I stumbled upon a village a few days ago. I had stopped to restock on supplies, maybe sleep in a bed, and eat a warm meal. I had not been prepared for the amount of questions thrown my way.

"Where do you come from?"

"Where are you going?"

"Do you have any good stories to tell?"

It was strange to me that they did not ask my name. They did not really ask my business either. They wanted to know about me but they did not want to know me. 

I told them I was born in a small village in Spain but that I had lived in many places, even upon the sea. I told them I was searching for my destiny. As for stories, I have many. I gave them the following:

"The day was still and the waters were calm. There wasn't a cloud in the sky and hardly a breeze. But we were smart and in a position to wield even the smallest of winds. 

"She started as a smudge on the horizon. We thought she might be English or French. As she drew nigh, we realized we were wrong. By the time we could see her colors, we were already too late. It was The Revenge. 

"With barely a breeze and only twelve men, rowing did nothing to move our ship along. It was as if The Revenge moved on something other than wind and waves. As if it was encouraged on by the blood-thirst of her crew. We rowed as fast as we could, but within a matter of minutes, she was upon us. 

"Cannon fire drowned out the commands of our captain. We ran about the deck, doing our best to prepare for boarding. Grappling hooks ripped through our sails and and created big caverns across our deck before embedding themselves into the ship railing. With a great heave, we were pulled close to The Revenge. 

"I remember gripping my sword and preparing for an attack, but none came. I could spy no crew on The Revenge. And then, just one man. They were dressed in black, boots thundering against the timbered deck, hands clasped behind his back. He walked along the railing as if he had been born there. Then, when he had reached the center of his ship, he turned. His dark hair was curled with sea water, his brows stained with salt. Captain Roberts grinned and said 'If you join my crew, I shall spare your life.'

"But the crew was as stubborn as high tide in a storm. They would not be pirates and disrespect their king. When we did not bow down and beg for mercy, Captain Roberts picked a rope and walked across it. He did not remove his hands from his back, he did not sway with the breeze, his balance was ratlike and perfect. The crew ran at him. He produced a single sword and cut them down like dogs. A swish of his wrist, a flick of his fingers, and six of our twelve were gone. 

"But I had been trained by the very best swordsmen in the world. I was not going to go down without a fight. We dueled until sunset, til both our chests heaved with breath. Then, in a moment of watching and waiting before striking, he revealed that he was not left handed. We fought through the night, swords dancing and sparking across one and another. By morning, we could barely lift our blades. 

"Then, with the tip of his hat, he walked back across his rope and moved on." 

That seemed to satisfy them, though I had to answer many questions about The Dread Pirate Roberts and his ship. Those were easy considering I had been him and knew the ship like the feeling of my fingernails against my skin. 

The story wasn't entirely made up. I just took the perspective of a crew member I had dueled and spared due to his mastery of the blade.  

I also had to tell them who I was. 

My name is Inigo Montoya. I avenged my father, trained to be an expert swordsman for ten years, and sailed across the seven seas. I am returning home to find my Destiny.