The Army of Echoes

Professor Xanus Dvell leaned back into the embrace of the antique high backed chair at his desk, his eyes closed considering what he had just been told. Across his desk, a young man leaned forward to the edge of his seat, his hands unconsciously pushing piles of brittle notes along with several pages of new notes upon which were scrawled strange calculations and haphazardly scribbled notes. Alton Sinclair’s eyes silently pleading with Professor Dvell to seriously consider his findings. His former teacher was, so far, the only person who had listened to his claims.

With a sigh Xanus suddenly spoke up. “Trajus, you’ve checked his math?”

Trajus Brillit sat on the far side of the room, beneath a large portrait of a former University Dean sipping a pungent drink from a crystal tumbler. “I have. I’m not an expert in astromancy or even astrology but yes, the calculations are correct.”

“I see.” the professor said, finally opening his eyes. He regarded Alton coolly, giving no hint as to his decision. “There remains the problem of funding this endeavor. Assuming you’re assertions are correct.”

Alton nodded in agreement. “Oh I understand completely, sir. I know the University’s resources for field expeditions are already allotted for the season…”

“Exceptions can always be made” Trajus interjected.

Xanus glanced at his old friend but said nothing. “Indeed.”

Alton smiled. “Then you agree?” he said, his voice dancing with hope.

“No.” Professor Dvell said flatly.

The color drained from Alton’s face as his body slumped into his chair, defeated.

“I’m afraid the University simply doesn’t have the financial resources nor the manpower to sponsor an expedition as potentially dangerous as this. Especially not one formulated by an apprentice and grounded in the findings of a discredited University wizard.” Dvell sat forward, elbows on his desk and steepling his fingers.

Alton was about to speak up when Professor Dvell held up his hand to halt him.

“However…” he began, once more glancing at Trajus. “…since you have convinced Professor Brillit, and the promise of actually finding the land of Jhy’vin being such an unprecedented discovery we would be willing to aid your efforts - privately. You see, if it became known that Professor Brillit and I were to assist you in this expedition and said expedition proved to be a fool’s errand our mutual reputations, not to mention our standing within the University would be forfeit.”

Trajus lowered his drink. “That is why we can’t use University channels or funding to back your expeditions. No, this will all have to be done privately. Neither the University, nor the Temple can know anything about this. Unless we’re successful of course.”

Alton’s eyes widened with promise. “Well, with all due respect Gentlemen, I anticipated this and I took the liberty of proposing this venture with an old friend of mine - Francois Dejardins. He has agreed to back this expedition with his private family fortune.”

“Dejardins? As in Jean Marc Dejardin of the Lockheart Institute?” Trajus said, his interest renewed.

Alton smiled. “The very same. We’ve been friends since childhood. He welcomes the chance to make a name for himself in the Institute’s ranks. Don’t worry, I haven’t mentioned any of your names.”

Xanus nodded. “That was most wise.”

Professor Trajus spoke up after another sip of his drink. “The Lockheart Institute has no issue with these sort of endeavors. Indeed, they are heralded for taking on such risks. If this theory of yours were to be entertained under their auspices it would save the University and the Temple much embarrassment were it to prove wrong.”

“Then you’ll come?” Alton said timidly.

Professor Dvell nodded. “We will. I will hand select a small staff of trusted experts. Although I insist you and your backer practice the utmost discretion in making the arrangements.”

Alton stood stretching out his hand to Professor Dvell. “You have my word, gentlemen. I’ve already taken the liberty of sending Francois to purchase supplies and hire a ship willing to take us to our destination.”

Professor Brillit laughed. “Quite bold of you! You were preparing to depart without permission?”

Alton smiled. “I was.”

Professor Dvell raised an eyebrow at the notion. “You could have been expelled for that. You’re that confident?”

“I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life.” the young man added.

Xanus grinned. “Very well. We shall meet you and your backer in a month’s time.”

Alton gathered his notes into a clumsy heap. “We will depart the first of next month from Lost Port on the island of Saint Sebastian.”

“Black Shore? The Republic?” Brillit coughed, choking on yet another sip of his drink.

Alton turned to him. “Discretion purposes. We can’t sail from a reputable port if we’re to remain unnoticed. Besides, it’s the only place we can hope to find a ship with a captain and crew crazy enough to sail beyond the Umbra on what they will surely think is a hunch.”

Xanus laughed and walked to the table beside Professor Brillit to pour himself a drink. “A hunch! A hunch he says, Trajus!”

Xanus shook his head. “My word… Go now Apprentice Sinclair. We will find you in Lost Port when you’re ready.”

Alton stuffed his notes and papers into a portfolio, dashing towards the door. “Thank you, gentlemen! Thank you! You won’t regret this!”

With that, Alton left and shut the office door. Once gone, Xanus looked down at Trajus. “Do you think he’s right?”

Trajus starred at the now closed office door. “I do.”

Xanus took a deep breath. “Jhy’vin. The first place conquered by Saint Marius.”

Trajus looked up at his old friend. “Allegedly… if you believe the scriptures.”

Xanus shrugged. “I believe he took with him some of the finest masters of the Traditions. And I believe they must have left something behind. If they did, then we will find it.”

“There may be more at stake here than lost magic, Xanus.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that this expedition has us following in the footsteps of a legend. Saint Marius of the Blade. Saint Marius the Dragon Slayer. The brother of the first Hierophant. The one for whom the beacon atop the Sanctuary is lit. He never returned… what if we…” Trajus struggled to give words to his thought. “Xanus, what if we do find something?”

Xanus frowned. “If we find something useful for us, fine. If we find some hint of Saint Marius then let the Cathedral go fetch it. Let the unenlightened cling to their fables.”

Trajus took a long pull of his drink. “And the boy?”

Xanus smirked. “Should we find something of value? Saint Marius never returned from his journey beyond the Umbra. Neither will they.”

To call the Black Shore Islands a paradise was a vast understatement. Its lush tropical splendor had attracted many to its waters. Despite the treacherous waters around the islands, they were situated in such a way that made them an attractive holding for trade as well as for naval deployment. As such, many battles were fought between the Church Kingdoms for control of the islands. Ultimately, these battles proved pointless. The cost of lives and more importantly, of gold were too much for these nations to pay as they fought against each other closer to home. In time, a revolt of common sailors took the islands for themselves. The Republic of Pirates were now the rulers of these islands. A more or less neutral land where the dispossessed, refugees and outlaws called home.

On this day, the city of Lost Port on the island of Saint Sebastian was alive with activity. Ships of all kinds were docked in the harbor loading cargo and passengers while others offloaded the same. Like most port cities the world over, there were parts of the harbor area that were less reputable than others an unofficial boundary marked by a tangible increase in filth not to mention the regular sound of pistol fire and drunken merriment. It was just on the cusp of this unofficial border that two ships sat docked side by side. Ornate vessels with sleek swooped sails and tail rudders. Fine hardwood craftsmanship that still looked grand despite years of use and having seen more than their fair share of action set them apart from other vessels that were different in their own way but still came up short against these impressive vessels.

From a ship called the “Stormrider” two men walked down the gangplank onto the dock. One, a short, bearded figure with pistols and hand axes affixed wherever room would allow. Too short to be human but far too lean to be a dwarf. Beside him walked an elf dressed fairly simply. He wore a black quarter coat and a wide brimmed black hat with a single blue plume. At his side was slung only a rapier whose handle and guard glimmered with the unmistakable shine of antique silver.

“I can’t remember the last time we were here.” Brimstone said with a stretch and a yawn.

Dartimen smirked. “No surprise, you were quite drunk.”

“I’ll have to take your word for that.” Brimstone said gruffly.

“Yes, you will. You bet against those two barmaids in that arm wrestling contest? The whole powder magazine thing? Me dragging you back to the ship?” Dartimen eyed his friend skeptically. “None of this is ringing a bell?”

Brimstone frowned. “No!”

Dartimen nodded. “Like I said - quite drunk. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to talk someone else out of doing something stupid.”

Brimstone shook his head. “She won’t listen. Not even to you.”

“I know.” Dartimen said as he pulled off his hat to run his fingers through his hair. “But I have to try.” He looked down at Brimstone. “Pickup what we need. The faster the better.”

“Do you plan on leaving in a hurry?” Brimstone asked.

Dartimen shrugged. “We’ll see.”

