Versus The thick fog blankets the entire bay now, and the town. The only structure visible is Fort Charles, high on the bluff, like a tall ship sailing a sea of grey. Above the Fort is a clear black sky sprinkled with stars. A waxing moon shines, giving both Fort and fog an eerie glow. Just below the stone parapets of the fort, visible briefly deepin the fog, like a shark fin slicing through water: the TOPMAST of a ship, BLACK SAILS billowing. Flying from the mast is a flag with a white Aztec skull. From the distance, there is a BOOM, and then the WHISTLE of an incoming ball, cannon fire! It's the Black Pearl!The Black Pearl? I've heard stories ... she's been preying on ships and settlements for near ten years ... and never leaves any survivors. The Black Pearl still cannot be seen -- but the fog lights up around her with each boom of her guns. She's firing on both sides now, hammering both the fort and the town. Streets, buildings, docks and ships shatter and explode beneath the onslaught. Villagers panic, run for cover, dodge flying debris as best they can. If this is not hell on earth, then it's about to be -- -- long boats emerge out of the fog, carrying ARMED PIRATES, baring the mark "882". They swarm from the boats, striking down villagers indiscriminately and setting fires. You've got something of ours, and it calls to us! The gold calls to us! It's a piece of the treasure of Isla de Muerta. Back when Cortes was cutting a great bloody swath through the New World, a high priest gave him all the gold they had, with one condition: that he spare the people's lives. Of course, Cortes being Cortes, he didn't. So the priest, with his dying breath, called on the power of the blood of his people, and put on the gold a curse. If anyone took so much as a single piece, as he was compelled by greed, by greed he would be consumed. Within a day of leaving port for Spain, the treasure ship carrying the gold ... something went wrong. The ship run aground, every man aboard dead, save one. He survived long enough to hide the gold ashore. Over time, the dark magic of the curse seeped into the place, making it a cursed island. An island of death. Isla de Muerta. It's no make- believe! My crew and I, we found the gold, and we did more than take one piece, we took it all. Rich men we were and we spent it and traded it and gave it away in exchange for drink and food and pleasant company. But we found out: the drink could not sate us, and the food turned to ashes in our mouths, and no amount of pleasant company could ease our torment. We are cursed men, condemned, to be forever consumed by our own greed. Gold calls to us, always, and we are driven, always, to find more, and add it to the treasure. There is but one way to remove the curse. All of the scattered piece of the treasure must be restored infull, and the blood repaid.