Flint Ramkin
"Gov's got a right thrashing to kip up to, savvy?

Player: Ironykins
Born: 1219 (Age 32)
Race: Ifrit
Theme Song


Flint Ramkin, Aliases: Quentin Flameheart, Harold Fitzgerald, Toothshine, Bill Door, Isacc Moriarty, and "That ponce who never puts his gods damned sword away" was born on the port side of a ship in the port of Stormport, on a particularly stormy day. Or at least, that's what he tells half the people who ask. The other half get some vague muttering as he tries to think up an even more ridiculous lie.

Despite his desire to keep his past secret, occasionally bits of it flare up. By all credible accounts, it seems as though Flint grew up with a silver spoon in his mouth, in some well-to-do part of the continent. He was also, as would be apparent after any length of conversation with the man, a particularly bratty and unsavoury child.

This is what makes his current state of affairs so curious: Flint is looking for his family. He ran away from home at a young age, and managed to bag himself a vulgar education in swordplay, multilingual profanity, alcoholism, haggling, sailing, and general swashbuckling. When he finally became homesick, it seemed he no longer had a home to return to. There had been an uprising, and the serfs that farmed his family's land had revolted, sending his family into hiding.

Flint took leave from his rakish life so that he might track them down and unite his loving family once again. The first one he found was his sister, Ysabelle Ramkin. She was ill with a deathly disease, hiding out in a hovel, living off the last remnants of their fortune.


Flint has a hungry passion for gold, jewels, and all things shiny. He adorns himself with all manner of finery, and wears just about all his wealth for all to see. He tends to prance about in freshly shined, gold-trimmed boots, with matching finery of all the latest fashion trends. Always, invariably, he can be recognized by his wide-brimmed hat, and the blood red feather that protrudes from it. His rapier, Doomraiser, (named by the man himself) has been modified to accommodate a large number of socketed rubies and sapphires, with little regard to functionality or good taste.

He has lost most of his teeth from one too many blows to the skull, and has since had them replaced with golden replicas. Despite all the finery that he wears and his high-class upbringing, Flint speaks with the accent and narrow vocabulary of a common smuggler.

Though arrogant and stupid, Flint is a very competent adventurer. He is nimble, acrobatic, and an absolute expert in man-to-man combat.


Flint caught a lucky break when The Architect sent a letter for his summons. He was promised treasure beyond his wildest dreams should he see the task through, and, unable to resist the allure of earned gold, he accepted. The Architect does not reward his workers with mere gold, however, and what Flint actually received was an antidote to his sister's ailment.

After working a second time for The Architect, he was rewarded with the address for a blacksmith's shop in Northern Lavanda that his father had started. It seemed that The Architect knew exactly what Flint desired.

He has gone up in the world; he now has a loft to call his own in Nailo harbour, and five out of seven days he wakes up knowing where he is.

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