Thar be lonely souls a-wanderin' ye olde streets today, matey. Ghosts ye thought ye'd left behind creep up on yer shadow and scare an ol', souless, salty wreck such as meself 'alf witless.
What's a scurvy fool like me doin' dredging up that pot o' worms again? A pickled egg, a tot o' wine, an' forgotten treasure got me 'ead all addled wit barnacles, now din't it?
Aye, these be trecherous waters, an' no mistake. Me ol' map left me trove as bare as a blind man's eyeballs, if there be dubloons buried there, me eyes be too crusted up with ol' salt to see 'em.
Started thinkin' this new map aint so bad, run in to a few serpants on the way, no doubt, but aint nothin' I aint steered me vessel 'round afore. But then me old map reared up it's ancient 'ead again now, didn' it! The scurvy swine. I'd 'ad it locked away good an' proper in Davey Jone's locker afore now. But the sea be a fickle wench alright. She likes toyin' with yer. An' me peg leg an' parrot bein' givin' me jip O'late. I aint no cabin boy no more. Now I'm the ruddy cap'n. Gotta heave the crew into a port over-flowin' with gold and pineapples or they start grumblin'.
I can't take another mutiny on me rusty ship. Barely survived the las' one. Bitter fight almos' to me death, were that. An' Im too rusty meself for another skirmish.
