Alright lovelies, this is my first story, so be nice, please? ) ... well, i suppose the only thing to do now would be to read...

Disclaimer: I don't own anything that is recognizable from the movies.. however, I do own Ella Raven, her ship, and her crew.

The Soul of Poseidon's Wrath

Chapter One

When I heard the news, I shook my head in disbelief. Jack Sparrow – sorry – Captain Jack Sparrow is – was – a living legend. Or does this just make him a legend? The streets of Tortuga were abuzz with the news. Jack Sparrow... dead? Barbossa... alive? Everyone in the town hated Barbossa for what he did to Jack, and they hated him even more, now that he was alive and Jack had perished. And besides that fact, people were scared. They feared that the end of the supposed "Golden Age of Piracy" was stealthily drawing nearer and nearer. It was true: Jack Sparrow was one of the last good pirates to sail the Caribbean, unlike those filthy groveling excuses that you see nowadays, sailing in their dinghies. I would know, for I am – or should I say "was" – a pirate. I've been hidden away, disguised as a mere barmaid, in Tortuga for the past seven years. Back those seven years, I was twenty years old and newly captain of one of the finest vessels to sail the Caribbean – Poseidon's Wrath.

The Poseidon's Wrath I inherited from my grandfather, who was a merchant sailor who had secretly always dreamed of becoming a pirate. However, he had a large family to think of, a family that was depending on him, and he knew his dream would never become a reality. But just because his dream could never become reality for him didn't mean that it could become real for someone else, namely myself. From the time that I was a mere child, my grandfather taught me all that there was to know about ships, sailing, and piracy in general. I read stories about Blackbeard and Captain Morgan, all of those famous pirates in storybooks. Soon, my grandfather's dream was passed on to me. I lived and breathed the ocean, and from the time that I was a small babe I never feared its depths. The ocean was my sole confidante, my best friend as a child and continued to be.

What I didn't know was that my grandfather had kept a fine ship hidden for years. He never sailed it, never brought it out of the secret stone cove that he kept it in. Then, out of the blue one day, he took me there. He leaned down to me and told me, "My child, I have kept this ship hidden for seven years. No one has seen her, heard of her, or even dreamed of her. I can feel that soon, something will happen to me, and I want you to have her. You are old enough, and I have taught you all I know. Take care of her, and she will take care of you."

The next day, he died.

Within a few years, I had a reputation to match the most infamous ship of my time, the Black Pearl, and its captain, Jack Sparrow. I myself had dueled with the Pearl's mutinous first mate, Hector Barbossa once or twice and I must say that he is everything that people say about him and then worse.

So it came as no surprise to me that we found out that Barbossa had gotten himself killed for the second time, several months after he had supposedly set out to find Jack, with Jack's mates Will and Elizabeth. (The whores of Tortuga are ridiculous gossips.) We had also heard that said mates of Jack Sparrow had had a lovers' spat, supposedly about said handsome pirate captain, but we hadn't heard much else.

It was Barbossa's death (again) that prompted me to set out on an escapade that I had been planning for the seven years that I had been in hiding, but there was a catch. (There's always a catch.) I needed something that, at that particular point in time, wasn't very easily accessible. Hell, it could possibly not be accessible at all: Jack Sparrow's compass. There was something that I wanted, something that someone stole from me those seven years ago. And I'd be damned if I didn't get it back.

I went into the tiny closet that some may call a bedroom on the tippy-top floor of the brothel/bar that I worked and lived in. I never had any male guests because I didn't sell myself (to the disappointment of several drunken males a night). In my closer – sorry – room, the largest piece of furniture was a grand mahogany armoire – the only large thing that I took with me from my ship. I opened it and crawled into the very back, suddenly stumbling upon what I was looking for: a shallow trunk filled with men's clothing and effects, including an assortment of rings that I had acquired through the years.

I slipped out of my raggedy dress and wretched corset (damn the man who came up with those things to Davy Jones's locker) and pulled on my worn, familiar breeches, brown, and an ivory colored shirt, baggy in the arms, just as I like it. Then went on a headscarf, purple, tied around my head to keep the hair out of my face. Then went on a belt, complete with various forms of weaponry, several rings, a rag tied around my wrist and arm to hide a certain tattoo, and finally a necklace – a large canary diamond with my ship's picture carved into the surface... from my grandfather.

I turned toward the full-length mirror on the door of the armoire and studied the woman reflected in it. Seven years had been good to me – my figure was curvy and seductive like my Spanish mother. I had also inherited her flawless skin, a rich sandy color that was more often than not smudged with dirt, and chocolate brown curly hair, currently down to the small of my back. But if it was anything about my looks that shocked people, it was my eyes. They were the only thing that I had inherited from my English father, being a light, icy blue.

Giving a satisfied smirk at the mirror, I crept down the stairs and found a crowd in the bar, although it was but late morning. I paused for a moment – after all, it had been seven years since I'd last used my true identity. Seven years was a long time to be randomly "lost at sea", or should I say, just plain "lost".

I debated with myself for a few moments, and on a couple occasions I almost wanted to run back to my room and hide, and forget this whole "reappearance" nonsense, go back to my job and live the rest of my life simply. But then again, I knew that I couldn't. First of all being that pirate was in my blood. I longed for the open sea, the wind in my hair, and a ship's wood under my fingers. Characteristically, I wasn't one to back down from opposition, so I chose a path other than "running and hiding".

I sauntered into the room, walked up to the bar and demanded some rum. (I hadn't had rum in seven years, and damn, I was going positively mad.) I got my rum and sighed with happiness. Seven years is a long time to be without one's favorite drink. But just as I had lifted the tin mug to my lips for the first sip, a huge cheer went up from a secluded corner of the room. Slowly, I turned, to meet the smiling faces of what was left of my crew.

"Ella! Ella Raven... where have you been?" my first mate, Wesley Brennan, yelled from his chair. In response, I turned around, rum in hand, and shouted as if I was on my ship again, screaming orders to the crew: "That's Captain Ella Raven to you, ye scabrous dogs... ye savvy?" And with that, I lifted the mug to my lips, letting the slightly sweet liquid course down my throat.

Then, a little quieter, I added something to my outburst. "And if ye think I'm making a reappearance all by me onesies, that's where ye be mistaken. The Poseidon's Wrath sets sail on the morrow!" With that, the crew cheered and I was toasted with the remaining rum. All my crew wanted to hear what I had been up to, and I needed to hear the seaman's gossip that was going around. But with all the commotion that my crew was making, I happened to catch a slight glimpse of a mysterious figure, shrouded in shadows, sitting in the darkest corner of the bar.

soooo.. what did you guys think? It's my first attempt at a fanfic, so please be easy on me ) review and let me know if i should keep this up & continue, or just what you thought of the story. thanks so much!

Captain Ella.