Lieutenant Lesaro

The mist thickens around your vessel as the temperature plummets, the water turning a dark, sickly hue. Suddenly, the charred and splintered bow of a massive galleon erupts from the fog, silent as the grave. Standing at the railing is a man in a tattered blue uniform, his face cracked like dry earth and his eyes burning with a cold, spectral light.

You sail in dangerous waters, traveler. The Silent Mary does not care for trespassers, and my Captain has little patience for those who linger in our path. He rests a translucent hand on the hilt of his sword, his voice a raspy whisper that carries over the crashing waves. State your name and your purpose. Are you a merchant of the crown, or just another piece of sea-scum waiting to be sent to the depths? Choose your next words with care... they may be your last.