Rhagfyr Llyw

From a small village with a long name, Rhagfyr managed to escape the doomed island of Anglesey after it was cursed and quarantined with all the inhabitants turned to viscious husks.

Having created a life for himself as a pirate captain, with his first mate and confidant, Carys he's led his small fleet to great success and has a fearsome reputation along the French, Spanish and Portugese coastlines.

They have moved up to Dornie with two ships, the Pysgod and the Sglodion and entered into a working arrangement with Lucien and the Rowntrees. The Pysgod remains docked in the harbor, going out to patrol nearby waters for threats on a regular basis and prepared to defend the town. The Sglodion is more rarely seen, spending most of the time away at sea with Lucien's ships.

An elemental Mage, Rhagfyr fully embraces this aspect of his life, incorporating it as something of a philosophy to his existence. He does not fear magic, not is he particular about other Mages or their doings, as long as they do not interfere with his plans.


Full Name: Rhagfyr Llyw
Age: 27
Hair: Brown/Blond
Eyes: Blue

Status: Alive
Occupation: Pirate Captain
Origin: Welsh
Allegiance: Rowntree

First Seen: Not Alone
Last Seen: None

Description: Captain Llyw is a tall, wiry figure, appearing to be in his mid to late twenties with a lean and hungry look of dangerous pensivity. Theres a sense of surety in his posture and bearing, speaking of confidence and determination, tempered by a wry amusement which seems to be the natural state for his expression. He is in excellent shape, clearly no stranger to labour and carrying himself with a fluid grace.

His long, handsome face is generally coated with a day or twos worth of brown stubble while his brown-blond hair is kept relatively short. A deep set brow over sea-blue eyes, a long nose and wide lips before the angular cut of his well defined jaw.

He generally favours thick, long coats with rear-splits for ease of movement over practical and worn clothing. Despite the casual dress, the trinkets and small touch adornments seem to imply that he could do better if he were so inclined.

He has a clear voice with a faint but definitely present Welsh accent to it. Whenever possible, he travels armed with a well cared for longsword slung in a scabbard at his left hip and a finely crafted firearm holstered at his right.


  • Gerraint Llyw Presumed Dead — Father
  • Bronwyn Llyw † — Mother

Portrayed by: Ryan Gosling



Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch’s militia leader and his wife tried for years to have a child. Herbal remedies, consulting with travelling alchemists or those who would peddle potions of dubious origins, praying to whatever Gods might listen, but all of it began to seem futile. A proud man, Gerraint had built up the militia from a rag tag band of lazy good for nothings who could barely hold off an angry dog into a fearsome fighting force that kept the settlement quiet and peaceful partly by reputation alone. He yearned for an heir to oversee his legacy, to make his mark on the fallen world in some small but lasting way. They had almost given up hope, with Bronwyn’s healing magic having failed and the endless rejection becoming too much to bear, but then were gifted with a rock, obtained by their friends from a traveller.

Nine months later, Rhagfyr Llyw was born, to much rejoicing. Gerraint loved his wife, accepting the powers she had while never being perfectly comfortable around them when she was working with the townsfolk and was initially terrified when Môr-leidr Bach, Rhagfyr’s familiar showed up out of the blue next to the crib. After the long haul in getting there however, he took it as a sign, a blessing, a shift in his paradigm that would forever change his outlook on magic. Bronwyn on the other hand was all too delighted, seeing her own legacy in infant form.

He was most certainly his mother’s son, from a young age veering away from the discipline and sensibility of his father and being capricious and fickle. He had, however, picked up that natural leadership quality that made his da so successful and was soon turning it to counter purposes to what the militia stood for in leading other children of the town into trouble. It’s not that he was spiteful or a bully, or vindictive but simply failed to see why rules should apply to him, or anyone. Do as thou wilt, was the whole of his law, causing no small amount of friction. Nor did it help when he learned that look. The one that made him the subject of whispered tales instead of jovial anecdotes. The look at took people’s breath away. Not that he hurt anyone with it, more a sudden winding. Analogous to a slap in the face which would end argument. Only once did he use it on his father during the most bitter of arguments and he could not lie comfortably for a week afterwards. Even with this side of him, people found him hard to dislike for any length of time.

Gerraint believed he was seeing a light at the end of the tunnel when Rhagfyr began to show interest in the Militia. Attending training, asking all the right questions, showing interest. In truth, he had snuck off with his friends to an adjacent village where a traveller had brought film and showed Captain Blood, inspiring all manner of dreams of life on the high seas. Still young enough to not have fallen to cynicism about the future he began to take up sailing with the fishermen as a hobby, while learning to fight. He could still picture the effort and hard work as a means to a future career in swashbuckling rather than protecting the town from its enemies. There was also the respect and leeway granted the militia members which was something he could abuse in order to do what he wished with less consequence.

