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Be it known I have squatted far and wide and the cannons upon Rempahnese ships are coziest!
The long bombard is where I prefer to lie – smoking my pipe to the echoing of waves. Cannons were originally beds, so claims a prophecy of the First Kingdom of Khlang Kiu. It was Houma who first told me that story; she keeps a few in her den.
There is no pleasure grander than waking up in a cannon with the smell of poppies roasting in the morning! But alas!
No cannons to rest my weary bones here! This wretched lighthouse blasts nothing but darkness. All that damned Uricko Freeman’s doing! Chasing false shadows and golden whispers. Bah! To think I taught that bastard to dance! Egads! I had to dig the sand for days in search of his stupid coin and I found nothing but bones. There is no treasure buried here, nothing but cursed souls and rotten linen. God, what I wouldn’t do to curl up into a small culverin!
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