On the Horizon
By: L'Morgan
Disclaimer: Disney owns all characters present and future if it turns out I have chosen the same names! This is entirely for fun, and mostly probably due to the complete lack of POTC merchandise to collect - what happened guys??? I'm not making any money here of course, but I know a lot of people who sure are anxious to give you more in terms of POTC merchandise - including ME????
Prologue
The Sea. She is as temperamental as Mother Nature herself. Smooth and glassy, still as a pond at times. At the other extreme a wild witch in all her fury, creating walls of churning water as tall as mountains, with winds so strong they can sweep a man off his feet and carry him away as if he is no more than a speck of dust. Yes, she can be demanding - but she also has a timeless talent for seduction. Today this mistress is in a good mood, and thus, so is the dark haired man standing at the wooden wheel of the large galleon that speeds easily across the crystal blue waves.
The tri-corner hat has seen better days, but reflects the character of its owner well. His dark hair blows back from his face, revealing a thin mustache and short beard. The colorful beads woven into his hair and beard serve to weight those areas down. A once white shirt and dark trousers serve to stress simplicity, while the gold chain around his neck, the large ring on one finger, and the gold capping that sparkle on a tooth here and there reflect a certain skill at prosperity - a talent almost. But it is the kohl rimmed dark eyes that seem to hold a mischievous secret that are so striking about this figure. It is a secret that lends an air of brashness, a countenance of informality, a indolent smile and loose stance of ease, not quite expected to be found in a pirate of the Caribbean.
Before him stretches the long expanse of his ship. Behind him snaps the fantail flag that declares his intentions to be not quite always honest, the skull and crossbones of his trade. The railings of well waxed oak gleam in the new-day sun. The often polished brass fittings blaze as if made of gold themselves. Ropes lie coiled in calf high circles, the riggings are tight, as are the large black sails above. Yes, black sails, for this is no ship that can ever be mistaken for another.. This is the infamous Black Pearl; dreaded by merchants, uncatchable to her majesty's best, and even now she sits well loaded in the water, for her holds are not empty by any means.
With one hand on the wheel the figure tips a smoky colored glass bottle to his lips for a moment. The blaze of aged Jamaican rum is welcome and familiar, however time and frequency have reduced its inebriating qualities - but not that he would ever let on. If the gait of a walk, a tip of the head and the flutter of a hand leads others to underestimate - oh well, so much the better for the cause of the Brethren. And indeed this Captain and his crew have all well earned their membership in that club. There is an air of anticipation that blends well with the scent of salt water spray as the gentle winds send them west - homeward, finally homeward once again after 18 months of adventure.
The busy crew carries out their tasks almost without orders, for past trial and tribulation have cemented them together in a way little else can. Suntanned arms and suntanned faces join in cooperation to accomplish those things needed. Easily they cross to and fro, winching up ropes and chains of assorted sizes, clearing equipment and clutter. It is a task not quite the same as accomplished on land, for one needs the use of his sea legs, even in waters with such a gentle roll such as these.
Sea legs - the ability of a man to walk without misstep or unbalance on a surface that first drops slightly away from his step, pauses, then rises up slightly to meet him a bit early and pauses once more, in a rhythm as old as the earth itself. Now and again, as the ship glides over the rise of a wave there is a hint of a sideways slide added in just for fun. This is the Sea, and she is as alive as any of those who dare sail upon her endless currents and tides. To walk upon the decks of a sailing ship in open seas is to learn the dance this mistress does so well.
Captain Jack Sparrow fishes in his pocket and considers the old and worn compass he holds now open in one hand. It is not a compass that points north - but then if one is not interested in heading north, perhaps that isn't the sort of compass one would want to begin with. No, this crew have other destinations in mind, and its members do not ask how or why this mysterious instrument guides their Captain's hand, or even where it comes from - just that is works time and again. But then, this is the Caribbean, home to ancient Aztec gold and Inca blood, laced with legend and lore, and well familiar with the ways of curses and voodoo magic. It has been whispered that perhaps they are best off not knowing the origins of this strange instrument that guides them.
A buccaneer well past the prime of his life clambers up the stairs to the fan tail deck where the large ships wheel is mounted. The wheel of a ship isn't just a large, solid attachment to the rudder. Through it one can feel and sense the power of the water, the resistance to the change of the rudder, the quiet creak and groan of the far below deck gears.
With a knowing grin, Jack snaps the compass shut, stows it in his pocket and turns the wheel slightly. For a moment the constant vague swish of the ship through the waves changes its pitch and tone as the craft adjusts its direction, but then returns to its constant whisper. The crisp snap of a sail above and a hardly distinguishable lean is all that belies their change of direction. Home - they are definitely homeward bound to the infamous town of Port Royal. Not that they will sail into port in broad daylight mind you. Being a successful pirate does require the skill of 'timing' shall it be said? Tis not for beauty that the Pearl flies sails of midnight black - oh no, tis of use they are in bringing about many an 'opportune moment'.
