Meedomar

  Noun

  Translation: Pirates

  Definition: Meedomar refers to a distinct class of pirates known for their aggressive tactics in attacking ships for plunder or being contracted as mercenaries involved in illegal activities, such as mushroom and creature trafficking. These pirates gained notoriety during the Long Night where lawlessness prevailed.

  Cultural/Contextual Background: Meedomar were recognised by their emblem, featuring an octopus surrounding a ship, is symbolic of their dominance over the Red Sea and their capacity to ensnare and overpower other vessels and creatures alike. It reflects their fearsome reputation and their pivotal role in the dark dealings of the era.

  Scattered across the wooden planks were remnants too gruesome to belong to the world of the living: pieces of bones and scraps of flesh lay on the deck—vestiges of the sailors who had met their deserved fate at the hands of Claramae and her sisters.

  One of the faeries emerged from the shadowed confines of the cabins below, her moth wings slightly tattered from the skirmish. She gasped for breath after running up the stairs, and her voice broke the eerie silence that had fallen over the ship: "No one remains below deck."

  There wasn’t much Claramae knew about boats, but she could recognise a schooner rig when she saw one. With a design that was not just for aesthetics but for efficiency, granting ships a swift hull and an impressive ability to navigate windward. It was a vessel with everything that would meet a pirate's wants and needs.

  This made it the rig of choice for a diverse array of seafaring endeavours—from the shadowy pursuits of privateers and blockade runners to the morally dubious operations of slave ships and mushroom clippers, as well as the strategic deployments of smaller naval craft.

  But they couldn’t find what they came for, their sisters—nothing. No other faeries were on board. So where did they take them?

  Claramae nudged a bone with her foot, "Have you searched every cabin?" she asked.

  One of the faeries ventured to say, "Perhaps they've been moved elsewhere.”

  "Moved to where?" she snapped back, pacing the deck with hands planted firmly on her hips. “Where the fuck and how the other fuck did they move them?”

  It was a bitter pill to swallow. Claramae’s mind raced too fast to grasp any clear thought, each more disheartening than the last. Had they been too late? Had the humans anticipated their rescue attempt and relocated their captives to a more secure location? The lack of clues, the absence of any sign of their sisters, gnawed at her.

  Her thoughts were suddenly pierced by a cry for mercy. "Please let me go. I beg you, let me go!"

  The begging voice, bathed with desperation, belonged to a young boy scarcely older than Orlo. He was dragged onto the deck by a faerie, his skinny form trembling, tears and snot mingling on his face as he pleaded for his freedom.

  "Who's that?" Claramae asked while her gaze followed the boy who was being yanked onto the deck.

  "Found him hidden below," a faerie replied.

  Claramae stepped forward, her warrior's posture softening as she approached the boy. He was skinny, and his face was streaked with the evidence of an ugly cry. "What's your name?" she asked.

  "My... my name?" The boy seemed taken aback by the question.

  "Yeah, your name," Claramae pressed.

  "I'm... Jericho. I'm nineteen. I like to fish, and... I like music. I've never kissed a girl. My parents are from a little village next to Antares, and..." His voice trailed off, blurting almost random facts about himself.

  "Why do you keep talking?" Claramae cut in, puzzled by the flood of personal details that she didn't ask.

  "I read somewhere that if the aggressors know more about their victims, there's a higher chance to survive," he explained, still quivering with the stammer of fear.

  Claramae leaned in closer, her nose almost touching his. As she scrutinized him, she realized he was strawberry blond like Ulencia. "You think I wouldn't kill you because you like to fish?" This detail struck a chord within her; the boy had managed to catch her off guard, displaying a cleverness that reminded her again of Ulencia. She hadn’t thought about that halfing during so many winters. “Are you a pirate?” she asked, getting even closer.

  “No… no… I just…”

  “Did you kill them?”

  “No! No… I just….”

  "Do you have any idea where the other faeries were taken? Were they killed?" Claramae asked, insisting with a threatening tone.

  "They were taken... to Ormgrund," Jericho managed to say.

  "Ormgrund is huge!" Claramae exclaimed, frustrated. “You do know that, right?”

  "To the Capitol. They went to the Capitol on another boat. The capture order came directly from the White Cloaks," he clarified, his eyes meeting hers, trying to understand if those were his last words.

  "The Winterqueen," a faerie murmured in dread from behind Claramae.

  "Why does the Dame need faeries?" another questioned.

