Rokkun
Tabaxi - Swashbuckler, Cannoneer, Diplomat
Backstory
Rokkun was once known among the floating markets of the Southern Jade Isles, he was the son of a renowned Tabaxi sea merchant and a human diplomat, raised among scrolls, stolen letters, and glittering coins with faces stamped from another age. Fluent in a dozen tongues and quicker with a blade than most were with their words, Rokkun had every advantage... and he squandered it all.
He became infamous as a charismatic smuggler and thief, broker of trades deemed impossible, and dealer in secrets better left buried. His crew trusted him... and feared him, and yet still yet follow him into the eye of the storm. One day, seeking to make a deal with a faction of merchants known as the Golden Circle, Rokkun offered a sealed crate in exchange for a map to a hidden vault beneath the sea. The crate, he had been told, contained relics, but what it held instead were cursed bones, remnants of a drowned captain, cursed by the sea gods themselves. Thus when the merchants opened it, madness overtook them. So too did it consume Rokkun’s ship and his crew.
The sky darkened and the curse lingered, causing everyone aboard to turn on each other, and one by one they fell at each others hands... only Rokkun survived. The fighting ended as fast as it started, like a flash of lighting in the sky. The deck was slick with brine and blood, and Rokkun could only look on at the bodies, former friends, men that trusted him dead in an instant. Their eyes hollowed, souls devoured by a curse not meant for them.
He was spared by the sea to suffer, and for what reason? Was it penance for the gilded life he chose to dismiss? Or had fate simply wished to watch everything he built swept away like grains of sand on the shore. He drifted for days, delirious, the voices of his dead crew echoing in his dreams, every wave reminding him of the betrayal he hadn’t intended, but couldn’t undo.
Rokkun vanished for years, his wearabouts unknown. When he resurfaced, he was leaner, quieter. His flamboyance was dulled, replaced by discipline. He never spoke of the ship he lost, only that he’d sworn to never again trade loyalty for profit. He bound his claws to purpose, gold had a hold of them once before, and the price he paid was not worth the outcome.
It took him a long time to convince himself he was worthy of joining a crew again, but his time came during a rainy night.
It fell softly, a gentle rain, unlike the storms he had faced before. It was almost melancholic, a soft breeze, a light drizzle, but still cold on the skin.
Rokkun's green coat was soaked through, clinging to his body, like the guilt that clung to his spine whenever he would watch ships disappear into the ocean. He'd pawned his last stolen trinket, enough money for passage out of the Old Sovereigns. His destination, anywhere, he didn't care, he just needed to go as long as his legs would still move forward.
He watched the ships roll in with the gentle waves, and thats when he saw her, striding in like a forlorn goddess.
The Emberwake, it said, emblazoned onto her hull. She was not the largest ship in the harbor, nor the newest, but something about it called to him. There was a mystique about her, a ship that reminded him of his own in years past, but there was a clear difference... she looked honest.
It docked, and the gangplank lowered. He stepped aboard without permission.
Some of the crew watched, others protested, and it was in that instance he saw a figure standing near the helm. A visage of what could have been, what he could have become. The half-orc stood in a deep green cloak, arms crossed, his eyes rumbling with the distant echoes of storms behind them. He didn't speak, only watched as Rokkun walked up the steps towards him, like a cat in the rain who didn't know what else to do.
“I’m not here to cause trouble,” Rokkun said, his spine trembling as he spoke. “I’m not here to steal your ship. Just… need a place to stand. A place to be useful.”
Arden didn't answer.
Rokkun kept talking, "I know cannons. I speak six languages, maybe more if you're patient. I can pick any lock, map any coast, lie my through any checkpoint, and if you want someone dead without knowing who swung the blade... I can do that too."
Still, Arden said nothing. Rain dripped from his beard, as he stared at the Tabaxi. Then, he finally reached to his side, and threw a rope at Rokkun's feet.
"Tie this," he said, stern, but no vitriol.
Rokkun blinked, surprised, "What?"
“Tie it. Reef knot, bowline, cleat hitch. Show me your hands know the sea better than your mouth.” Arden demanded.
With shaking fingers, Rokkun did as asked. His knots were quick, practiced, clean. When he looked back up, Arden was already turning away.
“You want aboard my ship?” he said, without looking. “Then leave your ghosts on the dock. You can bring your blade, your tongue, even your guilt. But if you run... or worse... if you lie to my crew... I’ll make sure you drown with your regrets.”
Rokkun stared. Then, slowly, he nodded. “Fair trade.”
Life on the Emberwake
At first, he kept to himself. He was polite, practiced, always helpful, but always at a distance. The crew didn’t buy it, especially Arden, who saw through him the moment they met and made him prove his worth. Rokkun obliged, anything to forget, to prove to himself that he had changed. He scrubbed the cannons clean and made sure every shot fired counted. When harsh storms approached, he would tie the rigging down without hesitation, face to the wind, storm and sea in his fur.
He kept low, kept quiet, did what he was told, but soon over months of hard work, people would finally start to take notice of him.
The walls he built would start to crumble away, and the silent faces of the Emberwake turned into people he would come to trust. Galli was the first to talk to him after Arden, with her he rediscovered laughter. With Kuoni, he would learn about stillness, something he was not accustomed to. He taught Lorelai sleight of hand, showed Lucia how to rig traps, helped Grahm carve whistles that sounded like seabirds. He argued with Zugzug like brothers might, sparred with Ryona to keep sharp, and once sang beside Galli with such rawness that even Vincent looked away. Rokkun kept a small journal beneath his hammock. What was written, nothing of great importance to most, just small things, kind gestures. A smile here, a shared drink there. Moments that he forgot were important to him.
There was a night he almost left.
A letter arrived from someone who once called him captain, offering a chance to reclaim his former life. He stood on the dock for hours, staring at it. Then Lorelai took his hand, and nothing was said. She just held on. Rokkun tore the letter up and scattered the pieces to the wind after some quiet contemplation. He didn't need to run anymore. He still carried his guilt with him, but it was eased, lightened by the sound of laughter, footsteps, conversation, even the sound of someone grumbling under their breath was enough. He made a silent plea to the ocean that night, if curses were real, perhaps so too were blessings, and he spoke the words, “If I fail them… then let the tide take me for good... spare them at least... because I was never meant to be saved twice.”
Now, he is many things to the crew. A thief, a diplomat, a blade in the dark, a smile when the fear sets in. He still dreams of the ones he lost, but at least now, when he opens eyes at dawn, he's not alone anymore. Every time he returns from land, he gives a nod, and smile to those behind him and simply says, “Let’s go home.”
“You make me laugh in a way that hurts. Like my heart forgot how and is trying to learn again. Promise me you’ll never change, not for anyone, not even for the world.” - To Zugzug
“If I don’t come back, promise me this... don’t remember the pirate... don’t remember the liar or the thief... just remember the man who tried… who finally... finally tried.” - To Galli if something ever happened to him
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