The wind blew around the hull of the Pearl, shrieking through the ripped sails as her stern creaks and groans. The black rain hurls itself against the deck fast and hard. Above the dark waves the bruised sky crashes. The black masts push against the air as the Pearl cuts her way through the wild sea. The sailors scatter across the soaked deck, heaving, pulling, tying, each a part of the ship herself. Men’s shouts are drowned out by the heavy storm, the torrential rain slashing their faces making them tough. A flash of blue lightening illuminates the ship and for a moment the sky is torn apart by the raging brightness of electricity. The sudden brightness reveals the dark figure of a tall man standing proud upon the quarterdeck, his right hand guiding the ship’s wheel and in the left he holds a leather bound compass.
The man has a look of resolute confidence across his face, he appears to stare past the swirling chaos of the tempest around him and out past the drop of the horizon. Yet in his dark ringed silver eyes glimmers a hint of fear. He has about him an air of mystery, adventure a compelling aura that makes you believe that a man as he could be possible, is possible. His name is Captain Jack Sparrow.