![]() I pressed them for more information on each of the three trials, and then left them to their grog. They seemed unimpressed, but told me of the three trials I must undertake before I could be recognized as a true grog-swilling, foul-smelling pirate. I gathered my courage and approached them. I was directed into the back room, where the important-looking pirates that the lookout had mentioned held their table. Two of the pirates in the front room, a friendly man named Mancomb Seepgood and an intimidating fellow with a rheumy eye, gave me some information about the local powers, including the fearsome-and dead!-ghost pirate LeChuck. I walked down the cliffside and along the dock until I came to the Scumm Bar, a rowdy establishment full of dirty, smelly degenerates: pirates. ![]() A crabby old lookout directed me to a bar, the Scumm Bar, the local pirate hangout. I arrived on Mêlée Island™ weary from my trek across the open seas and missing the Old World already, but eager to become a real buccaneer. IN WHICH I ARRIVE ON MÊLÉE ISLAND IN SEARCH OF MY FORTUNE The Memoirs of Guybrush Threepwood: The Monkey Island Yearsįor the benefit of those of you who have ever dreamed of becoming a pirate, of mastering sword and sea, of stealing unimaginable wealth, of swilling grog until your head reels and your stomach wrenches, and of questing for that mysterious and powerful elixir, true love, I, Guybrush Threepwood, do here set quill pen to paper in the hopes of discouraging you from trying.
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