image [https://i.imgur.com/OaumVIk.png]

Life aboard Ye Ol’ Marigold, Valgur’s prize ship, was no place for a child. Picaro was not schooled in the ways a traditional youth ought to be. He did not learn a trade save cooking and lock picking, nor work in merchantry. In fact, he often robbed them.

He was made a man amongst unsavory figures, each with their own fatal flaw. Men who shouldn't be around children. The discipline he received depended on the particular crewmate and his brand of justice. Before he was fourteen, Picaro had been beaten, burned and nearly drowned. And, with each interaction, he learned who of the crew he could trust, who to avoid, and who he wanted to kill when the time was right.

Some days, the boy wished he had stayed in Squal Parlor. It all felt like a dream, now, some bygone fantasy of family he thought he once had. He forced any thoughts of Oyster or his mother out of his head lest he cry and sink the whole ship. Besides, where would he go? They were quickly half a world away, it seemed, and who would take him in now? Even so, what could he hope to do? He knew how hard it was to survive on the street, and working a trade meant forcing himself to do something he likely didn’t want to.

He was quick with his hands and his eyes and his feet, but that scarcely allowed him to sit still. He only felt calmed by the sea, only felt comforted by the rocking motion of the boat, for it made sure he was in constant motion without having moved at all. And he was a free man now, truly free. He ate what he wanted, did what he wanted, and went where he pleased so long as it served the needs of Valgur's ambition. So he accepted the balance, however slanted it might be.

Yet Valgur was not a father figure. In his own way, he did care for the boy or he would never have taken him aboard his ship. He tried to impart wisdom where he could. But, a savage pirate’s idea of life principles only goes so deep. If it didn't concern money, strategy of war, or pursuit of power, it held little use on the ship. The captain checked his men who were exceptionally harsh to the boy, though sometimes he felt the punishment was deserved. It was his job as captain to keep the loyalty of his crew, and that went both ways.

The ship's cook, Onion, was perhaps the closest thing Picaro had to a father figure after Oyster passed. When Valgur assigned him to work in the galley, he and Onion spent a lot of time together preparing meals. Quickly, their relationship grew. Onion was jovial, often seemed carefree, and he had a way of getting Picaro to laugh. The galley was the only place Picaro felt like he could be himself. Onion liked his drink, too. But, when he was good and sober, he taught Picaro to cook, and he also taught him how to handle a knife. After years in that kitchen, Picaro picked up many knife tricks he would keep with him for the rest of his life.

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Picaro had to learn another skill necessary to thrive as a bandit on the high seas. Grit, the chief mate, taught him how to fight. They spent many a morning boxing and wrestling together. While Grit was not a tall or large man, he was tough as nails, and a devastating striker. He taught Picaro proper footwork to become a fighter, and they sparred with increasing ferocity as Picaro grew older.

Picaro’s natural affinity for thieving made him a protégé in that arena. He learned nothing from Scuttle, the ships' master thief. But, he quickly surpassed him in lockpicking, becoming the best lock pick aboard the Marigold. And so, early on Valgur felt his investment in the boy had paid off. They looted many a frigate together and stole many a treasure bound under lock and key.

Despite this, Picaro was a tool Valgur wished to hone and control. As the proceeding years showed, any relationship that budded between them was merely a byproduct of the nature of their work. What made Picaro a priceless asset to Valgur was his mastery of stealth. He often needed someone to move quickly and quietly past lookouts, patrols, and into small spaces the men couldn't get to. Picaro became a company rogue beside Scuttle, and it was Valgur's dream to turn him into an elite assassin who would strike fear into any who crossed the high seas.

Though, it never came to pass. The boy lacked true nurturing, and as he grew up he became reserved and guarded, distant and resentful of his station in life. Ideas started to form in his mind. With them, he bided his time, waiting for a true opportunity to present itself. As Picaro became more his own man, he shrunk back from the crew, keeping to himself more and only doing what was necessary to keep him out of the captain's bad eye. He still showed loyalty and respect when it was due, but that was all.

To the common man, he was an unruly teenager, apathetic and distant. When truly, Picaro was watching, learning, and waiting. Despite the adventures he took part in as a crewmate, the riches he spent and the artifacts he found, Picaro’s greatest desire was to forge a new life once again. This time, one that was all to himself, not dependent on another person. For to him, people only let you down, and anyone who didn’t always died in the end.

It all came together that faithful night when he stole Valgur's prize amulet, stuffed it in a cannon, and fired it onto shore where his accomplice, Klason, waited for it. Then, it was to be sold to a mysterious buyer in Colossadune, and Picaro would use his earnings to make a new life for himself somewhere. Where that was, he was not yet sure.