more than forty. His thin, rugged face stared straight at the ground until, finally, with no anger but infinite sadness, he stared at Kip and I: "I wish you would have let me die."

Shocked, we listened to his story, interrupted by the sobs of a broken man. The man was a marine, Captain Lance Gurthorn. On a fleet of three warships lead by three vice-admirals, six-hundred marines pursued the infamous Flint pirates, a group of bloodthirsty pillagers that targeted, for five years now, small coastal villages, robbing them of all their wealth, rounding up the villagers, killing those who resisted and, once they were certain that everyone was accounted for, that all the citizens were dead or tied up in their home or the town hall, they torched everything, leaving no one alive.

Their leader, the self proclaimed Baron of Flames, had a special ritual. Every time his ludicrous bounty increased, he would seek out the highest ranking marine officer he could find around him and challenge him to a duel. At the end, when the monster who had bested so many would win, he would stuff his newly printed poster in his foe's mouth, drench the marine in a special mixture they called "Snail Oil" and light the paper. Snail Oil burned slow and cold, without smoke, so the marines had an agonizing, long, terrible death. As Flint and his band walked away from yet another victim, the screams of death would accompany their retreat, like the gloomiest of hymns. After an especially gruesome massacre was reported, three legendary Vice-Admirals, all brothers, learned about their family's demise. Blind with rage, they demanded help from their commanding admiral, who refused to intervene, as there were talks to use the Baron of Flames as bait to infiltrate the Buccaneer’s Council of Eight, the most redoubted and powerful outlaw organization ever created. Disgusted, the Mauvyon brothers, Alvid, Owen and Merrick, each prepared their warship, rallied their most trusted men and set sail.

Two weeks ago, Gurthorn told us, the fleet gained sight of the Flint pirates' leading ship, the Searing Chains. A chase started that lasted six days, the wind never in favor of the marines, as if some presence was there to discourage them. On the final day, a storm raged. As a testament to the madness of grief, the three Vice-Admirals ordered their men to board the Searing Chains. Four hundred marines were lost to the sea, drowned both by the waves and under the maniacal laughter of the Uther Flint, captain of a crew of devils incarnate. With the warships broken and his leaders slain in combat, Gurthorn woke up the next day bloodied and worn out, holding to a piece of drifting wood amidst a calm sea and a warm sun. For ten days he laid on his raft, idle, contemplating death... until we carried him and made him eat.

By the time he was finished, Kip and I were silent, glistening tears framing our faces. As one, Archibald, Kip and I cried. We understood his distress, the horrible feeling of despair as someone realizes that they are not powerful enough to protect those for whom he cares so much about. The next day, Gurthorn worked at the village, helping the citizens with construction work and any task that required strength. Built like a bull, he was able to lift practically anything. What happened that day is what made me join the marines.

Ten years prior to Gurthorn’s arrival, a dispute erupted between Capea and Piceau, the neighboring village, over which citizen would be allowed to fish in the river separating the two towns. After the chief of both towns agreed that during half the year, Capea would have the fishing rights and during the other half, Piceau would hold them, a noble family, too proud to give up their obsolete views, attempted to overthrow Piceau's government by capturing the mayor. Hearing wind of this conspiracy, Tresdin, Capea's blacksmith, lead a group of militiamen against them and exiled the nobles, restoring peace. Banished forever, the nobles roamed the seas as the Cloth pirates, named so after the old family's seal: an intricate embroidery with many colors and folds, perhaps to conceal all the lies it was founded upon.

At sunset, having finished the first of 12 days of labour, which would earn him enough to pay for a trip back to marine headquarters, Captain Gurthorn came back to Kip's house who offered to feed and shelter him. At sunset, at an hour's walk north of Capea, the Cloth pirates' ship was landing on Crabcastle Beach, where we found the Captain near death a day before, ready to exact their familly’s vengeance. What followed was told to me by Kip, who stalked Lance as they were both walking to the shed behind Kip's home to bring back wood for a fire. Gurthorn saw the pirates charging towards the village and, seeing their weapons drawn, rushed towards them. The details seem to change every time the tale comes out of Kip's mouth, but one thing always remains the same, Gurthorn's fists thundered on the Cloth Pirates and, like a monsoon of rage and desire to protect, put a stop then and there to their foul plan. The next morning, the mayor agreed to lend Gurthorn a ship in order to deliver the captured pirates to his superiors. That day, I left with him, knowing that my adventure was only beginning and that I’d found a mentor. It has been four years, yet I still look up to his bravery and remember that being a hero isn't always being able to protect those we hold dear, but rather to never shy away from the opportunity to do so.

Here I am now, an official engineer for the navy. My resolve is stronger than ever, but the routine of ship engine repair and other technical work is starting to become boring. With a thirst for discovery, freedom and adventure, I volunteer to embark on a ship for Pollia, in the Great North. Next step, the unknown!

## Inventory

#### Backpack & wallet content

* 1 pouch with basic tools
* 50 gold coins