Approved Captain Mudspit

[Silvertongue Songfox]

Captain Mudspit

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Intent
Mudspit is a captain in the Red Fleet, serving as one of the many leading antagonists in the Pirate Arc

Skills
Total Points Spent: 15

Physical

-Unarmed Combat [Seasoned] (4)

-Endurance [Seasoned] (4)

Mental

-Common Tongue [Unskilled] (0)

-Large Unit Organization [Proficient] (3)

Social

-Intimidation [Seasoned] (4)


General Information

Age: 23

Species: Rat

Biological Sex: Male

Pronouns: They/Them/It/Its

Size: Small

Physical Description
A small malnourished rat with barely a shirt to his name, with wild untamed grey eyes.
Inventory
His Ship, the Frogscum
Personality
A quiet beast who has nothing to say, his true personality has yet to be gleaned from beyond his constant gold, uncaring gaze.
Strengths
Skilled in combat
Weaknesses
Can not speak the common tongue. Requires a translator proficient in reptilian language.
History ​

Mudspit’s tale does not begin with birth. No beast knows where he came from, nor how he survived his youth. His story begins with a rescue.

A pirate raiding party once blundered into the territory of a savage frog tribe deep in the marshes. The frogs descended on them with spears, croaking war cries that curdled the blood. In the chaos of the retreat, the raiders stumbled upon a sight they would never forget: a rat, young and feral, crouched among the frogs as if he were one of them. His body was streaked with mud, his throat croaking nonsense in eerie mimicry of his companions.

They seized him as they fled, half in pity, half in disbelief. He should have been torn apart long ago, yet he lived, fattened and cared for in the heart of a bloodthirsty tribe. Why? No beast has ever uncovered the truth. Mudspit himself gives no answers.

At first, he was treated as a jest, the crew’s wild foundling. They shoved a plug of chewing tobacco into his maw for sport, expecting him to choke. Instead, he chewed. He spat. He drooled brown froth onto the deck and grinned through it, his eyes unfocused and unblinking. They named him “Mudspit” in cruel mockery, and the name stuck. The habit stuck too. To this day, his jaws never seem to stop working, lips and teeth stained with the reek of chew, spit hissing between them like swampwater.

He was mocked, cuffed, laughed at. But when blades were drawn, laughter turned to unease. Mudspit fought without hesitation or mercy. He leapt and struck like the frogs he had grown among, indifferent to screams, uncaring of blood. To him, pain meant nothing.

Every rise in station should have killed him. Each new responsibility was meant as a cruel joke. Yet he survived every mockery, every test, every “promotion” meant to see him fail. In time, Ironpaw himself took notice. The warlord found the frog-rat amusing, and perhaps useful. And so, to the disbelief of the fleet, Mudspit was granted command of a ship.

Thus the Frogscum crawled into being. A sloop as battered and strange as its captain. Against all odds, it remains a functioning vessel, thanks less to Mudspit’s guidance than to the grim competence of the crew forced to follow him.

Mudspit is a fool by the standards of the Imperium. He babbles “frog wisdom” that makes no sense, fills his quarters with frog-shaped idols and jars of swampwater. Yet beneath the bumbling dimness lies something colder. He looks at other beasts the way frogs looked at him: without pity, without kinship, without care. To Mudspit, every beast is prey, obstacle, or curiosity.

Other captains of the Red Fleet mock him. They sneer at Ironpaw’s jester, laugh at his croaks. But when the battle-horn sounds, their laughter falters. For in battle, Mudspit does not hesitate. His orders may be nonsense, but his cruelty is absolute. He fights with the alien savagery of the marsh, and he leaves survivors only by accident.

 

[Dusk Rainblade]

Approved!