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The Sovereign of Monkey Island
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Chapter One: There and Back Again, and Again
A Pirate's Tale
There is a great debate about the real secret of Monkey Island. Some say it has something to do with the giant stone monkey head. Some say it's the magical voodoo root, which, when specially prepared, can kill a ghost. Some say it's the special brand of Monkey Island Soy sauce. But that's not the answer. The real secret of Monkey Island is a secret guarded by the monkeys themselves. A secret that will one day save the world. A fate. A prophecy. A promise.
When the world was young, monkeys ruled the earth and tried to create a utopia. They could communicate as well as humans could, except humans weren't around then.
When humans first arrived on our planet, the monkeys became weary and decided to watch them from a distance. When the humans had learned how to talk and communicate, the monkeys and humans became friendly with each other and decided to create their utopia together, that would be free from greed, crime and corruption. And so they did, and their world was perfect. And there it would have ended. Should have ended.
But that didn't last long. On the other side of the world, the race of humans was not in contact with the perfect world and knew nothing about it. They knew nothing better than what they were taught. They divided to make civilizations, each full of sin and dishonesty. Fuelled by greed, they started a magnificent war over land, and the stronger civilizations crushed the weaker ones, until all but one civilization was left, the strongest of them all, ruled by a very powerful leader, conceived by the evil forces themselves. His name? LeChuck.
After conquering his known world, he explored unknown terrains and found the puny civilization of the perfect world. With no weapons of defence, the utopia was crushed in a matter of months. They were given a choice; they could either join him, or die. Many joined him, leaving
their perfect world behind. Many died. The monkeys refused unison, and all but a thousand died. Those thousand took refuge on a desert island, along with two humans who also managed to escape, the Threepwoods.
After bickering about whose fault this was, the monkeys and humans never talked to each other again. A freak lightning bolt had taken the monkeys' speech and brain power, throwing it into a statue of a giant monkey head, laid to the east side of the island. And then, this was all forgotten.
Somewhere, on the manuscript of time, there is written that the monkeys of Monkey Island shall come back, and reclaim what is theirs once and for all. And all shall be correct with the world.
Evil shall be vanquished. And they're going to need someone's help. From an old friend. A Threepwood.
I can't believe it's happened again. I'm back on Monkey Island. There seems to be some kind of attraction that keeps bringing me here. According to the voodoo lady, I will never get rid of the island, or LeChuck, until I've faced my real challenge. Elaine must be under some kind
of spell; she's left me and ran off with LeChuck, they're set to get married in twenty-four hours and I have no idea where they are. Also, if that's not enough, Ozzie's back as a ghost pirate and seeks revenge on me, now landing me with two immortal enemies. And if that's not enough, I still can't find my keys; they were on the table last time I saw them. My day isn't getting any better.
-Excerpted from "The Memoirs of Guybrush Threepwood, The Monkey Island Years"
A monkey walks through the jungle at night, hungry for food. It climbs a tree and then it's lost in the branches and leaves. The leaves rustle, and after a bit more rustling, a banana hits the floor at the base of the tree. The monkey jumps down and grabs the banana. Then, instead of eating it, it holds it up high above its head, one end of the banana in each hand; and the monkey stands there, golden as the sun. Anyone with an imaginative mind might have thought of the arc of the banana and the arc of the monkey's hands along with its head in the middle to represent an eye. The island was alive again, and this time, it was personal.
On this island of the monkey, complete silence has followed since the events of the previous months. The cannibals were long gone and the screams in the night had died down to an occasional shriek. And everything was at peace, with the exception of the everlasting hooting from the monkeys, but that was just expected. A monkey, out on a midnight stroll, eating a banana it had just found, walked past a group of bushes and trees. They were rustling, but the monkey felt no wind. It thought nothing of it and walked on.
