First, there is the dripping noise, of sea-water falling to the ground. It grows louder, and then the soft thuds of somebody walking with a wooden leg can be heard, echoing down the hallway. Faster than his form would bely, Davy Jones appears around a corner, claw-hand, tentacles and all.

"I am Davy Jones. I am the sea." He says, in low growl ( Read more... )

What we have here is a man whose not been treated kindly by life, or the after-life for that manner. He's but a shadow of the man he used to be, barnacles growing across his face, and his complexion pale and watered down. His hair is dark and wavy, as his son's is, sopping wet, a dark bandanna pulled across his skull. There are circles around his ( Read more... )