The Return of the Lord

Chapter One

He once again awoke from his terrible nightmare, sweat slowly dribbling from his forehead, recalling the terrible wreckage his ship was in; the flames erupting from the aft of the vessel, licking the wooden deck and swallowing everyone and everything in its way, including him.

Wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, he sat upright in his berth, closing his eyes for a brief moment, then opening them again. His hands were shaking, the punding of his heart echoed in his ears and he took a deep breath to settle his somewhat irregular breaths down.

A cold breeze from outside brushed against his hot, sticky skin, cooling it down. The slight, gentle touch of wind brought him back to where he was and that he was actually safe.

To clench his thirst, that he had a dry throat he had realized just now, he extended his arm to grab the silver glass on his night table. He sighed as he realized it was empty, he had been very thirsty the first night, grabbed the nearest candelabrum for extra light, for the silver shine of the full moon wasn't enough and flung his newly washed covers away to get fresh drinking water.

As his bare, warm feet touched the cold, hard wooden floor, he flinched, rushing to find his warm and cozy slippers in the dim room. Once he found them, he brabbed a candelabrum, stood up, making his way across the room to the small wooden table, where a crystal jug was situated. He poured himself a glass of water, bringing it to his cracked lips.

The cool water slithered down his throat and he smiled in relief. Setting his glass down ever so gracefully, he turned toward his berth and raised his eyebrows in surprise by the sight.

There was a small object wrapped in a tiny piece of white cloth. Taking cautious steps and holding his candelabrum in front of him, he got closer to the strange object lying indifferently on his soft, white matress. With every step he took, he realized more and more that it wasn't really an ordinary object, but rather something cursed, thus a strange feeling of uneasiness creeping up inside of him. Extending his free arm, he grabbed it and became aware of the fact that this was, in fact, a doll. Hesitantly, he peeled the thin piece of cloth from it, his curiosity growing with every second.

As it was exposed, his grip tightened around the waist of the handmade puppet, his eyebrows narrowed and a flash of anger, a hint of wickedness flickered trough his blue eyes.

Through his gritted teeth he hissed. "Jack Sparrow".