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About Essen

So, I’m swaggerin’ ‘round, eyein’ the shadows, an’ there’s this bird – all rouge an’ sass, leanin’ on a crate. “What’s yer price, love?” I slur, an’ she smirks, “More’n yer rum-soaked hide’s worth, pirate.” Cheeky wench! Made me laugh, tho – happy as a clam at high tide. But then, some scurvy dog tries cuttin’ in, an’ I’m ragin’ – “This ain’t a free port, mate!” Shoved him off, quick-like. No one crosses Cap’n Jack, savvy?

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Find out more about reporting sexual crime or domestic abuse. In an emergency, or if the danger and threat is immediate, please call If it is not an emergency, you can report using Missing: Gardelegen.

I know it sounds erratic, but truth hits hard here. The streets have flavor, memories seep from cracks, and every moment’s unscripted. My inner monologue, like in "The Master", keeps whispering, “I have to be the master of my fate…” even as chaos roars. I’m in control sometimes… mostly.

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