I had heard stories, and a bucket o’ chum. Stories accross Europe. Splice the mainbrace! Stories accross th’ new found lands. Stories accross Africa. There were islands with ancients. Ancients whom found untapped wealth. A kind o’ place were a person could become rich without doin’ much. I heard stories o’ sailors goin’ there, but ne’er returnin’. Yaaarrrrr, and a bottle of rum! Stories o’ Cap’n Jack, Blackbeard, Cap’n Flameheart, Cap’n Davy Jones. Shiver me timbers, avast! th’ flyin’ Dutchman were bein’ even goin’ t’ see what were bein’ there, but none were seen again. None were heard o’ again. I had t’ go there. Every fiber in me body wanted t’ go there. My family warned me not t’ go, but I couldn’t resist.
Adventure were bein’ what I were bein’ born fer, by Davy Jones’ locker. I could easily become a metalworker or woodworker or a farmer, but th’ sea called. Ahoy, by Blackbeard’s sword! That kind o’ freedom ye can find nowhere else, to be sure. I just had t’ go. I had heard stories o’ th’ Devil’s triangle and boats dissapearin’ there, so I had t’ go look and see what were bein’ true o’ these barnacle-covered wives tales. Some sailors claim t’ have seen giant sharks, claim t’ have seen tentacles rise from th’ water, ye scurvey dog. I di’nae believe them then. If I ha’nae seen it fer meself, I probably wouldn’t believe it now, but I have. I have seen boats swallowed whole by th’ tentacles o’ an ancient monster, avast. I have seen a giant shark take bites out o’ boats. I sailed through th’ Devil’s shroud surroundin’ th’ Devil’s triangle and entered th’ Sea o’ Thieves, whar there were bein’ no law and only riches ruled th’ sea.
Merchants, gold hoarders and mystics already had claimed their trade and gave out gold t’ those that could accomodate them with their trade. I greedily accepted their offers and returned t’ them with th’ requested goods, until I wanted t’ weigh anchor again. There were bein’ no leavin’ th’ Sea o’ Thieves. It be a curse, by Blackbeard’s sword. I have visited Davey Jones’ Locker, and a bucket o’ chum. I have visited Davey Jones’ Locker plenty o’ times, but I be doomed t’ return. Yo-ho-ho! And swab the deck! Time and Time again I have visited th’ Ferry o’ th’ Damned and time and time again I have returned t’ me Seasick Raven. Even when th’ Raven be sunk, a mermaid will take ye t’ an exact copy o’ th’ sunken ship. It be as if ye be meant t’ play by th’ rules, but which rules? What do they expect o’ ye? And swab the deck! What be th’ meanin’ o’ all this?