Dressed all in black, small skeletons embroidered about the neck of his shirt collar, and wearing a mask fashioned after a skull with the skin about his eyes behind it kohled black to emphasize the sockets, the bellxowing pirate captain at the head of the raiding party somehow bears only a passing resemblance to the man named Flint who so frequently cuts his way about the Gallows and Kirkwall docks. The dark coat is the same, the build is exact, but there is an elaborate zeal to all of this that is as much a costume as the mask is as he leads men through their play(-ish) ransacking.

Empty sword scabbard banging against his hip, Flint can be found overseeing the raucous liberation of a number of liquor casks from the party's stock; or fetching full cups out of the hands of laughing party goers and passing them off to the whooping vanguard with every ounce of faux severity that can be mustered; or, finally, standing on a bench and loudly corralling the invaders with barking orders; or--

((whatever man, wildcard me))