As the little girl idled on the pier, she scrutinized the man atop the wooden bridge extended to the main deck of the ship. He donned a blackened, rusty breastplate that only highlighted his blotchy and sunburned skin. Allendra's expectations of a charismatic captain were dashed as she observed the scruffy brown hair, bright turquoise-green eyes, and pointed chin that clashed with his overall shabby appearance.
With a cane hooked in his grip, Captain Barthalomeu made his way towards them. His tall, thin, and slightly hunched body wore worn leather boots with lace-ups and torn black leather trousers. A dark black wool-collared jacket that came down to his knees and boasted patches completed his dingy attire.
"I am Captain Barthalomeu. Welcome, lady and little girl, aboard my unique ship, Blackened, unlike any other. Your names and reasons for coming aboard are of little concern to me," he grizzled, his southern accent thick.
Lena greeted the man in silence. They crossed the wooden bridge and arrived on the main deck. The ship they now embarked upon was a small caravel with three sails, a fleet and robust vessel spanning fifty feet in length.
In time as Allendra explored the ship, her senses were bombarded with strange and unsettling sensations. The body of the vessel was coated in a tar-like substance, but it was no ordinary paint. The sails were dotted with black spots that seemed to spread like a festering wound. As she stepped on the main deck, she felt a strange, almost skin-like softness beneath her feet. It was as if the ship was a living being, slowly decaying over time, yet unable to die.
The whispers she heard in the walls only added to the eerie atmosphere. It was as if the ship had absorbed the souls of countless unfortunate sailors, and now they were all trapped within its wooden hull. Allendra couldn't shake the feeling that this ship was cursed, and that being aboard it was a grave mistake.
"Listen well, for I shall impart to you a few essential decrees," spoke the captain in a stern voice. "Be sure to steer clear of the two elves who lurk on the port side, skulking in that shadowy corner. They are mercenaries in the employ of Bishop, and they are not to be trusted."
The captain gestured towards the corner, where the figures of men in hooded robes could just be discerned, their stature lean and athletic, standing at a height of around five feet and seven inches.
"At night, you are not to leave your cabin unless it is an absolute necessity. I have arranged for your lodgings to be across from the bridge," he continued. "With my permission, you may venture down to the kitchen if you possess the culinary skills. And if I order you to remain in your quarters or to hide in the barn with the mice, you will obey without question. As my esteemed guests, you are bound to adhere to the laws of my vessel."
"We understand, captain," replied Lena.
"Is Bishop aboard?" she inquired.
"Not yet. We shall meet him in due course," the captain responded.
"When will that be?"
"We are waiting for news, my lady. Until then, we sail the seas, enveloped in mists. So you had best become accustomed to your surroundings."
Although the woman and child had many questions, their exhaustion overcame their curiosity. When they caught sight of the repugnant half-orc with his rough, wart-covered skin, sparse hair, and sharp teeth jutting from his mouth, they were taken aback.
"Fear not, for this is Hoargh, a half-orc and half-human. Though he speaks little, he is a capable servant and a trusted member of my crew. He shall guide you to your lodgings," assured the captain.
With a grunt and a twisted grin, Hoargh indicated for the duo to follow him. Though still wary, they trailed after him out of necessity.
The musty, damp walls and the pungent odor were the first to catch their attention upon entering the humble cabin. Everything in the room was fixed to the floor, except for the chairs. There were no other furnishings apart from a table, two chairs, two bunk beds, and a wooden console affixed to the wall under the window. They discovered a metal oil lamp hanging on the wall, a quill pen, a bottle of ink, a few candles, and a wisp of parchment in the console drawer. They stowed their belongings in the console compartments.
Lena placed a candle in the lamp and kindled the wick, closed the door, and drew the heavy black curtain. She glanced at the little girl, who appeared even smaller in the flickering glow of the candle flame, which was the sole source of light in the room.
"Now a new chapter begins, Elia. I must train you well. You have much to learn before Bishop arrives. You must impress the priest. Do you comprehend?"
The girl shook her head meekly.
"We shall begin with the runes. You will learn an ancient and forgotten language, born of the Black Desert, the tongue of the Neacramon."
