You must be hungry. Try the wine and the apples. One of those next?
Elizabeth: It's poisoned.
Barbossa: There would be no sense to be killing ye, miss Turner.
Elizabeth: Then release me. You have your trinket. I'm of no furter value to you.
Barbossa: You don't know what it is, do ye?
Elizabeth: It's a pirate medallion.
Barbossa: This is Aztec gold.
One of 882 identical pieces of gold they delivered in a stone chest to Cortés himself. Blood money paid to stem the slaughter he wrecked upon them with his armies.
But the greed of Cortés was insatiable. So the heathen gods placed upon the gold a terribile curse. Any mortal that removes but a single piece from that stone chest shall be punished for eternity.
Elizabeth: I hardly believe in ghost stories anymore, Captain.
Barbossa: Aye. That's exactly what I thought when we were first told the tale.
Buried on an Island of Dead what cannot be found, except for those who know where it is.
Find it, we did. There be the chest. Inside be the gold. And we took them all.
We spent them, and traded them, and frittered them away on drink and food and pleasurable company.
The more we gave them away, the more we came to realize, the drink would not satisfy, food turned to ash in our mouths, and all the pleasurable company in the world could not slake our lust.
We are cursed men, miss Turner. Compelled by greed, we were, but now we are consumed by it.
There is one way we can end our curse. All the scattered pieces of the Aztec gold must be restored and the blood repaid. Thanks to ye we have the final piece.
Elizabeth: And the blood to be repaid?
Barbossa: That's way there is no sense to be killing ye yet. Apple?
Arr. I'm curious, after killing me what was it you planning to do next?
Look! The moonlight shows us for what we really are. We are not among the living, and so we cannot die, but neither are we dead.
For too long I've been parched with thirst and unable to quench it. Too long I've been starving to death and haven't died. I feel nothing. Nor the wind on my face nor the spray of the sea, nor the warmth of a woman's flesh.
You best start believing in ghost stories, miss Turner. You're in one!
dialogue between Captain Hector Barbossa and Miss Elizabeth Swann,
from Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl (2003)
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