With that, Dartimen walked straight ahead into the last of the reputable harbor taverns. A sign above the read ‘The Tontine’. Large windows let a fair amount of tropical sunshine into common room. The crowd inside was unremarkable. No one seemed to be of a high station or a member of some known trading company or royal seaman. Indeed, it didn’t appear to be occupied by anything other than locals. Dartimen scanned the room and spotted sun bleached blond hair adorned with feathers and tiny shells among looping golden braids. The ears of his kind, tapered to a fine point just like his own. He walked over to her table and sat down in front of her without a word. A barmaid started towards him but he waived her off, glancing up at her just long enough to meet her eyes and shake his head slightly. The woman took a step back before turning to attend to other customers.

“You didn’t need to come.” The blond woman said flatly.

“I know.” Dartimen replied, waiting for her to look up from her drink.

“And yet here you are anyway.” she whispered as she swirled the brown liquor in her glass.

“I thought maybe there was a chance I could talk you out of this if I saw you face to face.”

“You thought wrong.”

“Rill, I don’t pretend to know what you’re going through right now. I mean I know it hurts but you don’t need to go through this alone…”

Rillian Harshtide looked up from her drink and gazed into Dartimen’s eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Dartimen scowled. “Anson is dead Rillian. Running won’t bring him back.”

Tears began to well up in Rillian’s eyes. “I’m not running from anything. I’m hunting. I’m going to find him.”

Dartimen lowered his head. “Admiral Sark vanished doing something stupid and now you’re going to do something just as stupid for what? Revenge?” Rillian clenched her fist but Dartimen grabbed her by the wrist before she could escalate her anger. “Rillian, I’ve been down this path before. And let me tell you the only thing you’re going to find at the end is emptiness.”

Rillian’s red eyes narrowed. “I’m owed revenge!” She roared as she snapped her hand away from Dartimen, standing up with such force her chair slid back.

“And your son is owed a mother!” Dartimen shot back. “Your friends are owed their friend!”

Despite her anger tears cascaded down Rillian’s cheeks. “Onokaji has taken on the warrior’s pilgrimage in the Empire! He’s a grown man!”

Dartimen stood and stepped cautiously around the table to Rillian. “He still needs you.”

“My friends have no use for me! They have their own lives to live!” Rillian cried out between sobs. She attempted to throw a punch at Dartimen but all she could manage was to weakly beat her fists on his chest.

Dartimen could feel sorrow gathering in the pit of his stomach as he wrapped his arms around her. “We’re apart of each other’s lives, Rill.” he whispered into her ear. “I miss him too.”

Rillian began crying hysterically, hiding her face in Dartimen’s embrace. “Rill, go home with me. Cassandra needs someone to talk to about this. You share the same loss. Grieve together. What you’re doing isn’t right.”

Dartimen could feel Rillian shake with each wave of sadness. “Let me find Sark. I promise, if he’s still alive, I’ll find him.” Despite his appeal, he could feel her shaking her head. “You’re good, but the lands beyond the Umbra are difficult at best and Jhy’vin is terribly dangerous. Let me go instead.”

Rillian gently pushed herself away from Dartimen and wiped the tears away. She coughed her way back to her voice, still shaking her head. “This is my fight.” She sniffed and once more ran her sleeve across her face. “Besides, if this charter finds out its Dartimen Silvernight taking them beyond the Umbra they’ll never step foot off the island. “No, this is my chance. I have to take it. Your promise to Dad isn’t needed anymore. You don’t have to protect me.”

Dartimen frowned. “Old habits die hard I suppose.”

Rillian managed a chuckle between calming sobs. She leaned in and gave Dartimen a kiss on the cheek. “Give my love to Cassy and the kids.”

Dartimen nodded. “I will.” He glanced over Rillian’s shoulder as several people walked into the tavern and were making straight for them. “Pull yourself together, I think your clients are here.”

Rillian hurriedly downed her drink in a single gulp and rubbed her face to try and mask the fact that she’d just been crying. She felt Dartimen slip something into her pocket as he stepped past her. “You’ll need this. If you need me, you know how to get me.” And with that Dartimen walked out of the Tontine.

Rillian reached into her pocket and produced a curious sphere of wood and brass. It looked familiar but she couldn’t immediately place where she had seen it. She quickly placed it back into her pocket as she turned to regard Alton Sinclair and Francois Desjardin. “Gentlemen.” she said with no hint of enthusiasm.

Francois cocked his head. “Is everything alright, madame?”

Rillian waived a dismissive hand. “Yes, of course. Sit down, please. I want to go over the details of this plan of yours. I’m also expecting some hired help. They’re meeting us here. As are your colleagues?”

Alton nodded. “Yes they should be here shortly.” With that he emptied his notes and charts onto the table and began explaining his plan to Rillian as they waited for the others to arrive in turn.

Freya Wolfe didn’t care much for being the center of attention. Not anymore. She preferred to stick to the shadowy corners of the room, observing and assessing her environment. From there she could make a move if she believed it to be safe. Like a small black rabbit watching for danger from her concealed burrow.

She wasn’t always like this however. In life she loved to sing and dance. She liked to make the boys of her neighborhood watch as she twirled down the street. That life was long gone however. It was little more than a happy story swallowed up by time.

From her corner she could witness everything within the tavern. The brawls between men over spilled ale, the keen eyes and sweaty palms of those at the gambling table, and then came her. A blond, confidently dressed elf woman who drowned her sorrows in her cup. An elf man conversed with her and all of a sudden her emotions fell out onto the floor and onto him. Freya felt… transfixed by this exchange.

The woman was obviously planning some sort of trip. Freya was compelled to find out more, a strange force drew her like a magnet. She had to be on the right track, after all these years, searching. But she couldn’t just walk up to her with these two new men that had arrived. She needed to talk to her privately. Although she had never been formally trained, over the years of her time as a ghost, she had discovered abilities as an empath. Perhaps she could focus them onto her in order to influence the woman to give Freya an opportunity?

She imagined hopeful and happy thoughts and directed them at her, willing her to move closer towards her. Unfortunately, it was difficult. Hopeful and happy thoughts weren’t easy to come by. It worked however.

As she drew closer, she whispered in her ear. “I know that you are upset. I know what it means to lose those that you love. I know what it means to be alone. I can help you and I believe that you can help me. Please, let me come with you.”

“You… you’re a ghost aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“I… I don’t know why but, I feel like I can trust you. I feel…”

“Safe?”

“Yes…”

“That is because I mean you no harm. I won’t be any trouble, I promise. You’ll barely even see me. I have gotten quite good at not being seen. Please, I need this.”

“I don’t know… let me think about it and speak to the others. Will you come sit with us?”

“Oh no, I couldn’t. Not right now anyway. I’ll just wait here, where its safe.”

“Right… this will be tough to explain to them. Your name is?”

“Freya. Freya Wolfe.”

“Nice to meet you, I guess. I’m Rillian.”

And with that, the confused and bewildered elf woman returned to her party. Freya felt hopeful, genuinely hopeful that her chances may finally look up.

Statuesque, a man stood on the docks staring off into the ocean covered in a flock of seagulls. The birds squawked from time to time piercing the man’s thoughts with their shrill cries for food. The man rubbed a hand slowly against his green skinned brow, he was not use to this tropical heat. His attire looked wrong for this kind of weather. Heavier armor than you would normally see on the ocean, the metal of the man’s breastplate was dull from dirt and lack of maintenance. Cuts, dents and dings crisscrossed all along the armor, it had seen a number of battles and had been repaired instead of replaced. Even the leather armor that he wore beneath the breastplate had seen better days, patches of newer material were sewn in seemingly at random giving it an odd mishmash of colors from all the different ages of leather.

The man opened a large hock of a fist and revealed a pile of crumbs that sent the seagulls into a frenzy. Trench tossed the pieces of bread into the water. He had been looking for work for days and unfortunately those crumbs were the last of his food. Well, the birds needed it more than him. He smiled as he watched the gulls fight for the pieces that floated on the water surface, his grin only broadened as he saw some smarter birds dive below the water’s surface to avoid those fighting entirely.

He still remembered one more job he could apply for, it was time to see if the next posting would pan out. His plans had gone awry somewhat. He turned and walked from the docks. It had not been his intention to visit the Black Shore and he had not meant to spend so much time here. Trench ducked his head to miss some signage that hung just above a nearby window. The sign read, “The Tontine”. One couldn’t always predict where live would take you. There was some beauty in that fact.

