REVOLUTIONARY - William Sparks

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WILLIAM SPARKS

[attr="class","about_1"]PERSONALITY

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Personality is Personal

[attr="class","about_1"]HISTORY / FREE FORM

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History is written by those who remember you.


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But William Sparks? He's forgettable, a true gentleman in nature Sparks grew up among the noble families of a now nameless island. A nameless isle, that was where Sparks grew up, he remembers it distantly now you see. He remembers the scent of hot dough in the kitchens, rising as the yeast bloomed to life. He remembers running in the family fields with the dogs and the ponies and the scent of manure despite how much his father scolded him.

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He remembers being groomed for the marines and regaled by the tales of Pirates. His father? Scribbled out, sewn shut. His mother? A brooding woman best left forgotten to the annals of history. But the marines and their justice? They came for him, the boy who sewed with his maids and they marvelled at the precision of his hands, the wonders of fabric that he spouted with a wrist flick. They told him he would make a fine marine, that he'd lead their fleets one day, the way his eyes moved and traced the stitches. A fencer perhaps? A sharpshooter? Nay.

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Young Sparks did not care for the Justice of the Marines. 

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Young Sparks did not care for the Tales of Pirates.

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Young Sparks only wanted to sew.

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But the Marines did not like that such talent would go to waste, they dragged him kicking and screaming from his home and how he cursed. He cursed and he cursed! They kicked him and beat him, told him to practice fighting with the sword! But swords were big and clunky he couldn't use them! He needed something delicate, something precise and eventually the marines listened. Their blacksmiths made him weaponry, threads woven from the finest steel, blades forged in the brightest fires. Ugly things. Tools of War.
 
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Was this a Marines Justice? 


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Young Sparks looked to the skies, as he trained and he fought time seemed to tick away in his head. The stars that were laid out in front of him formed patterns in the quilt of the sky. They glinted and he could see, he could see how they spun the compass of the world. He read the charts and learnt the stars, the threads of navigation were revealed.
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But something else was wrong in Ol' Spark's head. Something didn't tick so right. A thread that wasn't properly woven into place, frayed by years of being beaten and trained for combat. Marine rhetoric spouted at him - day in and day out. This justice? Flawed, there was no justice in beating children. No justice in what these marines taught. Freedom? Freedom was hidden in the sky. 
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Where you came from is forgotten if nobody remembers you.
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A single marine was found the next morning. He was known as the cruellest of all the instructors, a terrible man who displayed some rudimentary degree of Armament Haki. He beat the children with an iron fist and left terrible bruising.
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His shirt was torn open.
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Words written in thread sewn on his chest.
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"The Spark of Justice is Gone"
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Bill sat in a bar, two needles gleamed at his hips. The lime-headed man outstretched a hand to the person opposite him.
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"Bill, I would like to join the Revolutionary Army"
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Your Fate Sews History
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LIKES: Stars, Sewing.



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DISLIKES: Brutality towards Children, Slavery and the Marines.


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OCCUPATION: Navigator | Tailor



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PRIMARY ATTRIBUTE: Perception

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HEIGHT: 6"4'