In keeping with his namesake, Ganelon the Crow stood looming over the side of the Flying Rotsman's crow's nest, flashing a sly grin at the bustling deck below. Try as he might to keep his motives as inscrutable as possible, it was no secret among the crew that he had chosen to occupy what was easily the most unnecessary station on the entire ship just to avoid doing hard labor. Those who cared hated him for it, and he found plenty of time between his<span style="font-style: italic">rigorous</span>shifts of cloud-watching to taunt them from above as they slaved away for his sake, for he knew that the captain would never replace him while he still drew breath... not unless he found himself a new moniker, at least. Raising his spyglass in a gesture of mocking inspection, he called out to the ship's first mate.<br/><br/>"Oy!<span style="font-style: italic">Yagos!</span>Ye're gonna have te swab faster 'n that if ye be expectin' te keep up with the filth yer boots be trackin' all over our deck!"<br/><br/>Of course, the real secret was that he had only started calling himself "The Crow" a day before he had joined Captain Rotter's crew. He was a pale and skinny man with long, tangled black hair and a fascination with knives that many would describe as unhealthy - more of a snake than a crow, really, but with no reputation to match his face and a tongue more silver than any nobleman's cutlery, it was a simple matter to convince the captain that he was the perfect man for the job.<br/><br/>...He also happened to be very persuasive, though the silver blade replacing his long-severed stump of a tongue rarely helped with that. Pirates didn't care, but no honest man would willingly deal with a marked thief.<br/><br/>Leaning back out of sight, Ganelon let out a relaxed sigh and began to fidget with the thin stilettos tied to the ends of his hair, pondering whether or not it would be worth the trouble to grow a beard to which he could attach additional weapons. He had filled most available space on his clothes with blades of one kind or another ages ago, even going so far as to replace the bottom ends of his coat with a beautiful set that he'd picked up in the last port he had raided, which clinked together like bells in the wind as he walked around. That was the real benefit to his latest calling; there were so many treasures in the world just waiting to be claimed and nowhere near enough time for him to find them all by himself. Between sharing the wealth and sharing the crew's company, the latter seemed a greater price to pay - they would<span style="font-style: italic">all</span>be set for life if the Flying Rotsman got its hands on the pearl, and he'd never have to look at any of their ugly faces again.<br/><br/>Taken by a sudden and rare sense of obligation, he casually stood up and made an attempt to look legitimately busy. With any luck, it would inspire the ship itself into getting them all to their destination sooner.