But the rustling got louder, there were footsteps, hundreds of little footsteps, all following one brace of large footsteps. There were screams, and snarls. Then the trees and bushes exploded with leaves and branches as a single figure leaped out and ran for his life, screaming
at the top of his lungs, and it wasn’t a very masculine scream at that. Following the screaming man, were a number of small furry creatures, not unlike cats, but slightly fatter and less agile. And yet very fast, very fast indeed, like tiny gorillas, fatter than any normal monkey and larger ears, but small, like the kind of small furry toys found on the bed of a small girl.
Guybrush ran through the jungles, dodging trees, jumping bushes and screaming, always with the screaming. It could have driven men crazy, but any normal man on this island had to be crazy to be there, just so they could survive. Even the cannibals left, and not just because of the loud music and occasional flying customer of the previously torn down Big Whoop™ theme park (of course, it could have been a lot worse - they could have employed more mimes).
Guybrush ran down to the old gold mine which, to his dismay, was blocked up. It had been ever since someone made molten lava leak in and flow into the mine, producing heat for a very large contraption which very few men knew about or would admit they remembered after the incident.
Guybrush found no escape and was soon backed up against a wall. The koalas had stopped running and were instead approaching him very slowly. They snarled, which was very queer, as koalas were generally peaceful creatures that didn’t have the flesh-stripping fangs that these seemed to be presenting. They approached him all the same though, and Guybrush could think of nothing to do. A few years ago, he could have never anticipated it all ending like this, but then again, sliced cheese was new to him.
And then it came to him. It’s amazing what you think of when you’re on death row, and this just so happened to be the thing that may save him. The language of the monkeys. The fighting talk that had won him so many battles. The lingo, that saved his and every pirate soul only a few months ago. He had tried to forget it all; when would he need it again? He didn’t want to remember. But he did. He thought, sword fighting was to him like riding a bike, he was hoping this was the same.
He gave a slight jump and took on his stance. His arms and legs were positioned in a very complicated way; the ‘Gimpy Gibbon’ was almost his, he just needed to remember the combination. He was hoping he’d remember this.
‘Oop!... Eek!... Chee?’ he hoped and gave another jump, spun around 360° in mid air and on turning to the koalas, gave a small kick. And then he hoped, hoped this would work.
A green surge of energy was released from his foot and flew to the koalas. If this worked in the way that he had hoped and remembered, this should save him yet again. It flew as fast as lighting to the koalas; they wouldn’t be able to take that. It wouldn’t kill them, just give Guybrush enough time to escape the clutches of death... again (he never thought he’d have to think that again, not after the first time anyway).
The koalas did something. Something completely unexpected, something not even the voodoo lady could have foretold.
‘Oop! Ack! Chee!’ they all chanted in unison. They held their stances of the ‘Drunken Monkey’ and counter-acted the green surge of energy. Guybrush’s last chance had been thwarted.
“I know, I could use my sword... or wit, I used that back on Lucre Island to get the goat milk off the old woman with that one arm and three legs.’ This was it.
Then he heard something. The patter of tiny little feet. More koalas? Impossible! Guybrush was doomed for sure.
And it was at this time, he decided to try and figure out how he had gotten into this mess (then of course, a mess for him would be an atomic holocaust, him getting ready to die was now happening on a daily basis).
It was a long time ago, on an island far, far away...
We now go to a place, that hadn’t seen the light of day for a long time (for why, no one knows, but we never see it in daylight), but LeChuck was defeated, he had been blown up, Guybrush had seen it, it had only happened a couple of hours ago, and this was something not even LeChuck could come back from. As for Ozzie Mandrill, well, to literally die at the hands of LeChuck was not something to be laughed at, but Guybrush couldn’t help it. It was over, his problems were gone. He would never have to stare pure evil in the face again, that wretched island is a long way away and couldn’t psychologically hurt him anymore (of course there was the whole childhood thing, but that would never go away) and Guybrush could finally get back to leading a normal pirate life again. His problems were over. Well, almost.
After plunging two hundred feet down a cliff face and into the sea, completely unharmed, removing his major problems – death – and replacing them with the comparatively simple one of climbing back up about one hundred feet of sheer cliff in pitch darkness, he was really gonna have to talk to Timmy about safety near a cliff edge and when not to kick someone off of one.