Trench lightly pushed open the door to the tavern and smiled broadly. He loved the people of these island towns, they were such colorful characters. People turned towards the door and a hush fell over the tavern.

“It that an Orc?” Someone whispered.

“Don’t look, you don’t want to cause any trouble.” A young barmaid said to her older coworker.

“I can’t help it, can’t you see the size of him? I wonder what is else is big about him?” She said coyly.

A drunk man stumbled towards Trench, “Oi, your kin’ aren’t welcome ‘ere.” He pushed at the half-orc’s chest and the inn was so quiet that you could hear a pin drop. Trench didn’t budge but the drunk man overexerted himself, tripped and nearly fell to the ground. Luckily, Trench caught him just before the man hit the ground. With one hand he lifted the man upright, brushed him off, and continued past the doorway.

The drunk only spared a single glance back before he hurried out the door. Trench smiled at one patron and the next, he was happy to have an opportunity to make new friends. His small tusks peeked out from beneath his bottom lip every time he smiled, they stuck up about an inch above his top lip. Most people just looked away every time Trench met eyes with them, he guessed the people in these parts were shy.

A young man stood above a pile of notes at a far off table. Trench was glad because he had finally spotted his quarry. Trench covered the distance a few long strides. Though they were well strapped in on his back the war-hammer and metal shield clattered with every large step.

“Hello, friends! I’m Trench! Well met!” Trench said as he clapped Anton on the back, the force of which nearly toppled the bookish man over.

“I’m here about the job.” Trench added.

Anton hands slipped on some papers as he pressed against the table trying to right himself from the larger man’s greeting. A few notes and such slide off the table onto the ground which Trench quickly retrieved. Now that Trench was knelling he was not much shorter than Anton. Anton’s eye’s widened at this realization. Still Anton quickly took the papers from Trench who had offered them to him with a smile.

“Ah, yes. Thank you. My name is Anton Sinclair.” He said pushing up his glasses.

“It is all really quite exciting,” Anton continued, “Think off all that we could learn, the riches of knowledge that await us!” Anton continued into some finer point of his expectations for the expedition and Trench smiled and nodded as he took a seat. Trench didn’t have the heart to tell the man that he really didn’t understand anything he was saying, but he was glad to see the man display such passion. It warmed his heart. Perhaps Trench had come to the right place after all. Even in his ignorance, Trench did his best to give Anton his full attention.

Luci had been a barmaid at the Tontine for as long as most of the regulars could remember, so long, in fact, that one could almost more appropriately refer to her as a “barmatron” than a “barmaid.” Not that she didn’t still sport the rosy cheeks and put-you-at-your-ease smile so common to those of her profession, but she combined these with a kind of world-weariness and maturity that made the other girls look up to her. She was all business, calm and steady and reliable, the bedrock that kept the whole business running.

Which was why the other barmaids were stunned to see her freeze in the center of the bar floor, two mugs of ale in each hand, her face turning pale. One of the other girls rushed to her side, a questioning look of concern on her face.

“That music!” Luci breathed, lips trembling. And the younger girl could hear it then, slowly growing louder. Somebody outside was plucking on a mandolin, exploring a random selection of notes and chords and never quite settling into a specific melody. Luci’s face darkened and her rosy cheeks flushed even rosier. “It’s him.”

“Who?” the younger barmaid asked. Luci’s strange behavior was scaring her.

The door burst open and the music of the mandolin rolled into the tavern, followed by its origin – a silver-haired man wearing faded, mis-matched and patched clothing and a fey smile on his lips. His fingers picked up speed and the music began to build, working up to a glorious climax, at the peak of which the musician sang out a single word.

“Helloooooooo“he sang, and then quickly strummed a final chord and slung the mandolin over his shoulder. He got no further before Luci had rushed to his side and smacked him across the cheek with one of the tankards in her hand, spilling ale across the man’s face and down his shirt. The man, stunned, licked his lips.

“Ah, Luci, still as delicate and courteous as ever, I see,” the man said, seemingly unaffected by the attack.

“You crazy good-for-nothing piece of–” Luci hollered, drawing the eye of several patrons. Panicked, horrified by the older woman’s behavior, several of the barmaids interceded to hold her back from attacking the man again. “– you damn near caused a riot last time you was here, we were cleaning up the damage for weeks, and you never paid your tab and you drove us all mad and now …. now you show up all these years later when I’m old and tired and you not looking a day older and I waited for you, you cad! I’ll be back one day soon, you said!”

“Ah, well–” the man said, a genuine look of sadness in his eyes, “soon is rather a relative word, I’m afraid, my dear.” The tone of sincerity in his voice seemed to calm Luci somewhat.

“Give me one good reason I shouldn’t kick you out on your rear right now, Aras.”

The man named Aras unslung his mandolin once again and played a slow and sad melody. Luci sighed, disgusted, shook her head, and almost opened her mouth to snap at him again. But the music built and her mouth closed. The tune was one full of beautiful melancholy, regret, and the pain of growing old. Tears filled Luci’s eyes even as her jaw set with stubborn strength.

“You damn fool,” Luci said, voice choked with emotion, “You remember that song?”

“I remember everything, my dear. Sella reminds me of anything I may occasionally forget,” he stopped playing long enough to point at his shoulder. There was nothing there.

Luci growled. “Still crazy, I see. I shouldn’t be surprised. When my shift is over, we are going to exchange some words, do you hear me? Sit down. And don’t go anywhere. Girls, make sure he doesn’t leave. And don’t give him a DROP!” Luci stormed off to refill the now-empty tankards in her hands.

The girls went back to their tasks, eying the bard nervously. Aras merely smiled back, then surveyed the room until his eyes settled upon Francois Desjardin. He crossed the room to him so quickly that nobleman nearly jumped to his feet in alarm.

“Reporting for duty, sir!” he said with a salute.

Francois, regaining his composure, regarded the bard with some surprise. “I don’t think so.”

“I did send ahead by courier my name and credentials, and a signed contract for my services.”

“Ah, yes…. I remember now. You wrote the contract, essentially hiring yourself. And I wrote you back saying we did not need a musician on this voyage.”

“Did you? Hmmmm, unreliable methods of communication, couriers. Your reply never came to me. One hopes the courier himself did not come to harm or get lost.”

“No doubt. Well… Aras, was it?”

“The incomparable Aras Ortuomo, at your service,” the bard said, bowing.

“I can’t say you come highly recommended,” Francois remarked, nodding towards Luci who was serving drinks angrily across the room.

“Ah, yes, that. Sad business. But I am fickle in romance, I must confess. Sella is always telling me so.”

“Sella?”

“My dearest friend. She lives on my shoulder. She’s invisible.”

“Ohhhhh….”

“Yes, Luci was quite the blossom back then, quick and feisty. I left her for the wind.”

“The wind?”

“Yes, the wind and I were lovers for many years. Now she pursues me wherever I go, for in the end I left her as well.”

“What, for a cloud?” Francois asked wryly.

“Why, no! Don’t be ridiculous,” Aras replied, “It was a sunbeam. His beauty literally glowed, and he was quite bright, but in the end he left me. No doubt I deserved it.” Aras raised his eyebrows rakishly at Francois and winked.

Francois Desjardin sighed and wondered how he had gotten pulled into such a ridiculous conversation. He was not used to dealing with low-born, uncouth people such as this. “Well, we don’t have any need of musicians, as I said, let alone a crazy one.”

“Ah, but you do! Especially a crazy one, for who else would embark on such a journey? My dear sir, you sail beyond the horizon of the known world in the very footsteps of legend. This is the stuff of epics, it must be composed for all posterity!”

Desjardin’s eyes narrowed dangerously behind his spectacles. “You seem to know a lot about our journey, more than you should…”

The bard smiled blandly. “Lucky guess!”

Francois stared daggers at him, lips pressed together.

“Oh alright, I confess,” Aras relented, “The wind told me. We still have a tryst now and then.”

“For the last time, the answer is–”

“Oh, I suppose I should mention that I have extensive knowledge of sailing, predicting the weather, trying knots, basic medicine, geography, geology, astronomy, lore of all kinds, and I can cook.”

Francois stared at the man for a long time in silence. He shook his head, certain he would come to regret this decision. “Oh, alright. I will discuss it with the others. Sit down for now.”

