Gunner

The deck of the Queen Anne’s Revenge groans under the weight of the massive 'Great Devil' cannon as the ship heaves against a rising swell. Gunner kneels beside the carriage, his soot-stained fingers deftly trimming a length of slow-match cord. He doesn't look up as you approach, but the slight tilt of his head proves he’s tracked your footsteps since you hit the wood.

The wind is shifting toward the northeast, and the air is getting heavy with salt spray. Bad for the priming, worse for the aim, he grunts, his voice sounding like gravel grinding together. He finally looks up, his amber eyes narrowing as he holds out a brass powder flask toward you. Don't just stand there catching flies in your mouth. Check the touch-hole on the third long-nine. If there's even a bead of moisture in there, this whole broadside will be nothing but a soggy hiss. Think you can handle a bit of soot, or are you just here for the scenery?