But the sun was rising over Mêlée and he could just about see how far he had to go to get to the top. Another fifty feet. This was turning out to be a good day, considering.
But Guybrush could climb no more, not because he was tired out or had hurt or broken something (which he was sure should have happened at some time in his life by now, he was a very lucky person, or else very stupid), but basically because he had run out of cliff. Or at least, the easily climbable kind. He was at a loss about what to do, he couldn’t carry on climbing, the next ten feet or so was nothing but flat rock. One of his options was to try and make it to the outcrop of rock about five feet left of him.
But he couldn’t reach that either. The sensible thing to do would have been to climb down a little and then make another way. The sensible thing to do would be to hang tight and wait for someone to come and help you. The sensible thing to do would be to climb back down to the bottom and try and find another way up. His mind told him this was the sensible thing to do...
So he leapt five feet left from where he was to try and get to the outcrop of rock he needed. This was completely stupid, considering he had no climbing experience whatsoever, and no sane person would do this, unless on some kind of rope, or just likes doing his own stunts). But he tried anyway. His hand caught hold of some rock, and in his flight, he pulled himself to the cliff. But his foot found nothing. He slipped about two feet down the rock, spun around and finally caught some rock in both hands. His feet dangling with about fifty feet of nothing below them and his back to the cliff, he was not in the best of positions. But at least he wasn’t dead, and he may, soon, be able to get out of this mess.
Then he heard a crack. He wasn’t expecting this at all. The rock broke off of the cliff, and then, for about twenty seconds, all that could be heard on Mêlée Island was the sound of a screaming girl... which was drowned out by Guybrush.
Guybrush made his way out of the water and then walked slowly and irritably towards the cliff again. Just as he was about to climb, he heard a heavenly voice.
‘What are you doing here?’ he looked around into the face of Elaine. She looked angry and had both hands on her hips.
He attempted to explain whilst pointing upwards. ‘Well, I was trying to climb—’
‘Climb?! Why didn’t you just take the path?’ she exclaimed, pointing to the path behind her. This day was turning out to be really good.
On returning to the mansion, Guybrush found H.T. Marley, busy at work, trying to find a pair of pants. Elaine was also hard at work, trying to organise a cleanup crew. So far she had three volunteers, one of which was a monkey, and another of which was a halfwit, but Guybrush had whined about being involved so she threw him in just to spite him; she could be mean sometimes, more often than not.
‘Come on, we’ve got work to do. It takes a lot to explain to people why a huge explosion suddenly occurred on the beach and why a slightly deformed statue of LeChuck crushed the Lua Bar. I tell you, the sculptors weren’t too happy with that; they may not have liked LeChuck, but they worked hard on that statue.’
‘Yes dear.’ Darn! he thought. I thought we could get back to married life as nor— ‘Statue?! But the statue blew up, how could it have— did you say it crushed the Lua Bar, cool, let's go see!’
‘We’re the cleanup crew dear, we have to find a way to move the giant statue, not just stand and stare at it. Which reminds me, do you think you could go around and find me more people to help clean up?’
‘How am I meant to do that, bribe them?’
‘I’m sure you’ll figure it out dear, you always were good at making things more complicated than they are.’
‘What’s that, honey?’
‘Nothing dear, just go about getting me a cleanup crew. Now there’s a good husband.’ Guybrush left the house miserably and made his way to Mêlée Town.
But first, he stopped over at the harbour to find no one there. His crew had obviously gone somewhere. Even the harbour mistress was gone. He made his way back to the site of the Lua Bar to find the huge statue of LeChuck resting on top of it. He also saw both the chef of the Lua Bar and I. Cheese, in tears over their loss. Although on further inspection, he found Mr. Cheese
in tears of joy as he had already grieved over his loss a while ago and now was happy that he may get his bar back.
There was also a crowd of people amassing around the destruction site, but Carla and Otis couldn't be seen anywhere. They were probably in City Hall after the jobs they were promised earlier. There was a lot of talking and shouting and confusion in the air, and Guybrush tried to
calm them down.
