Wheeling Gull Isle The beach is too dry, where is the rum?

She continued to flatter him, but his ears drifted backwards as she prattled on, his expression descending into one of skepticism and boredom. She promised to die for him if need be, and he snorted. "Is that so? How willing be ye to die for me, eh?" He questioned, squinting an eye as one side of his mouth lifted over a fang in an ugly scowl that slowly transformed into a wicked half-grin. "The ship is newly christened, and the plunder be sparse. I be needin' treasure for me coffers. Yers would do."