A new force of evil is arising'. Now every pirate must band together to fight his dark magic. Follow Captain James Davion Norvic, an exalted pirate taken from his burning ship and crew and imprisoned in a cell locked away from the world itself. As James discovers new allies and truths within pirate legends, he encounters one of the most deadly rumors after meeting a particularly notorious pirate. Now, life strung by a viscous bet he had no parto f, he must become the best pirate to ever sail if he wishes to survive the scourge of undead pirates hunting him and those related to him, led by none other than the cursed immortal captain Jolly Roger himself...
Rated T for violence, swearing, light sexual content, voodoo, and other disturbing scenes.
James Davion Norvic, or James Scallywag as he would be known as by most roundabout, dinghy-traveling pirates off the coast of the Caribbean, sat up as an explosion stormed the stone prison. A second one made him jump in startlement, the sound of bending metal rapped the vicinity with a devastating sound, he rolled and cropped against the hard wall as a cannonball arced over him and through the metal bars, which created a small, yet jagged opening in the prison cell.
James cursed his morning as a fourth boom shook the prison and smacked into the dark canvas of thhe outer hallway. Jingling keyes rattled in the darkness, and James broke into a combat stance as a figure with dangling hair drooped inside. THe figure DID seem to study James, but steadily swooshed backwards and stepped back into the darkness, with the cell door left hanging open. The former pirate questioned the likeness of the man who had freed him, the bare glimpse he'd caught was a faded dark red bandanna most likely drained of thick color by hours of waterlogging and the keyes roped around his wrist, a thin cylinder object extending from his left hand.
He had no choice. Standing without voice or question, James crept towards the cell door. A newly fired cannonball broke through the poorly crafted ceiling, pocketing a small, circle of light that gave him a lighter vision of the prison. It was a squarish room, with only a few food barrels, cannons wihout any cannonballs next to them, and windows for each cannon that gave him sight of pirate ships taking on the prison's coastal security and few naval defense frigates. He couldn't imagine what pirate captain was foolish or hellbent enough that, against the most told experienced outcome from times of old, would attack a prison, despite how well gaurded, of all Royal Navy facilities.
He knew his last crew wasn't as valiant.
The eel-belly blowharts had wussed away from taking on the Royal Navy, offering up their captain, himself, to the Admiral who captured them. He didn't feel any remorse for them anymore, in fact, the memory of watching their ship, The Spoiled Dumpling, be ripped apart by a storm of iron cannonballs was a pleasure he could only measure within the lightest of dreams he'd experienced in his current eleven years of imprisonment.
A burning craving of food, something more filling than the half-finished bread scrapings the gaurds left for the dogs and, when they didn''t eat, gave to prisoners and salt water from the ocean. Three of his primary senses: sight, smell, and hearing; were all affected by this starvation. While his smell and hearing had grown slightly, usually to the mention or cooking of spoils, his eyes were begging to be wrenched out with a spoon from the lack of sustanence supporting them. Still, if he were ever to escape, he tightened his grasp on reality, and beckoned deeply to whatever higher power watching him to pass Calypso's blessing.
He couldn't believe what he was saying. Such sailor's radish was nothing of importance to him.
A dull barrel pressed into his back. Silently, and cursing under his breath, he raised his arms in surrender and unveiled the absensce of any weapons. His captor, scrawny with a strange "ballet" to his stance, lowered the pistol and began to traut away, content in his own foul-played leisure. James whirled around, searching for a weapon. There was nothing but the stone-cradled ground and air, he turned to the man who continued to walk away, uncaring of the possibility of threat.
"Hey!" he called to the man, "Who are you!?"
The man stopped in his place, almost as if waiting for another word. He raised his pistol, and turned, with the barrel at level with Jame's chest. Another cannonball blasted through the wall, and the man's balance was thrown. James lunged.
"Don't think so!" the man sidestepped him, quickly ramming his elbow down into the falling Jame's back.
James swore as he pushed himself up, only to discover the double-barreled flintlock once again in his direction, a mere few inches fray his nose, close enough for a direct blow.
"You need better reflexes, mate. And watch your back...I heard a crac-cracking." the unknown man warned, speeding away down the nearby staircase.
James, bewildered, tried to stand. Pain wrenched his spine, and he limped over with his arm clasped on his waist. His back had grunged into it's inner structure from years of sitting. At least, that was how he prided himself, unwilling to admit the force of the man's blow may have broken something.
Limping, and grasping the pain his spine with anger, he crept out of the prison catacombs, off to fresh air, off to freedom from this wretched place...