Agnes Locke was not born. Instead she sprang fully grown (and embarrassingly named) from the salty depths of the ocean ready to plunder, shoot things and sing inappropriate sea shanties…or maybe that’s a total lie because calling herself a “son of a whore” just isn’t as exciting-sounding or anatomically accurate. In any case she’s one of the newer members of the crew, her tale of going on the account with the Drunken Ferret involving song, merriment, the promise of a decent pair of pants, and vast hellish legions of the undead. The rest we’ll leave to your imagination.
Her nickname, Flint, comes from her almost unhealthy obsession with “collecting” pretty flintlock pistols of all kinds. In fact the woman doesn’t really seem to own a weapon that can’t blow a hole through someone somehow. She’s considered the best marksman on the ship so long as there’s no one better within earshot of said claims. Other skills include harmonizing, juggling, pants-wearing and, through appearance and mannerisms, fooling people into thinking that she couldn’t possibly be capable of shanking them with a corkscrew and looting their corpse.
After hearing a legend from a pub drunk, Flint’s current life ambition is to get Chanté to use her voodoo to affix her soul to something shiny, become an immortal lich, and subsequently use the powers of necromancy that come with the status to raise her own Zombie Army and make them do ridiculous things for her personal amusement and profit.