  Claramae stepped back, her gaze sweeping over the red blood-stained wood as she paced slowly, deep in thought. "I have no idea how we're going to manage this. It's a long journey, and flying... it's impossible with this cold. We'd freeze before we even got close, plummet into the Red Sea, and become nothing more than fish bait."

  While Claramae was lost in her contemplation, the boy beside her was sniffling, trying to stem his running nose. Abruptly, the relative calm was shattered as a spear thudded into the deck, embedding itself mere inches from the faeries' feet. The immediate danger, it seemed, was far from over.

  Claramae’s expression transformed in an instant, her mouth widening to reveal her teeth as she scanned the darkness for any sign of their assaulter. She strained her senses for the slightest hint of human flesh, yet all that greeted her nostrils was the pungent scent of fish.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  The distinctive shape and make of the spear gave her pause—it was not human craftsmanship they were up against. They were about to confront a Mere.

  She was acutely aware of the odds stacked against them—Meres were renowned as formidable warriors, especially in their element at sea. As she heard the boy whimpering again, her features softened, returning to their usual expression.

  "My name is Claramae, and I am from Faewood. I was once part of the Yeso Sternach Settlement. And until not too long ago, I was taking care of his son. I miss him dearly. I hadn't realised just how much I would miss that boy. I enjoy cooking and cleaning; I find them both very relaxing. What about you?"

  A heavy silence hushed the ship, only to be broken by the sound of footsteps drawing nearer. "Why the heck are you telling me all this?" came the incredulous query.

  "Better to be friends with a Mere than a dead Mere’s enemy," Claramae quipped.

  "And who in the world is that Yeso of yours?"

  Claramae could hear a hint of curiosity tinged with suspicion. But still curiosity and that she could feed to. "A friend. A really good friend," Claramae responded, trying to keep the conversation flowing while she scanned the shadows for the source of the voice, which seemed to emanate from every direction at once.

  "Did your friend teach you to kill people like that?" the Mere inquired with perhaps a challenge in its tone.

  “No, he didn’t. He didn’t really believe in violence.”

  “How disappointing.”

  "They captured my sisters," Claramae replied, trying to justify her actions.

  "Oh, faeries... now that's a surprise."

  A figure began to approach them slowly. Initially, it was just a short silhouette against the dim light, but as it came closer, Claramae could make out the distinct form of a creature that resembled a faerie.

  However, this being was adorned with pink scales that shimmered across its skin, blending seamlessly into the pinkish hue of its flesh. Even its wings, though faerie-like in shape, were covered in the same luminescent scales.

  The creature before them glistened with uncanny features—a fluid form and ever-changing like the flow of waves. The Mere's body was a masterpiece of disguise.

  "You look familiar," Claramae managed to quip, the irony of the situation not lost on her.

  "I can assume another shape if it makes you more comfortable," they offered with edgy sarcasm.

  Claramae’s eyebrows arched, "You almost killed me, and now you're suddenly concerned about my comfort?" she shot back, “Are you an ally?”

  "You're a faerie," the Mere stated matter-of-factly.

  "So?"

  "You want to go to Ormgrund, and so do I."

  "Why don't you swim there?" Claramae crossed her arms.

  "Why don't you fly there?" the Mere shot back, clutching its fists.

  "Touché," Claramae conceded, a faint smile playing at the corners of her mouth. She relaxed, unfolding her arms and allowing them to hang loosely at her sides.

  "So what's the plan, Faerie? Do you even know how to sail a boat?" the Mere prodded.

  Claramae exhaled loudly, "No," she admitted.

  "Then go home," the Mere suggested almost casually, as if the solution were as simple as the problem was complex. "I will take the boat out of here before more humans come snooping around."

  Without waiting for a response, the Mere turned its back, but before they started to walk away, Claramae asked, "Do you know how to sail the boat?"

  "Am I a Mere?"

  "Are you?"

  "Of course I am," the Mere affirmed, annoyed.

  "Then take us with you!"

  "No," the Mere flatly refused.

  "Why not?"

  "Because no means no!" the Mere snapped. Their patience was wearing thin.

  Suddenly, their banter is interrupted, "Shuri is scared you'll throw her out of the boat," the boy said.

  Claramae and the Mere shifted their attention towards Jericho, who was still firmly grasped by one of the other fairies.

  “Shuri?” Claramae questioned, puzzled by the contradiction. "Why would a Mere be afraid of water?"

