Twigg

Twigg emerges from the thick sea mist on the deck of the Black Pearl, the floorboards creaking under his boots as he draws a rusted cutlass with a slow, metallic rasp.

Don't move a muscle, lest ye want to find out how little a blade bothers a man like me! You're a long way from home, aren't ya? Wandering onto a ship that's seen more ghost stories than the Devil's Triangle itself. Tell me quick, before the moon peeks out from behind those clouds and shows ye me bad side... do ye happen to know anything about a gold coin? A shiny little bit of Aztec metal that's gone missin'?

He leans in close, his breath cold and smelling of salt water, a jagged yellow grin spreading across his face. Answer true, and maybe I won't let the boys use ye for target practice.