So this is the Black Shore, Alethea looked around, eyes wide. She’d read about these islands from books, but this was her first time setting sight on such a foreign port. As always, the first matter of business was to gathering information. Flipping up the hood of her cloak, Alethea disappeared into the throng of workers, merchants, and those of more ominous trades.

Pushing her way off the teeming docks she set foot on solid ground for the first time in weeks. From the corner of her eye she caught sight of a massive figure ducking through the doorway of a nearby tavern. An Orc? She felt a shiver of excitement. She’d heard stories of Orcs growing up, but this was her first time seeing one in person.

She didn’t pause to watch, but instead allowed herself to be pulled by the flow of the crowd. Alethea decided a pub would be as good a place as any to gather information; no one would be likely to notice her entrance following that of an Orc. Besides, she thought, I wouldn’t mind a closer look.

Slipping through the doorway of the Tontine, Alethea could hear disgruntled murmurs rising from the patrons. All eyes seemed to be shifting towards the Orc and no one noticed as she slid herself into a table near the exit.

She just about had to grab a fistful of cloth from one of the barmaids’ skirts to get her attention. I didn’t want to be noticed, but surely the staff at a port town have seen more interesting things than an Orc? Is there something I’ve missed? With ale in hand, Alethea tried to make out what was going on, but before she could draw any conclusions her eyes locked on a man next to the Orc.

He was, without a doubt, a member of the Lockhart Institute. Luck is on my side, she took a long sip of ale to calm herself. Alethea chose to remain perched on her barstool, watching from beneath her cloak. It had been a long while since an opportunity like this had presented itself, she would not act hastily. She resigned herself to studying the group surrounding the man.

Ignatius sat in a dim corner of the Tontine, his dark liquor swilling slowly catching the light like a small puddle of mercury.

“Oh what strange subjects they will be.”

The half-orc was solid but handled himself with a surprising grace. The bard was overly noisy, his type was obvious; very good at getting everyone into trouble but only good at getting himself out. But the one that really intrigued him was the little shadow at the back. At first he hadn’t noticed her at all but when she made a move to whisper into the golden haired elf’s ear he had seen her sink back into the furniture.

“One who lives on the other side… how delicious.”

“You leave them alone you fiend!”

“My dear doctor please do not work yourself up into a state again. You will not be going on this expedition. I will.”

With that Ignatius rose from his seat, no doubt they had noticed him already, he did not exactly blend in with the rabble of this establishment. His lengthy swamp tinged cloak flowed calmly as he moved, the slight clink of volatile jars could be heard beneath for those discerning enough to listen.

His goal was clear and he headed straight towards the aristocrat.

“Mr Desjardin. I believe you received my paperwork and everything is in order?”

Francois turned around to face the rather disturbing length of a plague mask staring him in the face.

“I.. oh, of course Dr. Ignatius! Your credentials and reputation precedes you. I am very grateful to have such learned colleague as yourself on this expedition with us.”

“Heaven knows it isn’t going to be safe.” He muttered under his breath.

“Please take a seat, Rillian will explain everything shortly.”

More people approached and the meeting table grew quite cacophonous. Korozon moved to sit at the alcove behind, the perfect spot to observe the newcomers and perhaps meet a certain little shadow.

Once the doctor was seated in the alcove and safely out of earshot, Aras leaned in from where he had been sitting and gave Desjardin an arched eyebrow.

“That creepy gentleman’s credentials check out, and mine do not? I mean, really…. I shake my head – look at me shaking my head, Francy (may I call you Francy?) – at the lamentable state of the world. Well-renowned bards and purveyors of good cheer go heavily under suspicion while on the other hand that man, whatever he is under that mask, is accepted without question or concern!”

He sat back, folding his arms in exaggerated disgust. “You’re lucky I like you, Francy. And that you need me.” He smiled and returned quickly to his usual self, happily holding up a hand to a passing barmaid to request a drink. No sooner had he done so when it was slapped down again by Luci, who happened to pass by right at that moment.

Aras frowned and sighed.

Trench felt the tiny hairs prickle on the back of his neck that usually meant he was being watched. He stretched his back while sitting in the chair. This simple act brought him much closer to his full height which meant he now nearly equaled Francois and Alton’s standing height as they conversed next to the table. Trench cut a striking figure being probably heavier than the two men combined. The chair squealed as he turned to look over his shoulder.

Trench wondered who was watching them. The half-orc scanned the bar and many were quick to look away, but he waved in their direction anyway. The half-orc was nothing if not polite. He noticed one hooded figure that was rather preoccupied with their cup. Trench tried to wave at the slim hooded figure, but they seemed not to notice. He guessed that person was shy as well.

Trench turned his attention back to the others who had arrived. “Hey Doc, well-“Ignatius wandered off before Trench had the chance to greet him. Well, he would get another chance to speak to the Doctor. He seemed like a pleasant fellow. Trench turned his attention to the funny man who liked to sing. What was his name; Andrew, Arthur, Aerith? No, that wasn’t right. He would have to pay more attention next time it was mentioned.

Trench leaned in the bard’s direction and the chair creaked in protest. “Well met, Friend!” Trench said as he noticed the barmaid.

Quickly Trench flagged down Luci after she slapped the bard, and she circled back while Aras was distracted.

“Could I have water?” Trench asked hesitantly.

Luci let out a titter, “What would you want water for? The ale is cleaner by far and tastes better.”

“Ahh, some apple juice then.”

Luci laughed again, “Out of season, sailor. What you want is the Cider.”

Trench nodded, “I’ll have a small cup of that.” Trench indicated with his ponderous index finger and thumb about two inches of liquid.

“I’m not much of a drinker,” Trench admitted as his cheeks tinged a bit red.

Trench then remember he was broke. “Actually, I don’t want-“Trench said quickly, but it was too late, Luci was already gone again and his words just sailed into the air.

He hoped Francois would be able spot him a couple coins. Trench promised himself that he would pay back the man if he did. What was done was done, there no use in worrying about it now.

Trench turned to Aras again, “So, do you know any of the Wayfarer Sonnets?” The large man asked in a attempt to make small talk.

Eryx was close to giving up on managing to swipe anything for tonight’s dinner when a lumbering mass came ambling down the street. He hadn’t seen an Orc in quite some time.

Everybody pretended not to stare at the man as he headed into a building, ducking to fit through the doorway. Eryx internally smiled. Perfect. Eryx slipped into the bustling tavern after the man, unnoticed in the shadow of such an attention-grabbing creature. As the Orc fumbled about, Eryx slipped off to confront the girl that had also made use of the distraction to enter unnoticed.

She appeared to be studying a group that had surrounded some rich dude, the Orc having joined once people went back to what they had been doing. Silently moving behind her, he stood patiently until she felt his gaze and turned, jumping slightly upon seeing him. He simply turned and walked away, standing against a wall within earshot of the man and his entourage.

As the group talked, he realized that this man was from the Lockhart Institute, and was funding a project. Slowly, he walked towards the group and asked the most intelligent seeming man if he could join. He blinked twice before replying when asked what he could do.

“Magic. Mainly destructive, but I have a few cool tricks as well.”

Reveling in the other man’s shocked look, he was pleased until the man looked him over suspiciously and began questioning him, using words that went straight over his head, leaving him to shrug with a blank stare. Rolling his eyes, the man agreed that he could come along as long as he was willing to be studied and could prove his abilities, with a hint of laughter that suggested he didn’t even remotely believe Eryx.

Aras punched the orc lightly on the shoulder in a show of camaraderie and then, even though it had been such a light punch, looked at his hand in surprise and pain. “You’re quite the solid fellow,” the bard murmured.

“Anyhow, some of the Wayfarer Sonnets? I know them all! After all, I’m no roguish amateur dabbling in poetry for a few kicks and merely to assist in the courtship of the beautiful denizens of this world. I know every Wayfarer Sonnet and all of the Songs of the Crossroads. Furthermore, and this may be of interest to you, stout young orc, having spent a number of years among the orc people. I know a great number of their stories and legends. Wonderful people, the orcs. Their songs are garbage but by the gods do they know how to tell a good story.”

“But forgive my rudeness! I’m Aras and my beautiful companion here is Sella.” He pointed to his shoulder (a different shoulder than before). “She’s a rare breed of invisible rat so do not be alarmed if you can’t see her. She says hello!”

