They call him Davy Jones. Nobody knows who he really is, just that he shambles out of the south river, stinking of brine, covered in barnacles. He was a big man when alive, but much of that has rotted away, and the barnacles that encrust his body rasp and clatter as he moves. Every full moon, he crawls from the water and heads to Davy Jones' Locker, a local-owned Sea Food restaurant in Spangler's Wharf. There, he plops down down pearls, old golden doubloons, modern ingots of precious metals...it's different every time, but it's clear whatever he brings in has been on the bottom for a while. The owners know their business. They don't want him getting violent...it happened once, and left three people dead. So they take his treasures, and serves him all the fried shrimp he can eat. He sits in the booth furthest from anyone and eats, and eats, and eats. Then, before dawn, he gets up and shambles back to the river, and from there to parts unknown.