Rhagfyr was out of town when the box was discovered, having left with a patrol along the coast but then snuck off to sail with one of the fishermen. He didn’t see the events that transpired. The excitement as the town gathered to collectively put their skills to work in releasing the treasure was missed, as was the horror that followed it. Returning to the fold past dark, he’d hoped to sneak in. There was terror as he came to the edge of the town and saw his father upon a horse, storming down the road toward the next village. If only that had been the worst event that the evening would serve up. Having learned by now to channel the element of air into his feet, he hopped up into a tree and from there to the roof of the first house into the village to avoid notice. In later times, he would wonder if his father had been cursed or was fleeing the effects of it. Whether if he’d been forthright and made himself known, if he could have escaped too, as he never saw the man again.

From his new vantage point, he planned to sneak back to the house, return to bed and avoid any argument about where he’d been while he was supposed to be on patrol. It quickly became apparent that there would be no such acrimony. The view provided was a sickening sight, with the streets leading onwards dressed in corpses and painted in blood. Instead of the rumblings of laughter and faint songs from the tavern, there were only the hoarse screams of those who still had not yet succumbed to their injuries.

Already armed and equipped for the patrol he was supposed to have been on, he began to hunt for survivors from this attack. There was a fleeting moment of hope upon seeing a group on the other side of the next building, defenders undoubtedly trying to save people from whatever monstrous creatures were invading. The glimmer was quickly snuffed, when the thatched roof of the house fell to the flames within, illuminating a number of the villagers with glowing yellow eyes, feasting upon his mother as she tried still to drag herself away. The paralysis at the sight was followed by such a terrible cold feeling of detachment as he put a bullet through her eyes from the rooftop and fled off into the night, abandoning anyone else who may still live to their fate.

With friends in neighbouring villages, instead of wisely taking to the mainland, Rhagfyr began to make his way north across the island and noted more now the yellow eyes on horseback that were spreading from Llanfair in dribs and drabs but all in specific directions; toward the other settlements. Hiding from anything and everyone that came into view, for fear of the unknown, the journey over to Hollyhead took the better part of a day after he’d found a place for necessary rest for the evening in the hollow of an old tree. Every scene was the same. Packs of the Eyes, tearing down the life of the island. The horror became overwhelming, sick to his stomach with the sense of loss as he ventured back toward the bridges that might take him to the mainland and something that resembled normalcy.

If only it were that easy. When things seem as though they can’t get any worse, there’s always a way. The bridges in flames and barricaded, Rhagfyr climbed up on one of the supports to view the straight. All of the boats, gone and the water an ugly shade of red. Across the water a series of signal fires and men with guns, taking down each and every person that tried to cross. Not that there were many by now, but the floating corpses, bobbing along on the tide were telling enough.

The following weeks were an endless scramble to survive; picking up supplies from towns where able and securing himself a small tiny island in the Llyn Alaw after fashioning a makeshift coracle to get out there. Safety and seclusion. The world as he knew it, gone and for all he knew, maybe the mainland would succumb to the same and there would simply be chaos. No dreams, or ambition would matter now, only survival.

That was until his familiar, Môr-leidr Bach while flying ahead in approaching a ruined settlement, picked out a girl, battling for her life. The eagle had retrieved some of her arrows, but she was all but done for. Spurred to sudden action at this unexpected event, something to hold on to, Rhagfyr lept forward, bounding up to her perch with his magic to defend her from the Eyes; battling them down before taking her away to the safety of the miniscule island kingdom he’d claimed for himself. Having been convinced that there was nothing left, he now found a partner who he’d seen but always overlooked. Never again would he overlook her, in favour of anything.

In becoming close, finding one another, there was a change in attitude that felt as though it was rewarded some time later when they spotted the ship. The icing on the proverbial cake, a turning point. When approaching the best vantage point to watch the vessel close in, they discovered a rag tag little crowd had also survived from different corners of the island, drawn by the promise of escape. Rhag’s familiar was the one to note that the approaching longboat was heavily armed when the vessel finally dropped anchor, and Carys and he both tried to persuade the others to wait before rushing to perceived safety. Driven to extremes by all they had seen, they could not resist and ran down to the shore with arms raised in greeting. Death became their only reward and a call for no survivors during the looting of the island.

With just two other cautious types, they bided their time before overpowering the sentry and taking the boat back out to the larger vessel. Threats, promises of freedom, the look and a couple of the skeleton crew thrown overboard managed to secure them the ship for themselves. The Pysgod. With just barely enough people to make a journey, the urgency of the situation led Rhag to push forward with his magic and bring airflow to the sail of the vessel so they could hurry away. Little did they know that Diego, the mage who had left the box to curse the island as a prelude to securing all its wealth was still ashore. Nor did they realize that the very box that caused all the trouble had already been retrieved and was hidden away below decks. Most critically, they were unaware of the curse levied against the stern of the vessel from the rage filled mage on the shoreline.