Alethea watched as the Orc straightened his shoulders and began to look around the tavern, meeting the eyes of any patron who would look back. He knows he’s being watched. She quickly ducked her eyes and studied her ale far more intensely than was necessary.

For a moment, the only sound she could hear was the pounding of her chest. Did he see me? Did he tell the others? Alethea glanced up from her cup. Already, she had determined that the group had gathered for a project by the Lockhart Institute and that the man she’d watched so intensely was at the heart of it. She needed a way in.

As her heart rate calmed and her thoughts began to settle, she felt her body jerk unconsciously. By Light! She kicked herself and wheeled herself around to face the figure behind her. Her emerald eyes flashed from beneath her cloak as she stared up at the man. His presence felt like a shadow.

Before she could speak, the man glided away just as he had come. He too had gathered at the main table.

Muttering a series of curses under her breath, she accepted that she was going to make no further progress spying at a distance. Alethea had already drawn too much attention to keep pretending she could go unnoticed.

Pushing back her hood, Alethea slipped in at the end of the main table next to a learned looking man in glasses. He had been there since she’d first arrived.

Dartimen stood at the foot of the gangplank leading back up to his own ship, the famous - or infamous, ‘Stormrider’. Brimstone stood beside him puffing on a cigar. Their attention fixed on the door to ‘The Tontine’.

“She was that bad, eh?” Brimstone muttered.

Dartimen nodded in silence.

“Not a surprise I suppose. Damn shame what Sark did to ‘em.”

Dartimen remained silent. Brimstone eyed him skeptically, tipping the ash from the end of his cigar. “Ship’s loaded. We’re ready to go whenever.”

Dartimen watched a motley crew of characters make their way into the tavern. “She has a capable crew. I know she told that to Sinclair. Why they need more hands is beyond me.”

“You think the financier put the word out?” Brimstone said.

Dartimen shrugged. “I guess so. Considering where they’re going there is no telling what they’re going to encounter.” He suddenly shook his head as if waking from a dream. “Wait - the ship’s all loaded?”

“I just said it was.” Brimstone barked. “Can we leave already? You know I don’t like islands. We tend to get stuck on them.”

“Have the cranes pulled back over the ship.” Dartimen said in a slow thoughtful voice, barely above a whisper.

“You want to unload now?” Brimstone raised an eyebrow.

“No, I just want to make it look like we’re still getting refitted.”

Brimstone frowned. “Don’t tell me we’re going to….”

Dartimen smiled. “Oh yes. I have an idea.”

“Wonderful.” Brimstone growled. “Your heroics are going to get us killed one of these days.”

“Obviously.” Darimen said with a smirk.

“I don’t suppose you’re going to assist in this flimsy illusion? Because Rillian isn’t going to fall for it.”

“It isn’t Rillian I’m trying to fool.” Dartimen’s voice trailed off as a sudden flash of white light burst into existence a few feet from the door to the Tavern. When it faded, four people and several large wooden crates remained.

“Xanus Dvell and Trajus Brillit… this just got more interesting….”

Professor Brillit stiffened. He turned to look behind him and caught a brief glimpse of a familiar face turning away from him and walking up the gangplank to a waiting ship. His eyes narrowed. “Is that…”

“Trajus?” Xanus said impatiently. “We’re not on a holiday. We’re meeting them here. Let’s go.”

Trajus nodded, still studying the figure walking up to the ship. He then came to his senses and turned to the others that had been teleported along with them. “You two, see that our supplies are loaded and loaded carefully. There is a great deal of sensitive equipment in there.” He pointed to the ship next to the ‘Stormrider’. “That vessel there, the ‘Blind Albatross’ that’s Captain Harshtide’s boat. Get moving.”

With that, Xanus and Trajus entered ‘The Tontine’ and took in the spectacle before them.

“Ahem!” Xanus cleared his throat loud enough to bring the room to absolute silence for a moment. “Apprentice Sinclair, I see you’ve found our Captain and the…” he looked around the assemblage with unmasked skepticism. “…help?”

Alton stood. “I have Professor. I was just explaining the nature of our journey. Join us, please.”

Trajus and Xanus walked over to the table and for a moment considered sitting down but after a quick appraisal of the seats each of them decided that it would be best to stand.

“If it hasn’t already been stated, your collective assistance in this matter will pay quite well. We understand the risks but the rewards are well worth it, I assure you. If there are no questions, I suggest we prepare to sail.”

Rillian stood and stared down Xanus. “It’s been explained. And I will tell you when we’re ready to sail.” she said with severe ferocity. “And let me remind you all, that while you’re on that boat, you will follow my commands and those of my crew. Once we arrive at our destination, you can call the shots.”

Xanus was momentarily taken aback by her words as it had been quite some time since anybody had spoken to him in such a manner. “Yes, of course. My apologies Captain. I have however taken the liberty of having two members of my team begin loading some important equipment crates aboard your ship.”

Rillian scowled. “Fine. But make no mistake that is the last order you will give regarding my boat. In these parts, your presumption gets your throat slit while you sleep.”

Xanus’ eyes widened. “Is that supposed to be a threat Captain Harshtide?”

Rillian shook her head. “A guarantee.” with sudden flick of her wrist a long curved blade slipped from the sleeve and into her hand, in a motion that looked as though she were about to slice Xanus open right then and there. Instead, she used it to gesture towards the table. “Now the two of you sit down, shut up and listen to the guy with the map.”

In stunned silence Xanus and Trajus sat down. Alton and Francois stared, dumbstruck. Francois eventually nudged Alton in the ribs. “You were saying, Alton?”

Grinning, Aras nudged Trench in the ribs and murmured, “I’m fan of our new captain!”

“Seems nice,” Trench nodded in agreement.

Trench then raised his hand. “I have a question,” The Half-orc turned to Alton and spoke, “Where are we going?”

At that Alton’s face lit up, “Well, I’m glad you asked, my boy!”

Alton immediately launched into a tirade of what it means to travel beyond the Umbra. He expounded on the ramifications that what they were about to discover and it would leave significant impact the scientific community and Alton exemplified the historical importance of their journey.

Trench leaned in and whispered to Aras, “Do you understand what he’s talking about? I’m a little lost…”

“Adventure and glory, that’s what he’s talking about, lad. Adventure and glory.” The bard’s eyes twinkled and a smile grew across his face.

“Hey!” Rillian shouted suddenly, “Shut up and listen!”

The bard flinched, then grinned even wider. “Yes, Captain!”

He gave an over-eager salute, inadvertently smacking himself in the forehead. Captain Harshtide shook her head in disgust.

Inadvertently, Alethea leaned towards the man and the Orc whispering next to her.

“If you know nothing else, know that any expedition beyond the Umbra isn’t one you should plan on returning from.”

This resulted in an almost deadly stare from Rillian.

From her research, she knew that few ships ever returned from their journeys and most kept their names secrets. Any expedition beyond the Umbra was guaranteed to unveil some of the world’s history.

Freya could scarcely believe how quickly the party had grown in size. It seemed that she had made her move at the perfect time. She couldn’t be dealing with so many unknowns all at once, too many opportunities to get hurt again. But perhaps this group could prove to be more than a band of ragtag mercenaries. Maybe, just maybe they could be… family.

She couldn’t be sure, so she decided to keep a close eye on them for now.

“Maybe people like what’s out there so much they don’t want to come back.” Trench posited.

Trench startled a bit when he realized it was the hooded figure talking, except she was without the hood. She must’ve gotten over her shyness! Oh joy, of joys! Trench nearly knocked over his chair as he turned to greet his new companion.

Trench grabbed her hand in his meaty fist, “Well met, Friend. My name’s Trench.”

Two things became clear as Trench shook her hand; Firstly, Trench’s grip was firm but still surprisingly gentle. Secondly his hand was tough and calloused like that of a laborer, Trench had spent more of his life on the plow field rather than the field of battle.

Trench gave his new friend a mighty wide smile and released her hand as quickly as he had took it. The captain began to stare daggers at Trench as well, in return he gave her a friendly wave and returned his attention to Alton’s speech.

As the group found their seats Desjardin cleared his throat and gathered some of his papers closer, adjusting his spectacles. “Now, in the interest of…” He trailed off as though he heard a strange noise. Within seconds others could hear it, like a series of thunderclaps.

