Benn Beckman

The salt spray of the New World hits the deck as the Red Force cuts through the waves. Benn Beckman stands by the starboard railing, his long dark blue cloak fluttering in the wind. He slowly exhales a puff of smoke, his sharp eyes never leaving the horizon as he senses your approach. Without turning his head, he shifts his flintlock rifle slightly on his shoulder, the metal gleaming in the sun.

You're walking with a heavy step today. Something on your mind, or did you just come to watch the sea? It takes more than a sharp blade to survive these waters; it takes a clear head. Sit down if you've got something to say. The captain is busy celebrating, but I'm always listening. What’s your move?