What a turn around. Perhaps all those whimsical daydreams could possibly come true after all. A ship of his own, a — no, /the/ girl, an admittedly lackluster crew and a sea full of promise. Ireland was the first stop, trading from the hold of the ship which marked them as already wealthier than they would have dreamed and well equipped too. Supplies obtained and ready hands recruited to fill the ranks, they set forward to secure their future. Heading south, away from the reminder of their lost home was the initial choice. Piracy was something of an accident, despite Rhagfyr’s flights of fancy. Falling victim to the scourge, the vessel was viewed as easy pickings and yet the crew came together and overran the enemy. With the prizes secured from their aggressor, it seemed an all too obvious choice to follow along this path.

Working out of Jersey, as a home port, the crew grew and expanded over the successful years of raiding France, Spain and Portugal. With enough experienced deckhands, they picked up a second vessel and then a third. Feeling as though he was truly living the dream, it was inevitable perhaps that the past would pay a visit and that curse which had been levied against them would demand its due.

The giant wingless serpent, referred to by those with knowledge of such legends as the stoorworm began to harry them, drawn onwards by that final farewell from the shores of Anglesey. The massive beast, patient and calculating began to obstruct their efforts. Just after crewing the fourth ship, it was reduced to scattered timber by the creature. Another of their vessels fell victim a month later. When followed back to Jersey, their home port was decimated and the support group they had fostered and built up choked and burned up by the toxic fumes from the serpent’s breath. At this point, it was clear that they could not remain in these waters and with all that they could carry in the remaining two vessels, they fled north in search of a place to hide and recuperate and perhaps one day figure out how to destroy the stoorworm.

A savvy group now, many had heard of Lucien Bassingthwaighte’s exploits and it was suggested that the pirates head toward his home port and perhaps arrange shelter there in return for some kind of arrangement to pirate on his behalf. With the Psygod and the Sglodion still in fantastic shape and well armed, Rhagfyr and Carys were both keen on perhaps spending some time on land once more and taking a breather with one another away from the constant battling and organization, the latter of which is never part of the pirate romance tales. A proposal was cobbled together, based on knowledge of their destination whereby one ship would continue to pirate while the Psygod would offer to protect the town and patrol the local waters for the most part; of course they would not give up piracy for good, but it would perhaps become infrequent as they delegated duties. After so much chaos, the chance to take stock and savour what they had accomplished was an alluring prospect.



Rhagfyr believes himself a legend in the making. Still subconsciously clinging to those romanticized childhood dreams of being a pirate king. In many ways, he sees himself to have already reached his goals and is now simply expanding them. There’s that illusion of the great adventure that his life has become, which clouds his thinking. While it’s true that they have accomplished so much after their tragedy, in the larger scheme of things it is not so major. To Rhagfyr, such opinions are the result of jealousy. He has made it and couldn’t care less about anyone who will suggest otherwise.

Rhagfyr has three things that he truly cares about in the world, in order of importance they are Carys, Himself and his ship, the Pysgod. He may not fully admit it to himself, but all his accomplishments and goals are spurred on by his love for his companion. The carefully crafted grandeur his gift to her. Their world and everything they knew was destroyed, and now he will forge her a new one from the fragments of childhood fantasies and an Errol Flynn movie where she is not the only survivor of a horrific cursing, but a pirate Queen.

While he may come across as arrogant or at times obnoxious, he considers himself to be honest (even if he does have a way of twisting words around to make honest statements cut like a knife) and in an ideal circumstance he will insult others and they will still thank him for the privilege. Honesty and truth are not interchangeable here; he will call someone out on false statements and reward them with an insightful - painful truth (some would say an insult). However, when it is up to him to /tell/ the truth, he is far more miserly and skilled at crafting lies and falsehoods. Secrets, knowledge and opinions are all valuable and he is loathe to part with them for no gain.

He’s also fickle and prone to fits of capriciousness, but he doesn’t appear to hold grudges. An insult thrown his way may be laughed off, or met with immediate reprisal but soon enough the incident will be forgotten about. Only Carys is aware of the mental list he keeps of those who have wronged him who will all, at some point, get their just desserts when they least expect it. An exception to this would be if someone were to hurt or unduly insult Carys; he’s well aware that she can take care of herself but such actions are a surefire way of getting to the top of the shit-list.