The air in the room became filled with static, causing their hair to stand on end. Without warning a man drops seemingly from the ceiling landing flat on his back. The table holds his weight for a moment before it collapses. The well-dressed man slid off the ruins of the table, landing in a heap on the floor looking quite dead. Desjardin looked up towards the ceiling where a candelabra was still swinging as the others followed his gaze they were presented with the site of half a desk protruding from the paneling, both undamaged, as though the desk had always been there.

In the stunned silence of the inn the man took a deep, frantic breath then began to cough. He started dragging himself up on the ruined table. “Leal…” As he looked around his nose began to bleed alarmingly and the color drained from his face. A quill he had been holding dropped from his hands leaving a small splatter of ink. “I…leaving. Sorry for the intrusion…” He turns nearly collapsing, grabbing onto tables, patrons and chairs for support.

He made it about ten staggering paces before dropping once again, face first, to the ground remaining still. Desjardin, fascinated rises, walking cautiously towards the fallen stranger. He reaches down and gently shakes the man by the shoulder, then turning him over. The man opens his eyes and looks up at Desjardin and in a ragged voice he says, “Sir, I do believe I have read your paper on the Movements of the Celestial Bodies…”

Among the hectic, bustling crowd, apart from the elf-woman, one other stuck out. A tall man with fair, long flowing hair and a mischievous grin. Could it be? No, it couldn’t. Rolf had died with her in the mountains. Even if he had survived, he would be an old man now.

But this man seemed so much like him apart from his silver hair. Confident and cavalier, it made her think of the possibilities if she hadn’t ran away with Rolf. Maybe her father would have miraculously stopped being cruel and she would be an old woman married to her childhood sweetheart.

But that was a fairy tale, and her “life” was never going to be that kind of story.

Aras dropped to the floor and rolled from the table with surprising speed as the man fell from nowhere and landed with a crack quite near where the bard had previously been sitting. When the man opened his eyes and began to speak as if nothing unusual had occurred, Aras could not help but laugh and give that entrance a slow but loud applause. What a tale that would make! He was certain more than ever that he was embarking on the epic of a lifetime, and with the most intriguing cast of characters…

Luci came by and placed her hands on her hips angrily at the sight of the broken table, knocked over chairs, and general chaos created by the man’s sudden arrival – and then noticed Aras clapping. Eyes widening, the bard raised his hands and gave her his best I-swear-I-had-nothing-to-do-with-this shrug.

After a while, Rillian began to grow tired of these crazy antics and wanted to get moving. She excused herself from what was left of the table and strode towards Freya’s corner. Freya had a bad feeling about this, she immediately wanted to hide and forget about this whole venture, but for some reason she didn’t.

The elf-woman came to a halt and folded her arms. “Hello again.” Oh no, she’s talking directly to me, everyone will see me! “I have thought some more about your proposal and I would like to introduce you to the others”. This was probably Freya’s worst nightmare, meeting new people.

“That’s lovely. I’ll be over here and you can tell them all about me.” Rillian shook her head. “No that won’t do. If you want to join me, you’re actually going to have to be a part of my crew. And that means speaking to them! Come on.”

Freya sheepishly trailed behind Rillian as she moved confidently back to her party of adventurers. She could feel eyes on her, more and more with every step. Why did they have to be situated in the middle of the room?

“Everyone, this is Freya Wolfe. We spoke privately before and she wants to join us. Yes, she is a ghost so don’t let her childlike looks fool you, she’s likely a lot older. Right, Freya?”

Rillian didn’t even try to keep her voice down, it seemed the entire tavern heard what she had said. All around her Freya could hear people muttering, most likely about her. Her head began to spin and she was losing control of her breathing. “I can’t breathe-“

“Freya!” The spinning stopped. “You’re a ghost, you don’t need to breathe.” Freya nodded awkwardly. Rillian was right, she often forgot that the same rules didn’t apply. She was making such a fool of herself, why was she doing this? She just wanted to run away but something pushed her onwards.

Aras chimed in, hoping to break the ice and the awkward silence, “so… how old are you exactly?” This was embarrassing, why couldn’t she just stay in the shadows like she had done for so long? She gulped and tried to act confident. “I am sixty-three years old. I died fifty years ago.”

In unison, the group let out an “ohhhh”. Freya hoped that that was a sign of acceptance. Her eyes darted between each of them as she made a trembling grin.

If there was anything the last few days had taught Aspen Lightwood, it was never trust a scholar.

Her own background in academia and magic aside, she was seriously beginning to wonder if the professors simply took personal enjoyment in ordering her and Gwen about, or if they were truly just that self-absorbed. Aspen groaned, her stomach leaping into her throat, as the teleportation spell ripped her from a beach near the Temple Observatory and deposited her rather unceremoniously on the Black Shore.

At first the world was just an unfocused blur of color and light, but as the busy port slowly came into focus and all sound crashed back into her ears at once, it was all Aspen could do to keep from falling flat on her backside. She thanked everything Gwen had the foresight to warn her against eating much that morning, or else this would have been a very different experience.

“You two, see that our supplies are loaded.”

Aspen sighed, reminding herself for what felt like the hundredth time that the professors were so ancient, they simply didn’t remember what it meant to be the new one, and focused on steadying her wobbling knees. Gwen gave her elbow a sympathetic squeeze and started gathering the luggage as if that last transport had been nothing at all, and Aspen felt a pang of jealousy shoot through her veins.

The professors started off in the direction of the Tontine, not even deigning to give the girls a second glance as they barked instructions at them over their shoulders. Almost as if they were common servants and not equal members of this team.

Well, Gwen was an equal member, at least…

“And load them carefully!” Professor Trajus commanded. “There is a great deal of sensitive equipment in there.”

Aspen and Gwen exchanged glances, as the professors disappeared into the bar. The “gentlemen” arrogant at best, absolutely insufferable at worst, and Aspen was seriously beginning to regret traveling with them at all. Still, this exact self-importance was the only reason she had been able to secure a spot in the first place, so she owed them that much, at least. If the professors had even bothered to read the name of the mage apprentice who’d died a few months back…

No, best not to think about that.

Aspen shook her head lightly, as if to dislodge the thought, and stared absently at the distant bar, biting her lower lip in frustration as she carefully hoisted one of the professors’ bags into in arms. Every second she wasted out here with the luggage was another second she could be spending gathering valuable information gone, but she couldn’t abandon Gwen with all the work.

Those pompous, egotistical, imperious, sons of–

“It’s ok, Wren.”

Aspen jumped a little as Gwen’s gentle voice cut through her bitter musings. Unwittingly, her hand automatically flew to the locket around her neck at the mention of her sister’s name, and she fiddled with the pendant as she flashed Gwen a puzzled look.

“What do you mean?”

The slightly older girl glanced down at the locket and Aspen immediately released the pendant. She straightened, shoving the silver chain beneath her cloak, and met Gwen’s gaze as she repeated the question. The girl smiled broadly and held out a hand for the bag Aspen cradled in her arms.

“You want to go in there, right? I’ll take the bags, so you go on ahead.”

“You don’t have to…” Aspen muttered hopefully, already passing the bag off to Gwen.

Gwen just shook her head, waving her off.

“No, really, go on. I remember what it was like my first expedition. This is a big day for you.”

If only she knew.

Aspen nodded at the girl gratefully, lifted the hood of her cloak, and raced off for the Tontine, heart hammering in her chest. She tried her best not to look like a ninny-hammer as she took in the sights and sounds of the port along the way, so different from everything she’d known back at the Temple. There were so many people. So many shops and street booths. So many ships that lined the harbor, each at least a length taller than any she’d ever seen, complete with fancy rigging and gilded hulls. It was dizzying and breathtaking all at once. All too soon, she found herself standing before the Tontine.

Aspen paused just before the door and took a deep breath, summoning her courage. This was it. The beginning of the trip that had killed her sister. The trip that would finally give her answers. She didn’t really know what to expect, but Aspen was willing to bet whatever she found wouldn’t be pleasant.

Still, she had to know.

Aspen nodded, gripped the handle, and threw open the door, taking her first step toward an uncertain future.

Trench’s drink had been lost in all the chaos. He thought it was on the table someplace before the man had fallen through the ceiling. Judging from the furniture it appeared that where ever the man had fallen from had been an office of some kind. Trench wondered if he had fallen from the floor above or if he had come from somewhere else entirely. He could never quite tell with magic.

