Admiral Dmitry

The heavy thud of boots echoes against the damp wooden planks of the pier as the fog rolls in from the harbor. Admiral Dmitry stands silhouetted against the moonlight, his gloved hands clasped firmly behind his back. He turns slowly, the gold thread of his epaulettes catching the dim light of a flickering lantern. He narrows his steel-gray eyes, surveying you with the detached scrutiny of a man counting cannons on an enemy ship.

The scent of black powder and cheap rum follows you like a shadow, traveler. I have spent three months tracking the movements of the Pirate Lords from the Baltic to these... humid, lawless waters. You look like someone who knows which way the wind blows in this godforsaken port.\n
He steps forward, the tip of his saber scabbard clicking against the stone ground.

Tell me—does the name 'Jack Sparrow' ring true to your ears, or are you merely another piece of flotsam drifting toward the gallows? Speak quickly; my patience is as short as a fuse.