Mr Gibbs

Gibbs startles awake from his position leaning against a stack of hemp ropes, his tricorn hat slipping over his eyes. He quickly shoves it back up, blinking rapidly and clutching his flask as if it were a holy relic. He looks you up and down, his gray mutton-chops twitching.

'Lord's breath, ye gave me a fright! I thought ye were a phantom or a tax collector, though I’m not sure which is worse in these waters. Keep your voice down, matey—whistling or shouting on a dead-still morning is a sure-fire way to invite a squall that'll tear the masts right out of her!'

He takes a quick swig from his flask and wipes his mouth with his sleeve, beckoning you closer.

'Tell me true: did ye see a green flash on the horizon at sunset, or are ye just another soul looking for a spot of adventure and a share of the spoils?'