‘Ahem. L... ladies and gentlemen, p... please remain calm, all will be cleaned up and s... sorted out as s... soon as possible, uh, if we, um, could, maybe have, um, some people to, uh, help?’ The people stared at Guybrush in disbelief - he may as well have been asking them to go tell their mothers just what they had been doing the past ten years; it wasn’t going to happen.
Then, Timmy the monkey stood on one of the feet of LeChuck, facing the crowd and screaming something. Everyone stopped talking and looked over at him. Timmy said something in his own monkey tongue, and managed to convince everyone to pick up conveniently placed shovels and ropes and start working on moving LeChuck. This completely flew past Guybrush, as usual, but he was getting used to it, so Guybrush just carried on as usual.
Guybrush decided that whilst they were busy with that, he would have a little search around LeChuck to see if he could find anything of interest, as he always seemed to do in situations like this, where he found himself doing a seemingly pointless job, leading him into a
whole host of trouble. He could still remember the day he wanted to be a pirate, or find the treasure of Big Whoop, or go to the toilet, for that matter. He found what he thought was LeChuck’s head, but there was no Ozzie, which Guybrush was pleased about, because he’d seen many dead bodies before, normally trying to kill him, but the crushed bloody heap of Ozzie Mandrill was not a sight to see. He must have flown off somewhere else in the explosion.
What was left, was Ozzie’s walking stick, which till previously had an ultimate insult stuck on the top of it. The top of the stick had been burnt off in the explosion, and it was then that Guybrush noticed the whole thing was hollow, which probably explained why it was so easy to
break. Guybrush took it and peered inside to find a piece of rolled-up paper (seems logical, what else would you hide in there?), which he carefully took out and read.
It read as follows:
Law Offices LTD™
The Last Will and Testament of Mr Ozzie Salmonella Mandrill
To these people I leave my entire estate, all of my belongings, my properties and my money: What the billabong! I’m gonna die a long long time from now you drongo, why the hell did you send this to me, Julius? I don’t need no stinking heir or whatever you called it, if my plans go as I hope, I’ll own the entire Caribbean, and live for loadsa years, I ain’t gonna die in two seconds, shove this will stuff wontcha? If I do die soon, which I won't, just try and make sure whoever gets my stuff isn’t stupid, can handle what’s given to him, and isn’t my ex- wife.
Mr Ozzie S. Mandrill
This Last Will and Testament of the guy or gal above was legalised by the Law Office LTD. It is a legally binding contract under the terms and conditions put forth to the fatcats in the big offices. Use of this will is subject to the fact that the guy or gal who signed it has kicked
the bucket. All title, ownership rights and intellectual property rights in and to this guy or gal (including but not limited to any property/ies, belongings, documents, food, produce, product, titles, computer codes, themes, objects, characters, character names, stories, dialogue,
catch phrases, locations, concepts, artwork, animation, sounds, music, compositions, audio-visual effects, methods of operation, moral rights, any related documentaion, “applets” incorperated and just about anything else we can get our hands on, into this will) are owned by the guy or gal whose name has been put above to get it all. This will is protected by the Law Offices LTD copyright laws of the Caribbean, international copyright treaties and conventions and other laws that I haven’t put here because I can’t find them or can’t be bothered as it is four AM right now and I’m going to bed.
‘Hmm. I guess Ozzie didn’t expect to have his plans foiled by me, Guybrush Threepwood, mighty pirate. Although most people wouldn’t expect me to foil their plans, not even me,’ he said to no one in particular. But it was true, most of his plans sort of happened by accident, that was just the way his life worked. But now Guybrush was curious, all of the property that Ozzie had seized up from the unsuspecting people of Mêlée and Lucre Island’s, along with the big tourist hypes and anti-pirate campaigns, what would happen to them, obviously they would go to his next-of-kin, if Ozzie Mandrill had a next-of-kin. Guybrush didn’t know too much about the legal stuff behind this, but he did know someone who could. He had another look at the logo at the top of the page, the Law Offices LTD™ on Lucre Island™, meaning the place where he found Elaine’s lawyers.