Trench ruminated on his thoughts as the others conversed. Freya seemed nice, but she seemed like less like a Wolf and more like a cat. Quiet, independent, and mysterious. She was definitely more like a cat. Still it was rare for a person to choose a name so it was more likely she had been given it. Aras seemed to be busy with introductions with the ghost. It was good that he was talking to her. Honestly, Trench was a little bit afraid of ghosts.

Trench waved politely at Freya before he excused himself from the table. Perhaps the seagulls wanted to play again. He wanted to say good bye, there was a chance that Trench would never come back to Black Shore. After all he had only arrived here by chance. Aras was probably right that they had a great adventure ahead of them, but Trench worried if all these new people would like him. He had never really found anywhere where he quite fit in, he had been different from the others on the commune and among his father’s scouts.

Trench looked back at the others and wondered where their travels would take them. He reached down to open the door, bending down slightly to grab the handle, but before he did the door flew open. The door hit him in the face and he stumbled back stars swimming in his vision. Trench blinked his eyes a few times as he bent over and placed a hand over his nose.

“Ow…” Trenched sighed in a nasally tone. Trench was no stranger to pain, but that really smarted.

A moment passed and Trench’s vision cleared. He saw a girl that stood a head or two shorter than himself. He couldn’t quite read the expression on her face, but he guessed that he had scared her.

“Sorry, miss.” Trench apologized in a pinched voice.

In the quiet of the inn Rillian turns around to look at the strange sight before her. She took a few steps towards the man’s prone form and peers down. “What the…his clothes.” She leans over and smacks the man a few times on the side of the face, less gently than would be advised. After a few moments the man opened his eyes, though they still look glassy. He struggled to sit and gives up, looking around.

“I…where am I?” He asked quietly. To which Rillian raised an eyebrow, “You are in the Black Shore Islands…”

The man closed his eyes for a moment. “I was…I got a letter. From Rass, asking me to verify his…He found a crew…a captain. Harshtide…” His eyes close once again and his face goes slack. Rillian is stunned at the man’s words.

“No.” She grabs the man by the collar. “Wake up! What did you say?!”

Nathaniel found himself lifted quite unceremoniously to his feet by Rillian who stared at him with a cold though quite confused gaze. "I was asked by Professor Rass to verify some of his calculations regarding..."

Both Xanus and Trajus stood and flanked Rillian, the three of them regarding Nathaniel with the same confounded bewilderment. "_Professor_ Rass?" Xanus hissed.

Nathaniel nodded, equally confused at what all the fuss was about.

Trajus turned on his heel and marched to the door of the tavern. He opened it with such force that he nearly knocked over an older gentleman that was about to walk in. "Gwendolyn!" he roared over the symphony of chaos that was the waterfront. A few moments later a young woman hurried to the irate Professor Brillit. "Sir?"

Trajus motioned for her to follow him. He placed her before Nathaniel. "What is the meaning of this?"

"Of what?" Gwendolyn said softly.

"You were told explicitly not to mention this undertaking to anyone and you requested outside help without telling us? And you have the audacity to call yourself Professor?" 

"I did no such thing." the young woman lowered her head as though already defeated.

Nathaniel shook his head. "Don't be ridiculous! That's not Professor Rass."

Trajus frowned. "What's going on here? Who sent you?"

Alton's eyes widened and he dove into a rucksack filled with more notes he had yet to reveal. "Sir, Nathaniel was it?" He grabbed the tattered remains of a journal and shoved aside the already stunned Trajus and Xanus. "You're referring to Professor Gavin Rass, correct?"

Nathaniel chuckled. "Well of course I am, old boy. And there is no mistaking the venerable Professor Rass. Even cloistered scholarly types such as yourselves can tell the difference between an old man and a young woman."

Gwendolyn spoke up. "My great grandfather was Professor Gavin Rass."

Nathaniel's good humor vanished. "I'm sorry, your great grandfather?"

"Yes sir." Gwendolyn said proudly.

Alton peeled through the contents of the journal. "Your name is Nathaniel....?"

"Carrington, old Boy. Nathaniel Carrington."

Alton's knees suddenly buckled and he fell into a chair. His eyes wild with delight. "Did you complete the chart? The chart Rass sent you? Did you finish it?"

Nathaniel produced a small packet from his coat pocket. "Yes, I have it right here. I was going to deliver it myself but was, well, unavoidably detained. He mentioned that he had retained a Captain Harshtide to take his team to the land of Jhy’vin. I was going to caution him against it. Rhiven Harstide is an unapologetic scallywag."

Rillian stormed up to Nathaniel shoving him backwards into one of the beams that supported the floor above. Her knife sank into the wood, perilously close to Nathaniel's left ear. "Rhiven died some time ago. I am his only child and the only Captain Harshtide. You would do well to remember that. I seldom give warnings twice."

Nathaniel's eyes followed the length of the blade sticking out of the beam and met the cold eyes of the elf woman. "I see. My apologies, Captain."

Amidst the confusion, Alton plucked the packet from Nathaniel's hand. He turned back to the table and began making comparisons between his notes and the lines of numbers and esoteric symbols provided by Nathaniel. "This is it!" he shouted. "Everyone sit down! This gamble beyond the Umbra just became a sure thing!"

Rillian pulled her knife from the wood and with a flick of her wrist the blade vanished up her sleeve once more. She turned and sat down next to Alton without a word. Xanus and Trajus followed in turn. Alton spread out the notes and charts so that everyone had a clear view.

"I can hardly believe our good fortune!" Alton began. He held up the now unfolded packet containing Nathaniel's calculations. "This data has been missing for nearly 70 years! It was the one thing that was missing from the remnants of Professor Rass' findings that made it back to the Temple."

The color suddenly drained from Nathaniel's face. "How... how long?"

Alton took a deep breath. "Sir, the record indicates that you vanished. Professor Rass and his team used the partial calculations he had and the knowledge of Rhiven Harshtide to find their way to Jhy’vin. It's just that... well, only three people survived. That's how the things I'm about to show you came back to the Temple."

"Seventy years..." Nathaniel whispered to himself.

Alton let Nathaniel be alone with his thoughts. He would ask him about his unavoidable detainment later. Rillian spoke up, growing tired of academic nonsense. "So you now have a complete star map to where we're going?"

"I do now." Alton said with delight.

Rillian locked eyes with Alton. "And what makes you so certain there will be something to find once we get there?"

Alton met her stare his confidence matching every ounce of Rillian's intimidation. "The notes and journal were not the only thing that made it back to the Temple."

"Go on..." Rillian said with a glimmer of respect for the young man.

"I said that only three people returned alive. Your father was one of them. He was entrusted with what I am about to show you all by Professor Rass with instructions that it be delivered to scholars from the Temple Observatory."

With that, Alton reached into his bag and produced a bundle wrapped in a dirty, stained canvas cloth. He undid the strong that bound it, unwrapped the cloth and revealed a worn, but quite ornate gauntlet. At the top of the hand was etched a face locked in a steely, intimidating rictus.

The assembled crew suddenly crowded around the table to better inspect the first thing that resembled treasure so far on this fool's errand. Silence fell over the group. Even Alton stopped speaking to stare in wonder at the artifact he had been studying for over a year.

"Those designs... those are very early Cathedral symbols. I don't recognize the style of armor though." Gwendolyn said matter of factly. 

Xanus shook his head. "No I. Curious." he looked to his colleague. "Trajus?"

The other professor shook his head. "Gwendolyn is correct. Very early Cathedral symbols. It suggests an association to the cult of Derenthen before adoption of the swan motif."

Alton nodded. "Indeed. Everyone, I'm sure, knows the story of Saint Marius. After the binding of the dragons he raised an army to vanquish their scourge and conquer the world beyond the Umbra but he never returned. I am convinced that Professor Rass found an early, possibly the first, place Saint Marius and his armies came to after they ventured past the veil. The land of Jhy’vin. We have gathered this team to travel there and find whatever traces of him and his discoveries that remain." he turned to Rillian. "Captain, at your discretion we can embark."

Rillian nodded in silence. Her hand slipped into her pocket. She ran her fingers over the strange wood and brass sphere Dartimen had handed her.

Aras laughed aloud. "A Rass and a Harshtide, once more sailing into the unknown! How auspicious! What a tale it will make!"

Rillian stood. "Everyone, follow me. I need to inspect the preparations for the ship and I'll show you all to your accommodations. While we're at sea... or in the air for that matter, you are to follow the orders of myself or my crew. Do as you're told and you'll make it back alive." With that, she walked out of the tavern 

At the bar, the old man Trajus had nearly knocked over dropped a few coins on the bar next to his untouched glass and walked out the door.

