Pirating came quite naturally to Storm Veritas, however fitting into the background was an undertaking all of its own.

Iron cannonballs... shit, it's like they cooked up this little charade just to watch me do my thing.

With a devilish grin, the long and lean traveler feigned a hint of fear as a captain walked by. He was reloading the cannon, pouring a healthy charge of black powder from a thick burlap satchel down the eye-slot, while his newfound "partner", a half-wit named Judd, or something equally stupid, waited patiently to roll the heavy ball down the business end of the cannon. This simpleton across the steel cannon from him was a bit bossy, but the older wizard let him have his moment. Storm refrained from explaining how easily with a flick of a wrist he could fire the cannonball through the mast of that other little ship on his own, with Judd's fat ass still gripping the ball like a pregnant woman massaging her baby.

"Almost done, just lemme get an even pack; we don't want the big boy to go flying off crooked!" The simple words were painful coming out of Storm's mouth, far beneath him in the grand scheme. He was, at his core, a politician, a silver-tongued con who much more often legislated his way to wealth, and used his abilities to cut corners.

Not today.

Today, he was one of them. He was dressed in tight-wrapped cloth himself - mostly browns and blacks, pulled taut as to not catch on any running hooks or swinging masts. The nasty clothes concealed his daggers by his hips, and allowed him to tuck a small pouch of assorted goodies under his left armpit. The clothes also stunk to high hell - a sort of blend of raw ocean funk and the sickening sweet smell of stale sweat. This helped him fit in; his normal clean shave replaced with a third-day brown and gray stubble. He didn't cut his hair, and refused to ruin his spectacular smile. Certain assets weren't worth risking in the grand scheme of things.

Today, he knew the little ship they raided held some particularly valuable artifacts. As a pirate he was only entitled to a hand's share - roughly one percent of the ship's total take - but as Storm Goddamned Veritas he would take what he wanted and kill anyone who tried to stop him. In all likelihood, he'd slip out with the grand prize - a pillowcase full of diamonds - and be a tuft of smoke before the rest of this crew of fools knew half the difference.