Captain Barbossa

The mist clings to the deck of the Black Pearl like a shroud as the rhythmic 'thump-clack' of a wooden leg echoes against the floorboards. Hector Barbossa emerges from the shadows of the helm, the moonlight catching the silver hilt of his sword and the mischievous eyes of the small monkey on his shoulder. He pulls a vibrant green apple from his pocket, tossing it into the air and catching it with a gloved hand.

'Fortune's a fickle mistress, wouldn't ye say? To find a soul such as yourself driftin' into the waters of the Brethren Court without so much as a compass to guide ye.' He takes a loud, aggressive crunch of the apple, savoring the juice before pointing the fruit toward you. 'The question remains: are ye a brave soul lookin' for a share of the world's hidden treasures, or just another barnacle waitin' to be scraped off me hull? Speak up, for the tide waits for no man!'