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Secret Revealed
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Chapter 1: From the Depths

“Oh please please please!” begged the children.
“Maybe just one last time,” Guybrush grinned, his face glowing with pleasure.
“I think Mr. Threepwood has had enough story telling for today, kids.” A voice behind him said.  Guybrush turned to her wife.
“You may be right, plunderbunny.”  The kids scampered off while Elaine handed Guybrush a letter.  It was brown, weathered with age, and laced with the salty steaks of  sea water.
“This was tucked away in your old jacket, the one you wore the fourth and last time you defeated LeChuck.”  She said.
“But that jacket is in the display case at the Monkey Island Museum!” Guybrush exclaimed.
“It still is,” amended Elaine, “but just the other day, the pocket started to glow, and hop about.  Poor old Herman was on the night shift when he saw it, and it nearly scared out of his pants.”
“Herman doesn’t wear pants!”
“I was being hypothetical.”
“Sorry, please continue.”
“Well that’s it actually.  The cannibals ruled that it was in your pocket, therefore it belonged to you, and they wanted it off their island.”
“Can’t say I blame them, “ Guybrush said, inspecting the worn paper, “they’ve had more than their share of trouble through this series.  But what do you suppose this seal means?  It looks like a monkey head.”
“It looks like three monkey heads, as a matter of fact. See, they’re behind the first one.  And that one’s eating a banana.”
Guybrush stood up, and carried the letter to the light of his balcony.  The sun was fighting desperately to not succumb to the call of night.  The rich, rolling clouds eased it away, singing an ocean lullaby.  Guybrush tentatively opened it, a sprinkle of dust falling onto his boots.

“Dear Guybrush, [he read]
 If you are reading this, it probably means that you’ve destroyed me, again. Although I am dead (as usual), I’m not going to let it interfere with our good vs. evil death match of all time.  I’ll have you know that wherever I am I’m already plotting my revenge.  If this letter has been acting strangely, it is because I have activated it from the utter depths of Hell, and will probably be coming around in a week or two to wipe you from the face of the Earth.
     Best Regards,
PS Tell Elaine I said hi.”

Guybrush looked up from the letter.
“Elaine!” he cried. “How long did it take to get this letter here from Monkey Island?”
“Well with that strange storm that’s been brewing over Blood Island, I’d assume, five days at least.  But what are you planning, Guybrush?  Guybrush?”
He had already rushed from the room.
Deep within the bowels of Mt. Acidophilus, a terror was building.  A terror that soon would break free to release pain and torment on the world.  A terror that would inflict the pain and sufferings of a thousand deaths on every one of the Earth’s miserable inhabitants. A terror that craved his enemy’s eternal anguish. A –
“Darrrrrrr!” LeChuck interrupted. “Ya flatter me too much!”
Fine, you can tell your own evil plot.
“All is in readiness, “ LeChuck muttered, “ all except for one thing…..”
“LeChuck sir!” cried the men of low moral fibre (pirates) as they rushed into the room.
What? This isn’t in the story! What page are you on? I know these guys have low morals and all, but they shouldn’t be siding with the prime evil pirate, the master of mayhem and macabre, the-
“I changed the story!” roared LeChuck with laughter. “And I’ve had just about enough of yer lousy narrating as well! When I finish regenerating, you can bet that yer gonna be the first to go.”
You just try it.  You’re only a sorry pile of talking bones. You don’t have the guts to take over the world, much less my story line.  It’s never going to work, you bilious bag of bad oysters. I hope you just- AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!
LeChuck cracked his putrid lips into a smile. Well, he cracked with what he had.
“I guess I’m feeling better than I thought. I feel great. I feel like could, TAKE ON THE WORLD!” He turned his bloodshot eyes towards the cowering men of low moral fibre (pirates). “I sure hope the narrator likes Hell.” He gloated. “I hear it’s nice and warm this time of year.”  The volcano shook with his laughter, while menacing dark clouds congealed and twisted above.
But anyway, back to Guybrush.
He was standing tall, the wind flippantly playing with his hair, the waves crashing against the ship’s bow, the seagulls raucously dipping in the breeze-
“Hey Threepwood! Aren’t you going to weigh anchor?” called a voice.  Guybrush glanced over at the dock.
“Oh well,” he stumbled, “I was just remembering old times.  Yes, by all means, set the sails!”
“Haggis McMutton, reporting for duty sar!”  Guybrush shook the sturdy Scotsman’s hand, his eyes bulging from the viselike grip.
“Good to have you aboard my friend!”
“Van Helgen and Bill extend their apologies for not being able to come help. Ya see sar, the barber’s work is never finished.”
“Aye, and neither is a pirate’s.”
“Why are we going to Blood Island, if ya don’t mind me asking, Captain?”
“I have to see the Voodoo Lady. She always tells me what I need to know.  She’s on tour now, and she should be at the Blood Island Resort this week.  All the retired pirates get a kick when she makes the skink toes disappear.”
Guybrush surveyed the rest of his crew hanging in the masts, swabbing the poop decks, suntanning on the aft- What! Suntanning!
“Otis, I see that as usual, you don’t want to work. “
“No Captain, I don’t. I just got out of the Phatt Island prison simply because I said your name. Now, I’m a little tired, and you’re in my light.” Guybrush shook his head.
“If I were the man I was three years ago, I’d string you up in the crows’ nest before you could say ‘Bobbin Threadbare.’”  By now the rest of the crew listened raptly, wondering what Guybrush was going to do.
“But times have changed. I’ve changed. I think we all have changed.  There’s going to be trouble up ahead, probably more than anything we’ve ever faced before.  If we couldn’t face it as friends, I think we will have lost before we even try.  So fine. You can sit there if you want Otis, but as for me and anyone else who stands with me, when the time comes and the battle is won, we will be able to say we stood together, ready to fight whatever came our way, regardless of whether or not we needed a tan.”
Otis sniffled, and wiped his eyes.
“That was beautiful Captain.  You really moved me.”
“So you’ll help, Otis?” Guybrush brightened.
“Well, no, but I’ll make sure everyone knows you said it after you die.”  The crew resumed their posts, and Guybrush sagged against the aft mast.
“This may be harder than I thought.”
“Blood Island! Dead ahead!” called Wally from the crows’ nest.
“Did he have to say dead ahead?” groaned Guybrush.  The waves crested higher, like his fateful voyage there in another bout with LeChuck.  The sun lay obscured by the peculiar storm clouds.  Guybrush couldn’t even tell if the island was there or not, but he trusted his crew would do all they were able.  Suddenly the sky was filled with light.  Mt. Acidophilus erupted, molten lava flying hundreds of feet in the air, like an infernal fountain.
“Ooooo.” Said the crew.   Yet as pretty as it was, Guybrush knew somehow that it bore no good.  Something was calling to him from that volcano, and Guybrush dreaded to think what it might be.

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