The Sanguine and Blackbeard's Cutlass

You finally lower your arms confident the natives won’t attack. You ask, “Why have none of you tried to take the blade for yourselves?”

“Some have tried. All have died in their attempt. Why would more try?” the native replies.
“So you sit here guarding the blade. I must say your ways of ‘guarding’ are quite unconventional. It usually helps to keep outsiders, well, out to protect the thing you’re guarding.”
“Finding the island is the first part in proving your worthiness to the blade. If one cannot answer the call, they are not worthy.”
“Oh come on, I couldn’t have been the first person wandering here with one of your hoods. Hell, Blackbeard possessed the blade. Did he come here to prove his worthiness?”

At Blackbeard’s name, the natives drop to their knees and whisper prayers. The leader addresses you, “Quetzalcoatl takes many forms. It is not our place to question the Great Serpent. We only are to serve his wishes.”

“And if he wishes for me to take the cutlass and leave?” you ask.
“We will see if that is truly his wish,” the native replies with a crooked smile. You notice his canine teeth have been filed to sharpened points. A tribute to his god most likely.
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