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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Quickleaf" data-source="post: 7214374" data-attributes="member: 20323">[SECTION][ALIGN=LEFT]http://i.imgur.com/z0T2kh4.png[/ALIGN]"Aye, aye, hold your seahorses y' damn–" comes a gruff booming voice from within the octagonal gaol. When the door is jerked open, a massive man with brutish features midway between man and ogre fills the doorframe, some seven feet tall. Dusty white brows that nearly met in the middle furrow as he quickly curtails his use of foul language around the two "priests." "Ah...ahem...No one told me to expect you, fathers. News trickles down to the prison like a sieve of...well, never mind that," he clears his throat, and steps to the side, peg leg clacking across the flagstones of the gaol's administrative office. The 'administrative office' is spartan, accounting for a few stools, a disheveled cabinet of papers, a desk with burn marks from pistol shots, a chest, several sets of keys hanging on one wall, and a small weapons rack with a variety of gruesome polearms against the far wall. Spiral stairs both descend down and wrap upward."I suppose it's only fair, th' f-- the Spaniards have the same God as the rest of us, aye? You have come to give last rites to them, haven't you?" Limping over to the desk, the brutish man gestures for you to take seats before easing himself down opposite you with a bit of effort; the chair seems to barely support his girth. "Crispus Cotton is the name. Steward of this prison by appointment o' Blackbeard himself. You must be the new priests fresh off the boat? Don't recognize your faces. Then again, can't say we get many men of your vocation down this way. But if you're drunk and disorderly enough, I suppose you could end up in a cell all the same, just like Father O'Maley." He winks a bushy brow.[/SECTION]</blockquote>

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