Under Review Captain Ashfoot

[Silvertongue Songfox]

Captain Ashfoot

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Intent
Ashfoot is the top captain in the Red Fleet, under Ironpaw himself, and is serving as one of the many leading antagonists in the Pirate Arc

Skills
Total Points Spent: 34

Physical

-Fighting Style: Cutlass [Veteran] (5)

-Endurance [Veteran] (5)

Mental

-Piracy [Master] (6)

-Sailing [Veteran] (5)

-Gunnery [Seasoned] (4)

-Large Unit Organization [Seasoned] (4)

Social

-Intimidation [Veteran] (5)

General Information
Age: 38

Species: Weasel

Biological Sex: Male

Pronouns: He/Him

Size: Large

Physical Description
A tall brutish weasel with hazel eyes. Wears standard seafaring apparel.
Inventory
His ship the Bloodwake
Personality
He is a savage beast that could hardly be seen as civilized
Strengths
Very strong physically
Weaknesses
Egotistical and maniacal
History ​

Ashfoot never had a choice. His first breath was drawn on salt air, his first cradle a hammock strung between cannon racks. His mother was a galley cook, his father a raider whose name is already lost to memory, slain in some nameless skirmish before Ashfoot’s eyes were even open. There was no village, no hearth, no life on land waiting for him. His world began and ended with the sea.

He learned to crawl across deck planks worn smooth by generations of boots, learned to walk with the sway of the waves, learned to speak in curses shouted above the roar of cannon fire. The only lullabies he ever knew were the creak of masts and the screams of the dying. By the time most kits were learning to fish, Ashfoot had already learned to gut one enemy and cut down another.

Violence was never a trauma to him. It was normal. Tradition. Life.

By his tenth summer he was blooded, wielding a knife in boarding actions, small enough to slip into gaps where grown raiders couldn’t follow. By his fifteenth, he had his first scar from a cutlass, worn as proudly as a badge of honor. When others balked at killing, he laughed. To Ashfoot, it was no different than harvesting the sea’s bounty — only the prize was softer, easier, and screamed more when you caught it.

When Ironpaw’s black-flagged fleet rose from obscurity to dominance, Ashfoot joined eagerly. He saw in the warlord not a master, but an ideal: the purest form of pirate, a beast who never questioned that the strong take what they want and the weak exist to be trampled. Ironpaw demanded brutality, and Ashfoot delivered.

The tale of his name is whispered like a curse. On the night the Bloodwake earned its sails, Ashfoot strode barefoot through the smoking ruins of a port town his raiders had reduced to rubble. Ash clung to his fur, painting his paws grey, and when one of his crew dared ask what he thought of the slaughter, he grinned with soot in his teeth and declared, “A fine beginning.” From that night onward, he was Ashfoot, and the legend only grew darker.

Ironpaw rewarded his loyalty with command. The Bloodwake became his instrument of fear, her crimson sails looming over ports like a bloodstain against the sky. Ashfoot’s raids were not about plunder. Not entirely, anyway. He took what could be carried, yes, but he left behind corpses, ruin, and the wails of the abandoned. To him, the true wealth of piracy was terror. Terror was power, and power was Ironpaw’s creed.

Other captains resent him. Chokra sneers at his bluntness, calling him a blunt axe where a rapier would suffice. Bloodsnout fumes at his recognition. Even Grubguts, in his gluttony, despises Ashfoot’s lack of indulgence. But none can deny his place. Ashfoot is Ironpaw’s favored general, his most reliable butcher. He has never failed to leave a trail of ruin in his wake, never failed to remind the coastlines why the Red Fleet is feared.

Ashfoot was born to piracy. He has never known anything else. And so long as his paws still tread the deck of the Bloodwake, he never will.