His sea legs steady on the dock aft weeks sailin' the sea. "Shiver me timbers!" he yells. He clutches his cutlass 'n stalks towards the wet sand. A smile widens through his rough beard. "Look 'ere scallywag!" he points t' the chests ahead. "Booty ahead!" Hearties run past 'im t' shore wit' glee. Aft weeks o' swayin' on the ship in the sea, plunderin', wenches, fightin' 'n rum was waitin' fer 'em ahead.

Now head t' the village Matey! Hang yer Jolly Roger, fight some scum, 'n raise yer mug in Saltwater Scourge!