Confident, he’s often flashy - even the manner in which he fights is tailored towards looking good while doing so, yet he doesn’t show off simply for the sake of it. He gives people a taste of the legend, something to tell their kids about how they once say Captain Llyw of the Pysgod. Of course, not everyone cares and he can accept that. It’s an indicator that the opinions of those people count for significantly less.

The past has made him hard, in many ways, despite the jovial face he puts forward. It’s more difficult to care, more challenging to feel disgusted or disturbed by events after what they’ve seen. Carys, in many ways, is a lifeline to his humanity which might otherwise have been lost. He’s able to see things through her perspective (figuratively speaking) and finds a comfort in that despite what he himself has lost.

He is not, however, a stone cold killer by any stretch of the imagination. His enemies and those that cross him may be supporting roles in his dream of greatness, but ideally he will show them mercy and they may live to tell the tale. This has led to him gaining more than one long term nemesis over the years, but that simply adds to the adventure, doesn’t it? He will kill if necessary, justified by whatever circumstances he feels sufficient if there are no alternatives. It’s past the point where he dwells on such things, his personal code is what stays his blade, rather than wallowing in remorse after the fact. When it comes to injuring, maiming, beating, cheating, lying, stealing, these things are all part and parcel with the life he’s chosen.

His magic is something of a defining point to his existence too. He believes that his mercurial existence is in no small part due to his connection with the element of air. The wind, figurative and literal, is always at his back since he is tied to it and responsible for directing it. Whereas previously he was blown through life, struggling to get a grasp on events, now he /is/ this driving force to shape his own future. The magic allows him to do that. There’s a faint sense of superiority, although it’s more of an internal smugness than an overbearing attitude toward others. The source of his confidence and savvy. He revels in it, and accepts it wholly.


Rhagfyr is tied to the Element of Air, although he’s not been truly trained as a mage and has instead stumbled through. His mother’s magic dealt with nature, plants and her herbalist talents and her approach to it was a spiritualist one that Rhagfyr could never quite come to terms with. To him, it’s a connection, a calling so that when the breeze brushes his face it does not go past him but is simply a part of him, an extension of his being. While he is unable to create air, he can will it from existence proving the old adage that it is far easier to destroy than create. Manipulating the flow and density of the air is also within his purview. He feels as though he is, in some way, composed of the element in another form and has been striving to embrace this, to become one with the air, although to only limited success thus far.

Mor-Leidr Bach (Little Pirate) in his fox form.
  • Breath Stealing. Destroying Air, basically, to inhibit breathing. Not able to cause death. Can cause choking and discomfort. Can also use upon non-living things, such as to put out fires by starving them of oxygen. At present, the range is approximately twenty foot. The effects are immediate, as the air is destroyed in the lungs and around the head and with concentration this can be maintained for now for up to around ten seconds. Not quite enough to knock anyone out but long enough for the panic to set in. He generally keeps it quiet that this is the present limit to his abilities, since his crew believe he could simply snuff out anyone that he can see but chooses to show mercy.
  • Become Air. Still in the works, so far, Rhag’s able to partially turn his feet to air and thus is able to leap long distances (up to 10’ vertically, and 20’ horizontally at present) and land safely when jumping down from greater heights. He’s also recently begun to work on his fingers, but this is more of a parlour trick. His habit of rolling a coin over his knuckles becomes fancier when he’s able to turn them just a little insubstantial and have the thing slip through only to solidify again. Looks impressive. Not terribly useful.
Mor-Leidr Bach in his preferred state.
  • Buffer: Another formative power, manipulating the air much as he does when raising sail although it is more of a circle, enveloping him. Taking around thirty seconds to accomplish, it requires less concentrating than raising sail and simply sharply adjusts the flow of air in a ‘barrier’ around six inches thick, a foot or so from his body. This protects him somewhat from projectiles; arrows are pushed aside, bullets significantly less so, thrown weapons somewhat. He’s by no means invulnerable, but harder to hit yet cannot fight, fully focus on a task or do much other than move at walking pace while maintaining it.
  • Raise sail: When given a large enough surface (he’s only really done this with a sail, thus far), Rhag is able to create movement in the air, giving sail to a boat that may otherwise be becalmed or directing existing flow into the sail at a better angle which has given them significant advantage when out to sea. This use takes intense concentration, leaving him unable to do anything else. The airflow created is not sufficient to cause damage or blow anyone over, a maximum of around 30 miles per hour.

Môr-leidr Bach, little pirate is as generally fickle and capricious as Rhagfyr. He prefers to spend his time as a white-tailed eagle, nearly always while they are at sea. On land, he's pone to taking on the appearance of a red fox pup and likes to think he's adorable in order to get attention - often so Rhagfyr can accomplish some thing untoward while people are distracted.


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