Le Drapeau Tricolore waved tattered as we rowed to island’s shore, From oceans depth a skull smiled back, Bart retrieved it as his own.
Above the jetty stood a statue, its tell-tale head removed. Further defiled as Bart climbed and placed the skull upon. Pierre Vérany, the statues honour, his plaque and visage disgraced.
To Golden Hen the crew moved forth, there greeted by Marie. A sip of rum did draw her ire, for fear of “Mother”, her Ladyship, Teatotaller of the town, Governor gone and spirits lost since two months past.
Across the square we strode to inspect the fishery, Greetings called To workers, crushing jellyfish, a task which takes a toll. Jacques Courtemer, a fisherman, pushing back for days of old. Purveyor of rotten seafood, his tale of woe then told, Mother of worms and her ruthless thugs, the inquisition summoned. Townsfolk enslaved, beneath her will, she hides in nearby caves
A plan then set, we rowed to sea, where Spanish Ship of the Line stood. Santa Purificación its name, they held outside the bay.
We set out from further up the shore, through jungles thick with vine. In clearing a brick building stood, approached by jelly carboy. Their wares left off, to town where now, smoke and chaos sounded.
Burst forth into storehouse, a secret door revealed. Bart’s gentle heart to dog was drawn, its pustules inflamed. No damage done, Bottlesmith through ritual a Necro-Sleep was laid, Then Bart killed the dog…
Anyway, some acid spilled to earth now turned into a gel that sticks. Through secret door a vault revealed, barrels and bottles stacked. First crate searched, profit revealed, our gold lust was invigor’ed, From there dried fish, acid and rum, where would this go we figured.
To eastern tunnels we set forth, a vacancy discovered. Human bones gnawed, a balcony, by ladder Bottlesmith did climb. Onto own ass, our crew did fall, until Bart cleared the rungs. In skelly’s hand a gem’d wand grasped, to Bart new voices sung.
Venturing then into the depths, dark pool where body floated, Bart strode forth to one eyed worm, its program set to burrow. Quickly dead in Bart’s embrace, the body not identified for too long it had bloated. In bag we found a ghostwood handle, to light the way ahead.
Pirate Björk 