Name:
Richard Sincaid
Age:
29
Backstory:
Born to Deckard and Leslie Sincaid, an actor and a disgraced shipping heiress, Richard spent much of his youth traveling with his father's troupe. On the road, his mother would pass on her learnings, the maths and sciences that held the secrets of the world. In addition, she taught him the skills of a shipping magnate that she deemed less romantic, but more practical.
While young Richard would devour every scrap his mother taught him, it was performing where his passion truly showed. If the troupe wasn't traveling or performing then he was sure to be annoying someone into sharing their secrets. The tales of myth and legend, setting the ambiance, becoming a character, controlling the audience; he simply couldn't get enough of it.
As he grew older, Richard was gradually integrated into the shows; performing tricks to draw a crowd, playing the lesser characters and setting up props. Frustrated with what he considered roles that were beneath him, he started to distance himself from the troupe. At first it was simple street performances between shows. With time he became more confident, convinced that he no longer needed to the others, he set off his own.
He was not successful.
To make ends meet, he turned to fortune telling. He would set himself up in a tent with all the proper trappings of a diviner and all the tricks of a proper entertainer to sell the act. This netted him a small profit, which he would turn around to gamble with. Using sleight of hand he'd cheat his way to bigger profits before moving onto the next town.
Some rather powerful persons caught on to Richard's schemes and, feeling rather peevish at being cheated, put bounties out on him. After a few close calls, he spent a large chunk of the money he had stashed away on nautical charts and navigational equipment before selling himself as a navigator to every ship he could find.
Some years passed, Richard refining both his nautical skills and his “divination” all the while growing more and more weary of guiding merchant ships, but his bounties keeping him too wary of land to give up the sea.
Motives:
Redcap's call for adventure was just the sort of of excitement Richard was hoping for with the potential to live out the more adventurous tales of his youth and the chance of great wealth.
Appearance:
Moderately tall and while lean, it's the light build of an academic that forgets meals rather than someone who cares for their body. He possesses a pale complexion and red tinged hair that is kept short. His dresses as a gentlemen should, though his meticulousness has relaxed from his time at sea. However he is almost always wearing a coat with hidden pockets to conceal any of his gimmicks and tricks.
Role on ship:
Navigator, translator, and fortune teller.
Skills:
- Sleight of hand and misdirection
- Navigation, astronomy, meteorology, and some chemical/medicinal knowledge
- Multilingual (I don't know what languages exist in Docruth; as such I'm boiling this down to three common languages and one obscure.)
- Knowledge of various types of divination
- A trunk full of navigational, meteorological, and some chemical equipment (I can go into more detail if needed, but it'd be a tedious list and I am neither an 18th century chemist or navigator).
- Divination tools; A necklace with an uncut crystal, marked bones, rune stones, crystal ball, candles, tarot cards, and regular playing cards.
The first light of dawn crept along the horizon. Isabella, hunched over a long cold cup of tea, observed their progress. Three silhouettes rose from the night's shadow, closer than they had been the night before. By night's fall they would over take her.
She took a sip, it was stale and over steeped, checked her guns, still strapped on with her sword. A moments hesitation before pouring herself a shot of fine whiskey. She already looked like hell, no sense in feeling like hell as well.
Anderson, the second mate, was still on watch when she came up. He'd been keeping an eye on their pursuers from the poop deck.
“All hands,” Isabella said to him. He nodded and proceeded to ring the ship's bell, calling everyone top side.
She waited towards the aft as the crew poured onto the main deck. Some she had known for years, others for less. The latter looked terrified, but the former were confident, they trusted her to see them through it all.
“Oi!” she bellowed, silencing them immediately. “This ship has fought the King's own ships, chased fierce beasts of the depths, and carried more gold than some countries will ever see! We were born fighting and each and every one of us will spit in Davy Jone's eye before we stop! Those ships comin' after us are damn well the same as us, 'cept for one thing. They're prissy lil' privateers that sold their freedom for the navy's scraps! Problem is, they're faster than we are and have us out gunned.”
A few chests in the crowd puffed up, more shoulders slumped. They knew what was coming.
“Not a one of us is walking away from this, but I'll be damned if they don't regret chasin' after us! Who the hell are they fucking with?”
“The Sirens' Brood!” they cheered.
“And there ain't a man alive that escapes a siren!”
Other:
Told ya
