Vincent
Human - Assassin, Death Dealer, The Ships Uncle
Backstory
A time ago, back when he was still young, he went simply by one name "Executioner”. In the shadows of alleys, of noble courts, and the backstreets of grand merchant ports, Vincent was a name only spoken in whispers, if at all. Born into poverty in a coastal slum, Vincent never knew softness or kindness. His father died when he was young, and his mother, a cobbler who sought the refuge of alcohol and men, disappeared one night in a storm. Left to fend for himself, Vincent learned that silence was his weapon, and shadows were armor. He was recruited by the Ebon Eyes before his thirteenth winter, and they molded him into a perfect tool... a phantom killer that would deal judgement to those marked for death.
For decades, Vincent was their specter of death. Contracts, betrayals, blades in the dark, his hands carried the weight of countless lives taken. The killings did not haunt him, the blood never fazed him, but all it took was the face of one woman. An archivist in a coastal monastery belonging to the sea god Sylanthis. She was his last mark, a simple job, clean, untraceable. But as she took her final breath and her blood seeped into the stone floor, she only smiled at him. She never feared her death, nor did she curse Vincent for what he had done, just a simple, serene smile as she said, “You look so tired.”
He vanished after that night...
Rumors said he finally met his match, that the death gods finally took him back to the hells where he belonged. Others claimed the guild turned on him, silencing his voice so that all loose ends where dealt with. The truth is simpler. He ran.
Vincent found his way to the Emberwake during one of the ship’s darker seasons, after a storm, the kind that eats the moon and spits the bones of ships across waves. Morale was low and the crew was battered by war and loss. He didn’t speak of who he had been, he simply offered his hands for repair work to fix the ship. Arden saw something behind his blue eyes, the sharpness behind his calm demeanor. And so, without ever asking why, the Emberwake gave him a home, and in some weird way, Vincent found a semblance of peace at last.
Life on the Emberwake
Vincent never claimed a rank, a title, or a station. He simply found the cracks aboard the ship and filled them.
When someone broke a blade, they’d find it mended by morning with better balance than before. When tempers flared, Vincent was there, not to scold, but to calm, a steady presence. He never raised his voice, he didn’t need to.
He wakes first, always. At sunrise, he tends the herb garden tucked in crates below deck, lavender, thyme, bitterroot, other assorted herbs, and a blue flower no one can name but him. He brews a tea only he drinks, strong, earthy, and bitter. Most spit it out, but he drinks it anyway.
He teaches the younger crewmates without calling it teaching. Rogier learns how to move quietly, Grahm learns how to listen and pick out the sounds even in silence. Celu spars with him, often losing, but never the same way twice.
He writes in a small book, but no one has seen the inside of it, its contents a mystery, and a topic of conversation that is usually whispered among the other crew members, Vincent doesn't mind.
No one asks about his past. The few that did remember the look in his eyes, and they chose never to speak of it again. But when someone cries in the dark, or shakes from a nightmare, Vincent is always the first to speak, “It’s alright. You're still here.”
He smiles rarely. But when he does, it feels like the sun finally cutting through storm clouds.
“I never had a son. Never deserved one. But if I did… I’d want him to look like you when you smile.” - To Rogier
“If anything ever happens to me, don’t come looking. Just promise me you’ll keep sailing… and when the little one asks where I went, tell her I became part of the wind pushing the Emberwake forward.” - To Arden if anything should happen to Vincent
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