A Christmas (Night) Story

  • Ahoy, maties! Gather 'round and lend me yer good ears, fer I have a tale of festive knavery t' share.

    'Twas the night o' Christmas and a red sun was setting over the green sea. Me first mate and I were sailing from horizon t' horizon, feeling jolly off a touch o' grog (or two. Mayhaps three. Not a soul was a'counting).

    We found ourselves sailing out of the Devil's Roar, a few cargoes lighter and our coin purses heavier, when we decided it was time fer some good skulduggery. It weren't long before our watchman, Mister Camper, spotted a poor soul fated t' cross paths with the likes of us.

    We approached with what lessermore honest pyrates fancy an "offer alliance" pennant, but what us hornswogglers know as "chum". As we approached shouting range, we raised the black and our cannons barked mad death. Fiercely we fought, but the cowardly landlubbers weighed anchor and a pursuit ensued.

    Along the way, a docked brigantine fired on me ship in defense of the damned sloop. It was at this time Mister Camper went overboard into the drink to parlay while I dogged our quarry. T' my dismay, it proved t' be a fruitless venture, as they had naught but empty chicken coops I found floating in the water when they scuttled shortly after.

    Me first mate Camper was blessed with a silver tongue, and the scallywag contrived a fool's tale about us being chased instead of chasing. I smelled a scheme a'cooking, and I was a very hungry pyrate. We aggreed t' ally and co-operate a cursed skelly fort. A hasty visit t' a shipwright was in order before we met, lest they caught wind o' our plans o' plunder.

    With new paint still wet, me ship arrived at Old Boot Fort before the marks even set sail, giving me plenty o' time t' gather enough boom barrels t' blow a megalodon t' the moon. The next day, the ill-fated crew and Mister Camper arrived on a brig' full o' loot, grog and holiday spirit.

    Being an experienced watchman, Mister Camper volunteered t' take position on the brigantine's crow's nest because "it was taller, so therefore a superior vantage point." We all agreed, and he deftly snuck a few boom barrels up t' his station.

    Two crews made short work of the fort, and soon a skelly captain unearthed. It was prearranged that we attack as soon as the coveted key was dropped. Mister Camper was t' drop a lit boom barrel on their ship from up top the crow's nest while I quickly dispatched the others on the island. I managed t' kill ol' Captain Bones and hid the key before anybody knew, then gave the signal to me first mate. Athena must'a smiled on us, for they noticed not the blast nor me sneaking about with a dark heart.

    One by one they were sent t' the Ferry by me hand. At last, one remained and I chased them into the cold water. They dodged rounds until Mister Camper cut them down mercilessly, sealing the crew's fate t' dwell in Davey Jones' locker.

    Our dastardly deed done, we loaded up their treasure and looted the vault. They dared not return t' dispute, nor did we spot their sails on the horizon ever again. Mayhaps the Ferryman wanted t' keep a few more souls for Christmas, and he always gets what he so desires. But this groggy pyrate is beginning to drift off-course...

    Anyway, we made our way back t' an outpost without much trouble (well, there was a skelly ship crew who wanted our booty, but they weren't too much trouble) and sold our haul undisturbed. Me pockets couldn't possibly hold all the gold I made off our bounty, so I decided t' relieve them a tad at the tavern. We spent the remainder of the night playing holiday shanties and sharing egg grog next t' the fire with Duke, and I haven't left since.

    Now, if you'll excuse me, I think I'll rest me eyes for just a BURP hearbeat. Be good mates and make sure... Duke doesn't... drink me HIC grog... zzz....

    Guarez

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