Name: David "Davey" Sven Haroldson
Physical Bio: A fair skinned Scandinavian, tall, but, for his family, unusually weak-looking. His thick, oily, chestnut hair feathering down his neck, his eyes never seeming to rest. His brown pants, and snow colored, fair-looking (stolen) shirt have taken a beating on the ship.
History: Davey was born a third-generation Norwegian immigrant to England, his grandfather fleeing for the same reason he would be sent off to Australia, two decades later: Thievery. His mother died young of pestilence, and his grandfather took the boy in when he was 9. By then, he had been thought by his mother what most little boys heard- "Be nice", "Keep safe", "Follow the rules". His grandfather made sure that Davey knew that the real rules weren't written down, and to only follow the laws when he thought he would get caught. His grandfather didn't unteach what the boy had already learned, he simply took him in a new direction.
He grew up soon enough, continuing his grandfather's legacy of theft. He was no simple thug, though. Unlike some, he was eager to join a gang. He made friends, and sped up the process by generosity. He gave up some of his share of food, in exchange for favor. Not enough so he would be pushed around, but enough to do something. He didn't want to go to the top though. He wanted second place.
"The man in charge is the first to hang, David Sven. Everybody is out to get the one on top, but that man is easy to hide behind, and I don't care what your friends say, the man who hides, is the one who lives." His grandfather told him that, and he stuck by it. He moved from gang to gang, but he was caught. After a short trial, he was thrown on the boat to Hell. when the mutiny struck, he gathered up his playing cards, and was quick to join whichever side was winning, happy to see that his light fingers wouldn't be holding a pickaxe as he mined...