"Arrr! In Montenegro, ten souls met Davy Jones, two wee ones among ’em! A grim tale, matey!"
2025-01-01
Arrr, matey! The landlubbers o’ that wee Balkan isle be sayin’ they’ve laid low the scallywag what turned the tavern into a battleground. After a ruckus, they found the black-hearted knave had met his salty end! Aye, no more brawlin’ for him, savvy?
Avast ye scallywags! Gather 'round, fer I bring ye news from a wee land in the Balkans, where the rum flows like a river and the troubles be as thick as fog on the high seas. It seems a ruckus broke out in a tavern, where a band o' landlubbers got into a brawl over a bottle o' grog. Ye know how it goes, one scallywag says the other be a scurvy dog, and before ye can say "Shiver me timbers," swords be drawn and fists be flyin'!But hold yer sea horses! The ruckus took a dark turn, fer this scallywag of a gunman decided to make the tavern his own personal battlefield. He went on a wild rampage, like a kraken unleashed! The local authorities, lookin’ more befuddled than a fish out of water, set out on a search to find this ruffian. After much ado, and perhaps a few rounds of “Yo ho ho,” they reported that the gunman was found dead, most likely meetin’ Davy Jones himself in the depths of the briny deep.
So, there ye have it, mateys! A night of revelry turned to tragedy, all over a squabble that could’ve been settled o’er a game of cards. Remember, it’s all fun and games until someone brings out the pistols! Arrr!