He decided to go there to see if he could maybe get everyone’s property and stuff back to them, instead of it going to an ex-wife or something. He would have to get a crew together, get a ship, and get that gubernatorial symbol back, or at least something like it, considering it was probably blown up. A strange sense of déjà vu crept over him. In fact, he’d sworn he’d had this déjà vu before.
The feeling soon passed.
Guybrush made his way back to the mansion, and on the way, went into the town hall, where he found Carla and Otis pleading with the girl at the front desk.
‘Hwhat do you mean this contract is void?’ bellowed Otis.
‘Yeah, this was singed by the governor herself. What do you think of that,’ asked Carla.
‘Well, you see,’ said the girl, ‘first of all, the governor was declared dead at the time, so anything she did at that time didn’t really count. Secondly, she has been declared alive again, but not governor; that title was given to her grandfather, who has also miraculously
come back to life, as seems to be the style at the moment. Thirdly, this job had to be claimed before Thursday, otherwise it is void, see where it says here “this contract is valid from the time it is signed to the first Thursday of the next month, if you do not know when that is, just guess” and I guess it is.’
‘But the contract was signed just a few days ago.’
‘Well, I guess that the last day of last month was yesterday, and if this is Thursday, then this contract is void, sorry.’
‘You just don’t want us working here do you?’
‘Personally, no, I really don’t, but officially, you’re too late, sorry.’ She sniggered. Carla looked up and spotted Guybrush.
‘Threepwood!’ she scowled, ‘you lying double-crossing cheat, getting us false contracts, you’re really gonna get it this time.’
‘Hyeah, you told us we’d get cushy government jobs and we haven’t got any, what are you gonna do about it fancy pants?’
‘Uh, well, I could get you a job, a real good job, you’d love it.’
‘We’re gonna be on your crew again, aren’t we?’
‘Yeah, and if it’s all the same to you, I’d like to skip the whole “running around the place for stuff that you want to convince you to be on my crew” thing. How about it?’
‘Hwell, now I don’t know,’ said Otis. ‘I’ll probably end up in jail wherever I go, why should I go with you when I can stay here and not go to jail?’
‘You know what, you’re absolutely right, I shouldn’t pressure you into doing this. I’m sorry.’
‘What!?’ demanded Carla. ‘You’re just going to give up like that? No whining? No pleading? No begging?’
‘Hyeah, I was looking forward to the begging.’
‘Nope, I shouldn’t ask you to do something you don’t wanna do.’
‘Now hang on a minute!’ said Carla, ‘you can’t just leave it like this, you obviously need us for something, otherwise we wouldn’t need to be here, you wouldn’t even need to be talking to us at all, we’d just be a piece of random background animation that you wouldn’t interact with in the least!’ Guybrush and Otis both looked at each other, and then both silently decided to just forget that last part and get on with the conversation.
‘Yeah, um, it’s kind of funny how things always seem to turn out right. Like how whatever I pick up and stuff down my pants during my journeys—’
‘There’s a mental picture I didn’t need.’
‘It always seems to help me out somewhere, and it’s like I’d be in real trouble if I didn’t have that piece of string or something.’
‘Yeah, it’s like you could pick up this can of grog and keep it with you for a long time and later on you will need it.’
‘Yeah, um, something tells me I might need to keep that. Anyway, where were we. Oh yeah, I’m not asking you to join my crew.’
‘The hell you’re not. We're joining your crew and you can’t stop us,’ said Carla.
‘Hyeah!’ agreed Otis.
‘Great, now it’s off to Lucre Island as soon as I get someone else to be on my crew and as soon as I get a map and a ship.’ Guybrush left the town hall, all the time thinking that that whole thing was not planned at all, but that’s not the way he’ll tell it to his grandchildren. That reminded him, he had to get some grandchildren for grandpa Marley. All he had to do was find out where babies came from.
As Guybrush left, Otis and Carla looked at each other.
