The white wall of stifling morning mist pressed against the still waters of the ocean, making it all but impossible to see beyond a fathom. The sea was silent except for the occasional creak of the ship that dared to sail in such foreboding weather. Ripples cascaded outward as the merchant ship glided effortlessly through the deep-blue water, guided by the wind pressing into her white sails. The sounds of men working echoed across the water as the ship's crew carried out their duties, oblivious to the weather surrounding them. A bell rang as it's rope was pulled, the sound carried far off into the fog bank despite the thickness of the cloud until it reached the ears of another ship nearby.
It was a black ship with black sails.
It sailed hard and fast against the still water, sending harsh waves out from its black hull. The white mist seemed to part before it as if the rotting galleon appalled the fog. Its torn black sails were full with the wind, tilting slightly to catch more of the wind and push the ship faster through the water. The black ship began to turn towards the sound of the distant bell as it rang once more, shouting to the black ship where it was located. The ship's side ports lifted open and the ghastly mouths of cannons poked through the openings.
The black ship began to turn to port as a glimpse of the prey appeared through the white mist. The maneuver now had it behind the unsuspecting ship and it was closing in fast. The bell rang out again as the black ship raised it's colors high until the familiar skull and crossed swords was flapping steadily through the wind at the top of the mainmast.
"Sail 'ho!" a surprised voice sounded from the merchant ship's crows nest. "It's the Black Pearl!" The warning was too late and the crew had no time to roll out its own cannons as the black ship came along side for a broadside attack. A thunderous roar of cannon fire pierced the misty air, instantly followed by blood curdling screams and splintering wood as the cannonballs impacted into the hull of the opposing ship.
Grapples flew across the short distance between the two ships and attached to the now listing merchant ship. The lines shortened, as the black ship was pulled closer until both hulls kissed each other. A bloodthirsty roar erupted from the black ship as the crew appeared and scrambled over the two railings with swords drawn and pistols firing. The two opposing crews quickly crashed together in a chaotic melee of flaying arms and swords, pistol shot firing into flesh or through the air to embed itself into a mast or some other ship part.
The screams of men dying echoed through the mist that was now quickly enveloping the two combating ships. The sounds gradually died down as the merchant crew fell one by one to the pirate crew until the only sounds left were gleeful laughter and pounding feet of the plundering victors. But those sounds were quickly silenced with the footfalls of another and the excited screech of his companion. The pirate crew looked over to see a man step off the railing and onto the blood soaked deck of the merchant ship.
He wore fine clothing befitting of a man in command of a pirate ship. He wore a long overcoat set over a white shirt and crimson-brown vest, a yellow sash wrapped around his waist beneath a wide leather belt that flapped loosely at his side. An elegantly engraved flintlock pistol was tucked neatly into the belt and a rapier sword hung from a second belt that was fitted over his right shoulder to his left side. He had a wide-brimmed hat decorated with blue ostrich feathers and his coat was fitted with Incan silver buttons. He also wore dark brown pants tucked into weathered black boots. His graying hair was worn long and loose and he had a straggly beard running down to the base of his neck. His face was weathered and gaunt and his yellowed blue eyes gave him a sinister appearance. Perched on his shoulder and nibbling on a peanut was a brown and white capuchin monkey that also wore a fine white shirt under a red and gold vest. Tucked in its belt was a miniature flintlock pistol.
"Well, gents," the man said. "Have we found it?"
A skinny Jamaican spoke in reply; "It's not here, Capt'n! We search'd de ship and found nothin'."
"It has to be here," the man replied. "Ye all felt it call! Search again! I don't care if ye have to tear the ship apart to find it!" He watched as the crew once more began the search, this time literally tearing the ship apart to find it. A large African covered in ritual facial and body scars approached with two other crewmembers, dragging with them several survivors. He forced the survivors to their knees in front of the Captain.
"Dis is all dat's left of de crew, Capt'n," he said in a deep voice. "Der capt'n is dead."
"Did ye search them?"
"Aye, dey don't have it."
"Then why are they still alive?" the Captain rhetorically asked. To answer him, the African and the two pirates drew knives and slit the throats of the survivors before they picked up the bodies and threw them overboard with a loud splash. While they disposed of the unwanted corpses, the Captain made his way toward the stern of the ship where the Captain's cabin was located. Standing guard at the cabin door were two pirates, one was tall and thin with an eye patch over his right eye while his companion was short and chubby with a balding head.
"Like ye ordered, sir," the tall one spoke. "No ones touched de Capt'n's cabin except us."
"Good, lads," he replied and promptly shoved them out of the way so he could get to the door. "Now get out of here and help the others find the coin."
"Aye, aye, Capt'n Barbossa!" they both said in union and scrambled out of his way. Captain Hector Barbossa briefly watched them go before shaking his head and opening the door to the cabin.
The cabin was sparsely decorated as expected of a merchant captain. Of the few things that did give life to the room, they were opulent and expensive looking. An elegant oak table with scattered maps and papers rested in the center, above it hung an oil lamp that tilted with the listing ship. Off to the side partially hidden by marigold curtains was a simple bed. Near the back was a small desk with more scattered papers. Next to it, a small antique and faded globe lay on its side, having fallen over from the attack. Scattered all around were piles of books, closed trunks and trade goods the late captain had picked up or intended to sell. The room also seemed to have served as a map room and the pirate wondered why the merchant would share his space.
