In the tropical climes of the Caribbean, where pirates oft rule the waves, our legendary seafarer, Edward Kenway, awoke with a mighty stretch and a groan that rattled the beams of his creaky wooden abode. The sun's rays pierced his window, whispering of adventures on the high seas, but the only quest Edward had in mind was the epic conquest of tonight's dinner--fish, caught by his own fair hand...and unconventional methods. "Yar, 'tis a fine day fer some fishin'," Edward mumbled to himself, throwing his legs over the side of the bed. He glanced at his usual pirate garb--a bit overkill for catching the finned scallywags that peopled the pond near his home. In a bold move that would have the folks at Abstergo blushing, Edward sauntered out of his room as bare as the day he was born. 'Twas a scene that would make even the Blackbeard himself avert his eyes. Edward's physique, usually hidden beneath layers of leather and linen, was a finely chiseled homage to the rigors of pirate life. Muscles sculpted by countless ship boardings and treasure hunts rippled in the morning light, every inch the embodiment of a swashbuckler's might. Yet in a graceless contrast, his posterior wobbled with a jollity that would rival a bowlful of jelly in a rump-shaking contest. It was, in its own right, a flag of its own--white by virtue of lacking sun, and known to be hoisted only when Edward deemed clothing non-essential. With the confidence of a man on a mission, Edward approached the pond, his prized burlap sack swinging in the hand not occupied holding his nose. His reflection in the water showed a rugged face born of salt and sun--a grin on his lips that knew of the imminent, effortless victory. "I tell ya, fishes, ye've never met an arse like mine," he proclaimed, stepping into the pond. The mud squelched between his toes as he steadily advanced into deeper waters, and he looked every bit as glorious as Neptune himself, if ol' Neptune favored nudity and had a predilection for flatulence. The moment of truth arrived, and with a comical scrunch of his face--a mix of purposeful determination and the simple pleasure of release--he unleashed the kraken of his bowels. Bubbles emerged from the depths, rising to the surface with an urgency that spoke of a foulness not of this world. Each bubble a wobble; a noxious symphony in miniature, breaking the surface with silent eruptions. Edward reveled in the momentary bliss of relief, watching as the crystalline water's surface was disturbed by his malodorous endeavors. "Ah, freedom be a beautiful thing," he quipped, his nimble legs wading through the pond that was quickly becoming a dinner plate. The fish, unprepared for such an assault on the senses, succumbed one by one, floating belly-up in surrender. "There you have it! A banquet fit for the most fearsome pirate of the Caribbean," Edward declared, gathering his catch in an olfactory victory procession back to his abode, the very stones of which seemed to recoil at his approach. Before long, Edward--now decently attired to spare the sensibilities of any unexpected guests--was preparing his feast. Lemon and herbs collected from his garden were added to soften the questionable harvesting method. As the aroma of baked fish filled his kitchen, the earlier comedy of the situation was replaced by the anticipation of a succulent meal. "Ah, me hearties, if only every battle were as easily won as the tussle with pond dwellers," Edward chuckled to himself, sinking his teeth into the tender flesh of his hard-earned catch. The flaky white meat seemed to melt on his tongue, a delectable piracy that left the previous aromatic assault a distant memory. And as Edward sat back, comfortably full and content, he mused aloud, "Avast, 'tis a good life when ye can clear a pond with naught but yer bum's breath and live to tell the tale." He let out another chuckle, his daring doings becoming another notch in the legends of Edward Kenway, the fish-hunter of the most repellant kind.