The witch woman produced the slender bamboo parchment, ink, and quill and placed them on the table. Lena started to sketch out symbols that the girl had never seen before in her life.
As time went on, symbols began to infiltrate her thoughts and haunt her dreams. Soon, these dreams transformed into horrid nightmares. A black-winged entity incessantly called out to her with a nasal growling voice. Invariably, the same scene played out in her dreams - she found herself in the middle of a desolate desert, with a blood-red tower looming in the distance. A pond of the same bloody hue encircled her, and a river of the same color snaked its way towards the pond. The burnt red grass that surrounded the river was the only other sign of life in this desolate wasteland.
Allendra was running as fast as she could, screaming in terror, with two entities in hot pursuit. One was a black-robed figure, and the other, a halfling-like creature. Both ran like lightning, sometimes fighting each other, sometimes in a relentless pursuit of the girl. Panting and terrified, Allendra finally plunged into the pond, the blood-red water half-way up her waist. The water was warm, and it seemed to have a life of its own, as if it was intent on engulfing Allendra, making her one with it.
Allendra awoke from these nightmares at the same point, right before she would drown. The blood-red water would nearly swallow her whole being, and she would hear an arrow whizz past her, followed by the halfling's agonizing cry. As the days passed, Allendra found it hard to focus on anything else. The surrounding mists and the sound of the sea waves only added to her growing unease."
* * *
According to Allendra's reckoning, they had spent more than three months at sea. The initial month saw them battling fierce storms in the north, and on numerous occasions, the ship teetered on the brink of disaster.
During the second month's opening week, they chanced upon a pirate vessel. Captain Barth ordered Allendra and Lena to remain confined in their cabin as the other ship approached. Allendra strained to listen and heard Captain Barth exchange a few terse words with the pirate captain.
"See those elves. Do you know who they are?" queried Captain Barth.
The other ship responded but Allendra couldn't hear them.
"Good. Then flee while you still can, pretty pirate boys!" Captain Barth barked.
And with that, the pirate ship vanished from sight.
Following this encounter, the captain resolved to steer southwards. But every time they headed south, they would inevitably encounter an impenetrable wall of dark grey mist. The ominous landscape that enveloped them was utterly chilling.
For the past two months, they had been traversing the Sea of Mists. As the dark grey, hazy clouds billowed up from the sea, they blotted out the sky and created an unsettling canvas, as if a frenzied artist had painted it with crude brushstrokes. Though each stroke of the brush resembled a different scene from another world, it was imperceptible to mere mortals.
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Lena despised the sea, but the Sea of Mists was even worse. The witch woman remained confined to her cabin, her stomach churning with nausea so debilitating that she could barely drag herself out of bed. Unbeknownst to her, her subconscious was slowly devouring her from within.
Allendra, too, felt a sense of despair, though not as acutely as her aunt. She could sense that something was amiss with the magical mists that surrounded them. They seemed to beckon her towards an ominous abyss. If she stared at them for too long, she began to hear whispers, indistinct and incomprehensible. Hoargh, the half-orc seaman, warned her not to gaze upon the cloudy vista from the deck, and even the crew, though accustomed to this route, seemed to be unnerved by the oppressive atmosphere. They were restless, yet cowed into silence by the captain's authority.
"What lies beyond the veil of mist?" Allendra inquired of Captain Barth, as she stood alone on the ship's deck, her aunt incapacitated once more by the wrath of the seas.
Captain Barth turned his gaze forward and offered a wry smile.
"Many are the tales spun by the tongues of sailors," he replied. "Some speak of the Three Great Gods - Orion, Therion, and Demian - locked in eternal struggle with other godlike beings, whilst others whisper of demons and monsters lurking just beyond the shroud. There are those who claim that Araphia, the realm between realms, lies at the heart of the Sea of Mists. And there are yet others who believe that if one could venture beyond the misty barrier, they would find the Ethereal Realm, the land of the dead. But these are but fancies, with no basis in truth. I have sailed the seas for thirty years, and I have seen much and heard much. I have navigated every inch of the known waters, save for the icy expanse of the Frozen Ocean in the north. I have journeyed to the farthest western reaches, where the world ends, and I have battled the unyielding tides of the Endless Ocean to the east. Yes, perilous dangers surround us on all sides, hemming us in like a cage. But the terror that lurks within the Wall of Mist that engulfs the southern seas is like no other. I have never borne witness nor heard of a ship returning from that dark and treacherous realm. The stories that circulate are mere fabrications. The one who ventures into those waters shall never return, my dear."
