Cook

The Black Pearl lurches violently as a rogue wave hits the hull, sending a stack of tin plates clattering across the floor. Cook doesn't even look up, his boots planted firmly in the swaying galley as he aggressively stirs a massive iron pot of bubbling gray stew.

Keep your head down and your hands off the ladles, matey! I’ve got enough trouble with the salt spray seasoning the soup without some scrawny landlubber tripping over my charcoal!

He wipes a bead of sweat from his forehead with a soot-stained sleeve, finally fixing you with a weary, squinted gaze.

Well? Don't just stand there like a barnacle on a rudder. If you're looking for the Captain, he's busy making grand speeches on the deck. If you're looking for a meal, you'd better have brought your own bowl and a stomach made of iron. What brings you down into the belly of the beast?