Barbossa took all this in as he walked around the cabin, touching each item he passed in an attempt to feel its texture. His eyes were closed as his fingertips traced along the stained oak table, remembering what a finely finished piece of furniture felt like. Although he could feel the wood beneath his fingers, he was left with a feeling of want, unable to take real pleasure in the craftsmanship put into the elegant table.
With a heavy sigh, his hand fell back to his side. "Damn this bloody curse, Jack," he growled and began to rifle through the maps and papers as the monkey leapt off his shoulder to explore the room himself. The little animal skittered across the floor and leapt onto the small desk. It reached down to the chair and picked something up off it's seat. With a delightful screech, Jack drew his master's attention to him. "What have ye got there, my little furry friend?"
Jack showed him what he had found, a plump and bright red apple was held up to his master. Barbossa frowned as he watched the monkey take a bite out of it. "Ye know how much I love those, quit taunting me with one!" Jack squeaked at him, it's happy smile from finding the prize fading to a disappointed and craving frown. "Ha, tis what ye deserve." The pirate captain walked over and promptly took the bitten apple from the monkey's hand and took a bite out of it himself. He could feel the succulent juices in his mouth but could no more taste and enjoy the flavor like he could feel the table. Again he was left with a feeling of want, an unsatisfied craving he could not satisfy no matter how many apples he ate.
Angry, Barbossa tossed the apple through the back windows, shattering the stained glass into a thousand pieces. Jack ran off in fright, leaving his master alone in the room. "The coin called us here," he growled as he stomped his way back over to the oak table. "We could not have gotten the wrong ship, could we?" He leafed through the maps until he found one where sightings were charted down. He followed the course the merchant ship had taken and made note of where it had been when the coin called to them. A finger traced along the route, passing islands and reefs until it came to a stop to the ship's current position. He saw no markings for sightings of other ships along the way. "It has to be here somewhere!" he slammed a fist down on the map.
"Capt'n Barbossa," the Jamaican pirate called from the doorway. "We've searched de ship again an' still we haven't found de coin."
"It's here, Koehler," Barbossa replied. "It has to be. Check the waters for debris or survivors and then have this ship scuttled."
"Aye, Capt'n!" the thin pirate answered and hurried to shout orders to the rest of the murderous crew.
------------------Silently off in the distance somewhere in the fog bank, floated a ghastly ship that had seen better days. Seaweed and barnacles covered its rotting hull. The sails were tattered and shredded yet they still caught the wind as if they had always been whole. The cannon port covers were carved with demonic faces and its bowsprit jutted out from the bow like a fanged beast ready to swallow whatever was unfortunate enough to be caught in it's maw. Bones and crustacean shells made up what was left of the wood railings. But despite its horrific and terrifying appearance, the ship was as solid and sound as any other.
Aboard the deck, the crew matched the ghastly ship. Each one looked different from the other but they all had barnacles and crustaceans, seaweed and rot and a ghostly appearance about themselves. At the helm on the stern castle was a giant of a sailor who was made entirely of coral, a single red eye peered out from what should have been a human head had he been human. Beside him, much shorter but more human than the helmsman, was a gray skinned hammerhead with one eye in the right place and the other having moved to where it would be correct on such a shark. Standing off to the side, near the port railing, and alone was a third creature.
He had a crab leg for a peg leg and a lobster's claw for a left hand and forearm. His right hand appeared more human save for the index finger, which had grown into a long tentacle that was currently wrapped around his forearm. His dark clothing was encrusted with barnacles and crustaceans, seaweed and coral and who knew what else grew on the fabric. But the most prominent and most noticeable disfigurement, if you would dare call it that, was his head. What should have been a normal beard, in its place instead were several withering and very much alive tentacles. The two prominent tentacles formed what would have been an over-grown mustache had he been human. A siphon protruded out from the left side of his face, acting in place of his very missing nose. A wide and split tri-corn hat rested over his head, hiding a sac at the back. The only thing about him that appeared to retain any humanity, aside from his right hand and leg, were his eyes. They were the deepest blue, as deep as the depths of the ocean itself.
"Capt'n, orders?" the hammerhead shark asked of the squid-faced man.
"We'll pass on this one," he answered, his voice laced with a Scottish brogue. "There is another ship in the vicinity and they will find the survivor before we do." As if to confirm his claim, the dense fog parted just enough and long enough for both men to see another ship sail by. It was a ship of the British Royal Navy and it was one that he did not want to contend with at the moment, especially so soon after the cursed ship had scuttled the merchant ship.
"Shall we set sail after the Pearl then?"
"Aye, Maccus," he nodded and a tentacle pulled out a whalebone pipe from an inside pocket in his coat. Another tentacle lit a match off his claw and set the tobacco smoldering in the richly decorated pipe. "Let us continue following this trail of blood and entrails these cursed sailors leave behind them." The hammerhead nodded and left to instruct the helmsman on their new heading while the captain continued to stare into the fog, listening and feeling what was happening out there despite being unable to see the unfolding events.
"Look! There's a boy in the water!" the voice of a young girl exclaimed and Davy Jones knew that the only survivor of the attack had been saved from the cruelty of the sea...