"And do the mists move?" Allendra asked.
"Aye, they move, though at a sluggish pace," the captain replied, his voice darkening. "Sometimes they spiral into a whirling tempest, like a hurricane, but in slow motion, trapping all within its grasp. Once, we were almost caught in its deadly embrace. The watchmen, fools that they were, had dozed off, and we found ourselves racing towards the storm's heart. We barely escaped in time, but not without cost. The mercury that had touched the mist vanished into thin air, as if consumed by the storm's fury. The other ship, slower to react, became trapped in the whirlwind. We waited, for days it seemed, as the mist closed in around them. The screams of the men, lost to the tempest, still haunt me to this day. Some tried to flee by diving into the sea, but to no avail. Had we but a wizard, one with the power to cast a fly spell, perchance some might have survived. But alas, we had none. They were all lost, swallowed up by the Wall of Mist. That is why I station no less than two guards each night, one on the bow mast and the other on the main deck. They rotate every four hours, but their eyes never leave the shroud. For the danger that lies beyond is greater than any foe we might face."
"Thank you for the story, Captain Barth," said Allendra. "The sunrise is indeed beautiful."
"Yeah right, another great day in paradise," the captain resigned. His voice thickened with resignation, and he asked "What's on the menu for lunch, lass?"
Allendra had taken up the role of sous chef for the past two moon cycles. She had started by striking up a conversation with Garther, a skilled human cook, and soon, due to the lack of crew, had found herself assisting him with the captain's approval.
"As usual, captain. A fishy fare," the girl replied with a wry smile.
Captain Barth wrinkled his nose. At the first month of the voyage, they had feasted on pickled meat, cheese, and potatoes, all taken from their land stocks. But those provisions had long run dry, and for the last few moon cycles, they had been surviving on the meager catches of Fisherman, a former sponge diver from their crew. They had not set foot on a harbor in what seemed like an eternity.
The biggest concern was thirst. Drinking water was scarce, and even though one of the elves had been magically distilling seawater for them, he had made it clear that he wasn't pleased with his task. They had also been using their own rudimentary water purification methods, but it wasn't enough, and it wasn't healthy. The well-being of their esteemed guests was of utmost importance.
Captain Barth had always been in command of his ship, and his crew had followed him without question. He had even disposed of three goblins who were pilfering their dwindling supplies without batting an eye. But this elf was different. His gaze was too sharp, and his movements too quick. He always seemed to appear out of nowhere, and it made the captain's skin crawl.
"Master Baz, I beg you, no more of your tricks. My stomach cannot take it anymore," warned the captain every time the silent elf caught him off guard.
In response, the elf, who kept half of his face obscured beneath his hood, only grinned a wide, unsettling grin. He spoke his piece and vanished as quickly as he had appeared. He was not one for small talk, that was for sure.
Allendra had made repeated attempts to approach the two elves, but to no avail. It was nearing the end of their second month at sea when, one day, the elf with heavier footsteps pulled back his voluminous hood, revealing his face to the curious girl. Allendra was taken aback by what she saw and fled without a backward glance, her heart racing. It was the first time she had ever heard the two elves laugh so heartily.
As she sought refuge in her cabin, Allendra tried to shake off the disturbing image that had been etched into her mind. The elf's face had been ashen and unnaturally pale, with veins visible through his translucent skin. His dark gray almond-shaped eyes seemed to peer into her very soul, while his pointed ears, chin, and skull lent him an otherworldly appearance. His sunken cheeks and thin, ashen-gray hair completed the image of a being from the realm of the dead.
