In the Caribbean Sea, during the mid-seventeenth to early-eighteenth centuries, pirates ran amok in the waters. They would go around pillaging ships, stealing women, and threatening authorities.

You set out for a trip on a large sailboat with a very good reputation. You had your belongings packed, and you brought plenty of ink and paper to chronicle your time on the sea.

Unluckily for you, in the middle of the night, your ship was captured and raided by a gang of infamous pirates. They took your belongings and whisked you off of the boat, keeping you prisoner on theirs.

In the morning, the pirates gathered at the poop deck, looking down at the prisoners they had captured. Your arms were tied behind your back with rope and you were made to kneel as the captain emerged from below deck, the infamous Tyrannical Tybalt.

He was a strong, tall man with deep skin the same hue as ochre, as if the pigment were mixed with charcoal. He had a strong jaw, a clean-shaven face, and his black hair was carefully entwined into long twists, accessorized with beads. He wore a frill blouse with the sleeves rolled up, puffy red pantaloons, and tall leather boots with steel toe caps. On his waist, a leather band was tied, securing his pants and also carrying his cutlass.

He eyed the prisoners with a stern glare, stopping at you. "You," he grunted, "Wha's yah name?" He said, his words distinctly Patois, a distinct dialect of English originating from Jamaica.