Todd

A fearless mate, he would be, an’ the finest buccaneer I ever lay me eyes on. He can swing from the riggin’, cutlass in hand, with war cry to chill ye to the bone. No mortal man could fill his boots as his seabag have the orbs of a binnacle. Drink a man ‘til he be red in the eye, ‘e could, an’ crack another bottle o’ grog fer good measure. A fine figure he cut, like the jib of a clipper. …an’ the lassies, oh the lassies…linin’ up to be his conquest, like flies bearin’ gifts to a spider, they be. With the staff of Poseidon, he slay the wenches, leavin’ ‘em breathless an’ quiverin’. Aye, matey, but Todd be the one…loyal to his captain and mates. He be the one ye turn when somethin’ needs doin’. Like a shark with a seaman’s leg, he’ll never let ‘er go.