The next day, Allendra inquired about the elves to Captain Barth who, at the helm, scanned the deck cautiously. With no one in close proximity, the captain leaned in and spoke in hushed tones.
"Have you ever heard of mist elves?"
Allendra shook her head in the negative.
"I reckon the larger one is a mist elf, but I'm clueless about the other."
"Where do the mist elves come from?" Allendra asked curiously.
"They dwell in the hidden valleys of the Mistra Mountains, situated in the Black Desert, south of Ankhyra Continent and north of Romdaht -the abode of the Awyrgad. But no sane person would venture into that cursed land, as a noxious magical mist, more potent and darker than the sea's mist, shrouds those mountains. The mist runs through their veins, and they can release it at their foes during combat. Even though mist elves have a frail appearance, they are incredibly dangerous. It's said that they possess transparent, pallid skin due to their birth into that toxic mist."
"So it's like they can spray the poisonous mist like fungi spray their spores?" Allendra questioned.
"Indeed, little one. But enough talk about the mist elves," Captain Barth declared, glancing around once more.
"And the other elf?" Allendra pressed.
The captain shrugged his shoulders.
"He looks like an ordinary elf, but appearances can be deceiving. Now, off with you. I have a lot of work to do."
From that day forward, Allendra took to covertly listening in on the two enigmatic elves. But her efforts were often thwarted by the more vigilant of the two, who would abruptly depart whenever he sensed the little girl's presence. Allendra discerned that the duo spoke a language similar to the one Lena had taught her, albeit with a peculiar and shadowy dialect, punctuated by inscrutable sign language that eluded her understanding. Nevertheless, she managed to glean that the larger elf, the mist elf, addressed his counterpart as "Baaz," while the other went by the name of "Raaz."
On occasion, Baaz would inquire, "Any news from Bishop?" Raaz would respond with a negative gesture.
"The Leader is not pleased," Baaz lamented one day.
"You speak of the Awyrgad," Raaz intoned.
"I answer only to Phandomir," Baaz retorted.
"You are not of our kind," Raaz remarked.
"I hail from Quane," Baaz declared.
"One day, Therion will claim your soul," Raaz prophesied ominously.
"Until that day, I shall make the most of my life," Baaz countered, punctuating his retort with a cackle.
This was the most substantial discourse Allendra was able to glean from the elves' cryptic conversations.
* * *
"The following morning, Fisherman dove into the sea in search of sustenance, but he never resurfaced. After that harrowing incident, Baaz engaged in a heated conversation with the captain on the bridge, while Allendra watched from afar. Later that same day, their course shifted northward, and after a week of traversing the tempestuous sea, they arrived at a vast bay. They disembarked onto a wooden pier situated on a secluded shore, adjacent to a hill replete with earthen edifices. Raaz and Baaz ventured onto land, leaving Allendra behind. The little girl prayed they would never return, as Baaz had been sending her malevolent glares all week. She knew she had been detected.
As they anchored offshore and settled in for the night, a small vessel arrived at the break of dawn, carrying three individuals: two elves and a man shrouded in black robes. The black-robed figure alighted from the boat, and his dark eyes darted towards Allendra. His nose, hooked like a raven's beak, protruded from his wrinkled, pallid skin, while his scowl radiated an aura of foreboding. A medallion hung around his neck, and within its metal frame spun an obsidian orb that seemed to consume the surrounding light. Allendra shuddered, anticipating that his malevolence would penetrate her very soul. Her fears were confirmed when the man's rough, pungent hands grasped her chin.
"Was all this hoopla just for this little imp?" Bishop's throaty voice cawed.
"They're all dead, sir," Raaz replied, speaking the common tongue for the first time in front of others. "You can rest assured."
"Don't be too sure," Baaz interjected, earning a disapproving glare from Raaz.
"This was too easy. Our journey may soon turn into a perilous chase," Baaz added.
"Perhaps, perhaps not. We forge ahead. Time is scarce, and our destination is distant. Get the iron," the throaty man commanded.
The captain complied. "You heard him. Hoist the colors!" he bellowed at his crew, who quickly sprang into action. The ship's sails billowed with the wind as they set sail into obscurity.
