Aye, gather ‘round mates. I’ve a tale to tell ye; a tale that involves yer very own Captain Graves. Ye comfterble? Then let’s get to it, shall we?
Me name? Oh, that not be important. Aye, I’m Irish, but I mean ye no harm. I heard this tale from that slippery leprechaun, Finnigan O’Hare himself. He asked me t’ set the record straight about his encounter with yer Captain Graves. So if ye have no further inquiries, we can begin.
The day began like any other, Ol’ Finnigin were swimmin’ in the cove where Graves’ ship would later anchor, tryin’ to catch some fish for dinner before lookin’ for a place to hide a stash of gold an’ jewels. Anyway, he had caught a nice fat fish and were just gettin’ ready t’ fix it over the fire when at sunset he saw a large and heavily loaded pirate ship lumber into th’ cove like an overstuffed chicken comin’ home to roost. Seein’ as his clothes were dryin’ by the fire, he set his fish to cookin’ and started gettin’ dressed.
Aye, I am short, what of it? Ye think I’m him don’t ye? No no no, don’t deny it. Allow me t’ finish me story, perhaps then you’ll understand.
Where was I? Oh, aye. Finnigan were finishin’ gettin’ dressed when Graves mounts the hill and draws his sword, demandin’ to know who O’Hare is and what he’s doin’ there. Finnigan introduces himself, and realizin’ that the bloody pirate has seen his treasure trove, invites the captain to sit and drink. I mean, ye all knows that Cap’n Graves be a towerin’ mountain o’ a man, and Finnigan, like m’self, is somewhat lackin’ in height and brute strength. So the pirate sits and Finnigan regales him with stories from his travels far and wide, while servin’ him bottle after bottle o’ rum and other strong drink. Now I aint’ known Finnigan to lose a drinkin’ contest to nobody, and so it weren’t long afore Captain Graves were drunker than a sailor on payday, ho ho ho! It were then that Captain Graves noticed Finnigan’s staff leanin’ against a nearby tree. Graves got to it first, despite bein’ drunk, and made Finnigan play a game of Ship, Captain, Bosun to get it back.
I know that luck games are a leprechaun’s bread an’ butter, but without his staff see, Finnigan were just a short, brilliant Irishman. So he agreed t’ the dice game and actually lost. Astounded, he bet first one and then another of his treasure chests on the game, afore losin’ both to the pirate. He realized that the staff were givin’ his powers to Graves; he needed to get it back afore the pirate realized this. Out of options, Finnigan finally bet himself; humiliation. The winner o’ the next game got the staff, as well as the coat, vest, and shirt of the loser. B’sides that, the loser would have a massive clover tattoo cover their chest, to remind them of their lack of luck this night.
Yes, I know I probably r’mind ye of Graves’ description of Finnigan. He be a dear friend of mine, we grew up together and it be on my ship that he travels the world. Do ye mind if I finish m’ tale?
So anyways, Captain Graves lost that dice game, finally, and Finnigan got his staff back. Howe’er, he’d tipped his hand. Graves knew the staff were important now and when Finnigan used his magic to fulfill the rest of the bet, Graves drew his sword with a roar and stumbled toward Finnigan with malice in his eyes an’ murder in his heart! It were a brief fight, one that Finnigan only won b’cause when he blocked a blow from Graves’ cutlass, one that would o’ split his head open, the cutlass broke the staff an’ flung both of ‘em backwards. Finnigan tumbled off the edge of the cliff face and fell into the lagoon below, passin’ out with the impact.
When I finally came to an’ looked up, daylight had lit the cove and the fire at th’ campsite had gone out. He could hear pirates movin’ around the beach, and realizin’ that his treasure was lost, Finnigan sneaked around t’ the other side of the island where m’ ship was awaitin’ his return. The rest, ye already know from Graves. He stole the treasure, but Finnigan wanted me t’ pass a message to the pirate captain; perhaps ye mates can help. The message be, if he returns the gold, Finnigan will remove the tattoo and return his beloved coat and vest.
Will ye pass on that message fer me? Ye will? Bless ye then, an’ a Happy St. Patrick’s Day to ye!