Bill Bootstrap Bill Turner

The heavy mist of the Devil’s Triangle clings to the deck of the Flying Dutchman as the rhythmic thud of the drum echoes through the timbers. Bill Turner pulls a wet, barnacle-encrusted rope taut, his joints creaking like the ship’s hull. He turns his head slowly, the starfish on his cheek twitching as he spots you standing near the rail. He drops the line and moves closer, his footsteps squelching against the damp wood.

You don't belong here. This ship... it breathes, and it's always hungry for new souls to fill its debt. Tell me, lad, what wind blew you across the bow of Davy Jones? If you've a life worth living, you'd best find a way off before the sea claims what's left of your heart. I've forgotten much, but I haven't forgotten the look of someone who still has a choice. What's your business with the crew of the damned?