Prologue
There are many great stories in the world, and many of them tell of the endeavors of all sorts of great men. Ah, these men did all sorts of crazy little things; they scaled snowy peaks, they sailed thrice around the bloody globe without killing themselves, and they slew blasted beasts and lived to tell the tale. And the world rose around them, glorified them. Made them as immortal as the cursed gods themselves. It was with this movement, by the people, that the stories were lost. 'Warped' is maybe a better word. Say a man got lucky, on one day when there was an unruly mountain goat charging through his village and causing trouble. So he threw his little spear like a blind man, and heaven and behold, he struck the bloody beast! And perhaps got a little scratched up in the process. But when his kinsmen rose about him, cherishing his 'heroism' (shall we call it), the true story of a plain man who got his lucky shot just about vanished. In the eyes of the world, he became a muscled, brave old prince type who strode up and severed a great dragon, just with the pure beauty of his gaze! Or perhaps he became a man who rescued swooning wenches from high, tower keeps. Or maybe he became a man who escaped from a desert island by way of some blasted sea turtles! Being a legend is some damn right hard work, and I daresay I've nearly had enough. I've seen too many old friends, I suppose. Well, the life of pirate is never all that easy….not that I should ever expect it to be. It's no magnificent little garden party, being (Captain!) Jack Sparrow, brilliant and wily and all that jazz. It's never been easy. Not since the day when my charming mum and dad met at a tavern in good old Tortuga, not since the day when I was born aboard the Silver Crest, not since the day when I stopped looking my old dad square in the eye. Perhaps I'm exaggerating a wee bit when I say that always, whenever I look behind my blasted shoulder, there's some buffoon who's running aft, thirsting for my blood. One should never trust these old friends, you know, because you never know when they might….turn on you. Now that's one thing I wish it hadn't taken old Jack so blasted long to learn.