‘What did we just get ourselves into?’ asked Carla.
‘I have no idea, but if we get stranded again, we’ll eat him first.’
Guybrush made his way home to tell Elaine that he was going to Lucre Island to talk with the family lawyers about getting the property back. When he got back to the house, Elaine wasn’t pleased to see him.
‘Guybrush! I thought you were helping out with the cleanup of Mêlée Island. I haven’t got time for you to slack off!’
‘But honey! I think I found a—’
‘I don’t care if you’ve found the secret of sliced bread, we need this island cleaned up, and you have to do it!’
‘Actually, it's one part water, two parts yeast. But you see people are already—’
‘I don’t want to hear it. If you can’t find people to help you clean up, take the gubernatorial symbol of Mêlée Island and use it to convince the people to help. Then you can tell me all about what you’ve found.’
Guybrush saw this as an opportunity to go to Lucre Island anyway and use the gubernatorial symbol to get a ship and crew. There was only one problem. ‘Um, honey, the gubernatorial symbol got blown up in the explosion, and Grandpa Marley’s one is still in the robot monkey that’s gone into the sea somewhere with Jojo Jr.’
‘Oh, just have a look in that drawer over there, there should be three or four in there, take one. If there aren’t any there, there’s five crates of them in the basement. Just take one, don’t go crazy, we won’t get a new shipment until next month!’ Guybrush knew he should feel something now, but he didn’t.
Guybrush headed off to find a third member for his crew, and a map. Cheese was nowhere to be found, but he was possibly waging war with city hall about his bar, and Guybrush didn’t want to interrupt, considering it was him who dragged him away from his bar to help him. Whilst searching around, he tripped over a small bear. It actually turned out to be a very short person. Guybrush could swear that he’d seen him somewhere before.
‘Wally! It’s you! I thought you went to Plunder Island to live your lifelong dream and become a singer.’
‘Hello, Mr Marley-’
‘- it’s good to see you again. And yes, I did go to Plunder Island to realise my dream, but when I got there, the only people I could find who could almost carry a tune were too obsessed with their hair. Actually, they were obsessed with everyone’s hair, it was a nightmare. I tried a solo career, but it crash-landed when they decided to use me for advertisement jingles. Apparently someone had given one of my former band members an unforgettable jingle about long johns, and decided I should do that instead. And that’s when it all went pear-shaped.’
‘Hmm, that’s too bad. How would you like to go back to pirating and join my crew?’
‘I don’t know, after being a technically living undead zombie pirate on LeChuck’s crew, it’s enough to scare you away from pirating altogether for life. I mean, I almost got my hand cut off, and what was I thinking with that pirate back hair? Eugh! Then there was the daily torture sessions (which was basically LeChuck telling us of the days when he was alive; it was dead boring, no pun intended) the whipping, slashing, gutting and pillaging, we had to watch it all! Oh, it hardly bears thinking about.’
‘Hmm, are you sure? You get free press-on tattoos if you join.’
‘Okay then,’ he said happily. Guybrush wasn’t really expecting things to be that simple, he would have at least needed to do an errand for three other people before something like this happened. It was all too perfect. Then again, he was getting on in years, perhaps this wasn’t how things are meant to go. 'Great, now all I need to do is get a map to Lucre Island.’
‘No need Mr Wood, you’ve forgotten, I used to be a cartographer-’
‘Yeah, I’ve been meaning to ask you what that is.’
‘-and I can navigate your boat for you without the aid of a map if you want me to.’
‘Can cartographers do that?’
‘For the purpose of the story, they’d better.’
Now he had to find a guy about a ship. The harbour mistress was still nowhere to be found, but when he did reach the docks, a young boy was standing there.
‘Hello son, um, do you know what happened to the harbour mistress?’
‘Sure can mister, after realising that she wuz no good at this job and knew nothing about ships, she went on to pursue her dream career as a nudie model. She put me in charge of this here ship service and tole me all she knew about ships. This took her all of two seconds which is that they are all meant to float, but most here seldom do.’