  "Ask her," Jericho suggested, his voice calmer now as the realization dawned on him that perhaps he would survive to see another night.

  "Why?" Claramae turned back to Shuri, genuinely curious.

  "It's none of your business!"

  "Well, would you believe me if I promise not to throw you into the sea if you take us to the Capitol?" Claramae tried to negotiate.

  "Are you crazy? I'm not going to the Capitol. I'm headed to the Turtle District."

  "Why?"

  “You do like your whys faerie! But if you must know, it's the closest port to Sternach Villa."

  "Sternach?" Claramae echoed, recognising the name.

  "Yeah, some Magis have set up a new camp there for the Trial of Elements, and I want to go there." The Mere shoulders dropped slightly, and her hands unclenched as she spoke.

  "Shuri, do you want to become a Magi?"

  "It's better than being thrown into the sea, don't you think?"

  "Yeso was a Magi too," Claramae mentioned, her voice softening. "Yeso Sternach."

  "You're friends with Magis?"

  "A few of them, yes," Claramae nodded.

  "Maybe I can trust you."

  "Maybe you can."

  "Are we all friends now?" Jericho interrupted once more.

  But he did not get any answer.

  Shuri eventually conceded to navigate the ship towards Ormgrund, albeit with the condition that everyone would disembark at the Turtle District. The faeries initially tried to argue for a direct route to their ultimate destination: The Capitol.

  Yet, in truth, Claramae felt a wave of relief wash over her. The prospect of reuniting with her friends after what felt like an eternity brought a genuine smile to her face. Once the course was set and agreed upon, Shuri momentarily excused herself, only to return shortly after that, fully equipped for the journey ahead.

  She appeared on deck looking like a yellow mushroom, clad in an ensemble meticulously designed to repel every possible touch of water.

  Shuri wore complete rain gear: rubber yellow boots that rose to her knees, a matching raincoat equipped with a hood, protective goggles that shielded her eyes, and gloves that encased her hands.

  It was an inelegant outfit that exposed no skin, a fortress of fabric and rubber against the elements, the most terrifying of them all according to the Mere: water.

  Upon witnessing Shuri's meticulously waterproofed appearance, Claramae couldn't hide her astonishment, her eyes widening in surprise. With a light-hearted tone, she remarked, "I promised you I wouldn't throw you off the deck." She said, barely able to contain her chuckle.

  "It's not you that I'm afraid of; it's the waves we will encounter, and I'm not taking any risks!" Shuri declared, determined as she walked in an awkward manner closer to the hull.

  Claramae felt a deep curiosity stirring within her. Despite her extensive travels and the myriad creatures she had encountered across the Map, she realized this was her first personal encounter with a Mere.

  Tales and rumours of their kind had always painted them as warriors of the Red Sea, master mages of the waters. Yet, Shuri, standing before them, clad in her watertight armour, challenged every story Claramae had ever heard.

  As Shuri's command cut through the air with gestures guiding the winds and water, it set the vessel into motion. The swift, unexpected thrust forward jolted the ship, sending it gliding away from the safety of the docks into the open sea.

  Claramae, Jericho and the other faeries, unprepared for the abrupt start, found themselves grappling for stability, their feet slipping on the red blood puddle on the deck as the boat heaved beneath them.

  The ship pitched forward, its stern lifted by a powerful wave. For someone who went to such lengths to avoid personal contact with water, the Mere demonstrated a profound understanding and command of the waves.

  Shuri glanced over her shoulder, briefly assessing her passengers with a quick, "Everything okay?" Before anyone could formulate a response, she turned her attention forward, her voice rising above the sound of the sea, "Here we go!"

  

  Jericho the White was the first human Alchemist the Council of Magi ever recognized. His journey wasn't just about passing the Trial of Elements, something most mages go through. What made him stand out was how he shared the little wisdom he gathered over his Summers with the Magis themselves. It was a two-way street of learning, which wasn't something you saw every day. I had a soft spot for the guy. He was always so curious, always ready to dive into the next lesson without a hint of hesitation or judgment. You could tell he was in it for the right reasons. His innocence had a kind of purity to it, making you believe in the good that could come from such an unfettered desire to know more. Looking back, Jericho wasn't just another alchemist to me. He was a shining example of what happens when someone combines a genuine thirst for knowledge with a heart free of cynicism. And I hope that History keeps his name highlighted because thank to him we had a chance against the End of Times. ——The Hexe - Book Two by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune, First Edition, 555th Summer