*************
By: L'Morgan
Disclaimer: Disney owns all characters present and future if it turns out I have chosen the same names! This is entirely for fun, and mostly probably due to the complete lack of POTC merchandise to collect - what happened guys??? I'm not making any money here of course, but I know a lot of people who sure are anxious to give you more in terms of POTC merchandise - including ME????
Prologue
The Sea. She is as temperamental as Mother Nature herself. Smooth and glassy, still as a pond at times. At the other extreme a wild witch in all her fury, creating walls of churning water as tall as mountains, with winds so strong they can sweep a man off his feet and carry him away as if he is no more than a speck of dust. Yes, she can be demanding - but she also has a timeless talent for seduction. Today this mistress is in a good mood, and thus, so is the dark haired man standing at the wooden wheel of the large galleon that speeds easily across the crystal blue waves.
The tri-corner hat has seen better days, but reflects the character of its owner well. His dark hair blows back from his face, revealing a thin mustache and short beard. The colorful beads woven into his hair and beard serve to weight those areas down. A once white shirt and dark trousers serve to stress simplicity, while the gold chain around his neck, the large ring on one finger, and the gold capping that sparkle on a tooth here and there reflect a certain skill at prosperity - a talent almost. But it is the kohl rimmed dark eyes that seem to hold a mischievous secret that are so striking about this figure. It is a secret that lends an air of brashness, a countenance of informality, a indolent smile and loose stance of ease, not quite expected to be found in a pirate of the Caribbean.
Before him stretches the long expanse of his ship. Behind him snaps the fantail flag that declares his intentions to be not quite always honest, the skull and crossbones of his trade. The railings of well waxed oak gleam in the new-day sun. The often polished brass fittings blaze as if made of gold themselves. Ropes lie coiled in calf high circles, the riggings are tight, as are the large black sails above. Yes, black sails, for this is no ship that can ever be mistaken for another.. This is the infamous Black Pearl; dreaded by merchants, uncatchable to her majesty's best, and even now she sits well loaded in the water, for her holds are not empty by any means.
With one hand on the wheel the figure tips a smoky colored glass bottle to his lips for a moment. The blaze of aged Jamaican rum is welcome and familiar, however time and frequency have reduced its inebriating qualities - but not that he would ever let on. If the gait of a walk, a tip of the head and the flutter of a hand leads others to underestimate - oh well, so much the better for the cause of the Brethren. And indeed this Captain and his crew have all well earned their membership in that club. There is an air of anticipation that blends well with the scent of salt water spray as the gentle winds send them west - homeward, finally homeward once again after 18 months of adventure.
The busy crew carries out their tasks almost without orders, for past trial and tribulation have cemented them together in a way little else can. Suntanned arms and suntanned faces join in cooperation to accomplish those things needed. Easily they cross to and fro, winching up ropes and chains of assorted sizes, clearing equipment and clutter. It is a task not quite the same as accomplished on land, for one needs the use of his sea legs, even in waters with such a gentle roll such as these.
Sea legs - the ability of a man to walk without misstep or unbalance on a surface that first drops slightly away from his step, pauses, then rises up slightly to meet him a bit early and pauses once more, in a rhythm as old as the earth itself. Now and again, as the ship glides over the rise of a wave there is a hint of a sideways slide added in just for fun. This is the Sea, and she is as alive as any of those who dare sail upon her endless currents and tides. To walk upon the decks of a sailing ship in open seas is to learn the dance this mistress does so well.
Captain Jack Sparrow fishes in his pocket and considers the old and worn compass he holds now open in one hand. It is not a compass that points north - but then if one is not interested in heading north, perhaps that isn't the sort of compass one would want to begin with. No, this crew have other destinations in mind, and its members do not ask how or why this mysterious instrument guides their Captain's hand, or even where it comes from - just that is works time and again. But then, this is the Caribbean, home to ancient Aztec gold and Inca blood, laced with legend and lore, and well familiar with the ways of curses and voodoo magic. It has been whispered that perhaps they are best off not knowing the origins of this strange instrument that guides them.
A buccaneer well past the prime of his life clambers up the stairs to the fan tail deck where the large ships wheel is mounted. The wheel of a ship isn't just a large, solid attachment to the rudder. Through it one can feel and sense the power of the water, the resistance to the change of the rudder, the quiet creak and groan of the far below deck gears.
With a knowing grin, Jack snaps the compass shut, stows it in his pocket and turns the wheel slightly. For a moment the constant vague swish of the ship through the waves changes its pitch and tone as the craft adjusts its direction, but then returns to its constant whisper. The crisp snap of a sail above and a hardly distinguishable lean is all that belies their change of direction. Home - they are definitely homeward bound to the infamous town of Port Royal. Not that they will sail into port in broad daylight mind you. Being a successful pirate does require the skill of 'timing' shall it be said? Tis not for beauty that the Pearl flies sails of midnight black - oh no, tis of use they are in bringing about many an 'opportune moment'.
*************