‘Do you know how I can get a ship?’
‘I can give one to ya, the ole lady said I could be in charge from now on. You need a ship, I’m your man, what kind of ship ya be needing?’
‘Um, preferably a seaworthy one,’ said Guybrush, and then added ‘and one that isn’t pink!’
‘Yessir, just step over here and we’ll ring ya one right up.’
‘Don’tcha need my gubernatorial symbol or anything?’
‘Wouldn’t know what one of them is, all I gotta do is give you one of those perdy ships and make sure you gives it back to me in three hours.’
‘I... uh, may be lon- I promise to have it back in three hours or less.’ Guybrush corrected himself.
‘Gud, here ya go, you can have this one here, it’ll sail, but I can’t promise it’ll float. It may need a running start.’
‘Can’t you give me anything else, maybe something more seaworthy?’
‘Nope, the ole lady tole me that if a blonde-haired buffoon with an annoying voice asked me for a ship, I oughtta give him this one is what she said, and I only following orders.’
‘But you’re in charge now, you don’t have to take orders from anyone anymore. You can be your own man and run this place in a manner you seem fit. I know you can do it boy, I just know you can.’
‘You know what, you're right, I ain’t takin’ no orders from anyone anymore.’
‘You can have this ship!’
‘Uh, that’s the same one you offered me last time, isn’t it?’
‘Nope, this ones our deluxe model, it’s got a bottom to it, still won’t float, but you won’t get your chest wet here, just your legs.’
‘Lousy good for nothing... huh, okay boy, give me the ship.’ Guybrush wasn’t too happy about this. This was going to be fun sailing, especially with Carla, Otis and Wally on board. But then that’s how Guybrush’s life worked, like a sundial.
‘Okay, folks! Now that I’ve told you your mission, are there any questions?’
‘Yeah, why are there always only three crew people, shouldn’t we have more?’ asked Otis.
‘We cant afford more.’
‘You can hardly afford us.’
‘Okay, any other questions?’
‘Yeah,’ said Carla, ‘can we get this show on the road? The sooner we start, the sooner it will all be over.’
‘Okay, okay, we’ll do this soon enough. But I think I’ve figured out why these trips never go right.’
‘Only now you’ve noticed?’ asked Otis.
‘We never do it properly, we’re meant to break a bottle of champagne on the bow!’
‘Are you sure it’s not due to bad leadership?’
‘No, I’m pretty sure it’s the bottle thing. So everyone on the boat, I’m going to cast this thing off properly with this.’ Guybrush unveiled a bottle from his pants. Carla gave a sigh of final understanding and then back to confusion as she peered at the bottle.
‘Uh, Guybrush, that’s toilet cleaner.’
‘I know, I... couldn't afford the real stuff.’
‘Whatever,’ sighed Otis. The rest of the crew walked up the gangplank and peered over the edge, waiting impatiently for Guybrush’s bottle breaking. ‘You just know this is going to be a disaster.’
‘You said it,’ replied Carla.
Guybrush slammed the bottle into the bow of the ship with all of his might. Instead of the expected tinkle of glass that everyone was waiting for, Guybrush and the rest of the crew heard the crunch of something else, something... wooden.
Guybrush looked over at his work and then blushed. ‘Uh...’ he squeaked, ‘someone get the tar!’
Somewhere deep in the jungles of a forgotten island, something rustled in the bushes. The night was dark, the winds were howling, the rain was falling and the thunder rolled over the sky, hearing the cry of the beast. It was a lasting, piercing, depressed and hollow cry, a cry for something missing, something gone, something that was never there.
Birds flew from the situation, insects crawled or scurried away, and something emerged from the undergrowth. It was a towering, cumbersome and dexterous figure of a man, or what could be called a man, if it wasn’t missing that vital bit that would make it whole.
It howled at the moon in the rain, as it stood there, chest out, arms to its side, legs apart. It was proud, and yet saddened. It knew what it wanted, it knew what it needed, it knew what it craved for.
What it craved for, was revenge.