Gogo village, the place where I grew up, wasn't the most thrilling spot in the White Sea. You've got the village square, where Grandpa did his marine paperwork – an exciting life, I know. Then there's the Gogo Forest with its famous Gogo fruits, a bit of nature on our little island. Topping it off, there's the port, a hub for sailors, marines, and the rare pirate who dared to cross paths with Grandpa, the marine big shot.
Now, my dream was pretty simple: freedom. The kind where you do whatever, whenever, and however you want. Sounds heavenly, right? Well, not everyone thought so.
You see, Grandpa had this whole family legacy thing with the marines. He wanted my brother Hurricane and me to keep the tradition alive. Hurricane bought into it, tears and all. Me? Not so much.
"Do we really have to?" I asked Grandpa, who mumbled about honor and family duty.
"Well, it's an honor –"
"Is it a must?" I cut him off.
"No..."
"Then can I head to the port? I heard a familiar ship docking in" I said, flashing a grin. Grandpa sighed in defeat, Hurricane kept wiping his tears (believe it or not, he's the eldest!), and I dashed off to the port.
The Gogo port, an all-for-one kind of place, open to everyone – sailors, marines, and the occasional pirates. Rarely a clash happened, thanks to Grandpa's marine vibes, openly known to everyone. It wasn't just a stopover for others; it was my haven of living books and storytellers. The top storyteller in my book? A guy named Sir Lancelot
Lance, my favorite storyteller, was quite the sight. You might think a guy named Sir Lancelot would be all noble and princely, but trust me, the name's a bit misleading. Lance, as I fondly call him, is this blond dude with a ponytail, brandishing a fierce lance that's seen its fair share of sea skirmishes. Picture him with a well-worn tricorn hat, a cloak fluttering dramatically in the salty breeze, and an outfit that's got that classic pirate vibe.
And if you are wondering about my grandpa's reaction, he'd actually crossed paths with Lance before. But you won't find him hanging around the bar or the port. Nope, he's got a thing for the village square and the forest, doing some exercise here and there. His mere presence makes sailors, marines, and pirates tense up, so you won't catch him in the places that keep the drinks flowing.
Hurricane, my brother, sticks to grandpa like glue. He doesn't mingle much with the pirates like I do. Now, Hurricane, he believes in Lance being a good guy, judging purely by the name. And you know what? He's right.
So, here I am, hitting the port, dashing toward the dock, guided by the sound of Lance's ship. There he was, jolly roger high above, surrounded by his pirate crew. What made Lance even more legendary was his audacity. He flaunted that iconic skull-and-sword flag right in my grandpa's marine territory. That, my friend, was true freedom in action.
"Oí, Lance!" I hollered from the dock.
"Jacky boy, back for more stories?" he grinned, jumping off his ship like it was just another day. I mean, how cool is that?
I trailed after him as we headed to the bar. My questions flowed like a waterfall, unable to be contained. "What'd you get up to this time? hidden treasure? sea monsters? Curses?" I couldn't wait for the tales to spill out. This time though, Lance came with a story so legendary it sparked a fire in me. A tale that made me settle to become a pirate. The tale of the pirate king.