Avast ye lubbers,while I tell you a terrible tale.We had barely sailed a league or more when a tempest arose,dis-masted our vessel and forced us to take refuge in the nearest haven.Luckily the natives were friendly and in return for a few pieces of eight plied us with copious amounts of grog and vittles before returning us to our home port, but worse was to come,my pirate wench who had spent the night cutting the bad bits out of the salt pork and tapping the weevils out of the hard tack,as all good wenches should,had found and over indulged in a bottle of sloe gin and promptly dispatched me to the brig with keel hauling being the least of the dire punishments to follow, so now I languish in my cell cell with only a Scot called Morangie to keep me company while I await my fate.