Barbossa closes the door to his cabin and only then allows himself to crack a satisfied smirk. Let the men share the meager booty they had got. They don't need to know why they have just attacked a small Franciscan monastery on a sheltered little bay on the Northern coast of Cuba. And thanks to the good friars and their vineyards, they easily ( Read more... )

Eyes ablaze with anger, Barbossa slammed the door of the captain's cabin closed and flung the useless roll of charts on the table. Whipping his hat off his head he threw it on the table too and paced around the room like a caged lion, his graying hair streaming behind him with every turn of heel.

Bloody ungrateful bastards, the lot of them! and ( Read more... )

"Nothing. The final hope has failed us."

Barbossa doesn't just say the words. He means them. Calypso has rejected them, even after he fulfilled his part of the deal and freed her from the bonds that the first Brethren Court had forged. And without her help, against Beckett's fleet and the Dutchman, there's nothing they can do.

"It's not over."

( Read more... )

Barbossa sits at what has quickly become his usual spot by the lake, on a large flat rock from which he gets a good view of the Pearl. This time, though, he's busy with something entirely different, as he has occasionally been for the last few days. He holds a small, palm-sized leather-bound book in one hand and seems to be reading backwards ( Read more... )

Barbossa looks around at the cabin. They've all been gone for some time now, even Jack the monkey, to tie up their loose ends before starting to search for Jack the man, but he has stayed behind. Why? Well, because a man needs some time to think, some time to reflect on things after being cursed with undeath for almost a decade and then shuffled ( Read more... )