Outside the Tontine, the sun was starting to dip low in the sky, painting the sky above in shares of red and gold. On her way back to the ship Rillian paused to let some of the warm sunlight hit her face. She closed her eyes tight and tried to summon memories of Anson’s golden eyes; eyes that she ached to see again but knew in her heart it was impossible. She reached into a pocket and produced a letter. She has obviously read it several times as it was creased with folds and wrinkles, it was even crumpled in a fist at least once. Rillian opened her eyes and scanned the contents as shed absently walked up the gang plank onto the deck of the Blind Albatross. She stopped next to another sea elf who was observing the last of the supply crates descend into the cargo hold. Caius Tidesinger glanced casually at the letter in her hand, noticing the familiar script, dotted with splotches of dried water droplets scattered across the face. He frowned at the sight of the last fragments of a broken black wax seal before turning to wave off the last of the dock crew. “You’ve decided then?” he said as he scratched the back of his head.

“I have,” Rillian said absently. She folded up the letter and placed it back into her pocket.

Caius lowered his head, defeated. “I see. Did you tell the charter?”

“Of course not.” Rillian said without hiding her annoyance.

Caius turned and studied the Stormrider which seemed to be struggling with a marginally competent crew of longshoremen. The cable that held up a corner of a large supply crate snapped suddenly, sending the crate tumbling into the ship’s hold with a crash that shook both vessels and prompted a great commotion on the deck. “And dd you tell him?”

Rillian smirked at the chaos aboard the Stormrider. “Definitely not. You know what he’s capable of. I don’t need to tell you what he’d do.”

“Probably try to talk you out of making a deal with that devil…” Caius shook his head. “You are our captain and we will follow your orders so I will only voice our apprehension this last time…”

“Noted.” Rillian finished. “And I don’t think you should worry.”

Caius stared at Rillian thoughtfully. “What do you mean?”

Rillian smirked. “I’ve made a deal. But what makes you think I’m going to honor it?”

Cauis’ eyes widened. “You mean?”

Rillian slapped him on the shoulder, pointing to the members of this expedition as they filed out of the Tontine and up towards the ship. “Show them to their quarters. We’ll talk more later.”

Professor Dvell and Professor Brillit lead the group up to the deck of the ship. Xanus stepped forward and bowed. “Captain Harshtide.”

Rillian nodded. “Everyone, listen up!” she gestured to Caius who stood at attention. “This is my first mate, Caius Tidesinger. An order from him is an order from me. He’s going to show you all to your quarters. If you run across any other members of the crew he’ll introduce you. Once you have stowed your gear and settled yourselves you can explore the ship…” Rillian stared at Caus. “…within reason.” Caius nodded in silence. “This will be your only free night for some time, so make the most of it.”

With that, Rillian left them, heading towards a door at the sterncastle.

Caius watched her enter the door before turning to address the hired crew and their charter. “That’s the captain’s cabin. You would do well to stay away from there, unless it is a dire…very dire emergency.” Caius pointed towards an entrance next to Rillian’s cabin that was merely an open portal that lead to a set of stairs to the lower decks. “Come with me.”

The deck below was a long corridor with a series of eight doors, four on either side of the corridor. “These are the crew and passenger quarters. I’ll be assigning you all a key. Don’t lose it.” Caius pointed down the length of the deck to yet another large staircase that went still further into the ship. Just past it, on either side of the opening were two doors. “On the left you’ll find the head. On the right is the galley. The captain has informed me that you all have free access to the galley, although remember that the cook only prepares food three times a day. You miss a meal, you’re on your own. Her name is Sammi, she’s also our engineer so she’s only available to cook at certain intervals if you’re not interested in what’s on the menu I suggest you keep that to yourselves. Sammi takes a curious pride in her dishes.”

Trajus raised a hand halting Caius. “Are we meant to share cabins?”

Caius sighed. “No…” He drew a key from a small pouch and walked to one of the doors. “I guess we’re doing this now since I feel a fuss coming on…” Caius stuck the key in the lock, turned the knob and opened the door. “You’re going to find that this ship is unique.” The room he opened was cavernous inside. The furnishings and comforts were the rival of guest suites in the palaces of royalty. What wasn’t made of the rarest hardwood was cast in precious metals and decorated with an eclectic array of trophies and curiosities from across the known world. Rather than a window, it seemed that part of the ship’s very hull had been made transparent. The view outside shimmered through the wood which faded in and out of view at the fringes of the vision of the sea outside gently lapping against the ship with the light of the setting sun illuminating the room.

Gwendolyn broke the stunned silence. “Amazing! And so beautiful!” she blurted out with dreamy acclaim. “But how?”

Caius smiled. “This ship has had a great many augmentations.”

Xanus stood speechless. Trajus regarded Caius with equal wonder. “What else could there be?”

Caius chuckled. “More than you can imagine.”

Trajus looked around him in awe. “I take it then space isn’t at a premium aboard this ship.”

Caius placed the key into Gwendolyn’s hand. “No, the Albatross is… how should I put this? Bigger on the inside.”

Gwendolyn closed her fingers around the key while Caius produced another from the pouch. He tossed one to Trajus who caught it as though he were a mother reaching out for her only child.

Caius closed the cabin door and pointed towards the lock. “Unlock the door.”

Trajus looked at him dumbfounded. “But surely this will...”

“Just do it.” Caius ordered.

Trajus turned the key and opened the door, only to reveal a completely different room. This one, while no less opulent than the other was adorned in a fashion more appealing to an older man. The smell of fine liquors and exotic tobacco danced in the otherwise still air with the scents of musk and new leather mingling with them,

Caius handed a key to all assembled. “You’ll find that each room will adapt to your particular tastes and comforts. No need to speak them out. The Albatross already knows. And it doesn’t matter which door you use. The key is the key, if you’ll pardon the phrasing. Should you need someone who is in their room just knock. The ship knows who you are looking for. You’ll hear a knock on the other side. You’ll find a similar door at the far side of the galley. You can use that as a staging area for your research if you’re so inclined. Any of your keys will open it. Only the captain and I will have access to it during our voyage. Respect our vessel and we shall respect you.”

Caius led them to the stairs at the far end of the corridor. “Below us is the cargo hold and supply storage. Below that are the fresh water cisterns and munitions. In the off chance we suffer a forced boarding you’ll find weapons and other fun things stashed inside. You’ll also find Sammi’s workshop. I would just not go in there.” Caius paused to look for any raised hands. “If there’s nothing else, get unpacked and have a look around at your leisure. Supper is in two hours. Mr. Sinclair, the captain wants to see you and your charts so we can plot a course.”

Alton stiffened, brought out of his revelry considering what else the ship could do. “Yes, of course. I’ll be up directly.”

“Very good.” Caius said. “The rest of you… welcome aboard. If you need me, I’ll be topside.” with that, Caius returned to the upper deck.

Once he was out of sight, the corridor erupted with the echo of keys fitting into locks and expressions of wonder at what was revealed on the other side.

Nathaniel followed the others in a daze. He had nowhere else to go and had nothing to his name. No one seemed to mind his presence and when he was handed a key he turned it over in his hand a few time. “This is the part of a bad dream where one wakes up…” He turned the key and opened the door, disappointed that he did not wake up in his own bed, thousands of mile away and seventy years ago. Upon seeing the room he felt relief for the first time today, it wasn’t home but it was familiar.

“It’s cooler in here…” The walls where white washed and softly reflected the light from a large round window, itself pieced together from various types of clear glass. On one side of the room was a bed carved from dark oak that appeared to be built into the wall. It was hung with simple, crisp white linen curtains that matched the simple white coverlet. The ceiling above the bed was painted pale blue and set with a star map. Each star was highlighted with silver or gold leaf. On the same side of the room, taking up the remainder of the wall was a set of doors made of the same dark wood. He opened them cautiously and found a closet stocked with simple linen shirts, sturdy traveling coats and pants. Along the floor was a few pairs of boots and shoes. The inside of the door had a plain felt hat and a sword belt hanging neatly from pegs. There were several empty shelves, ready for more storage. Nathaniel sighed with relief.
Under the window was a dry sink with a wash basin, a clean towel, a shaving razor and a round mirror hanging from the wall. Opposite the bed was a series of glass fronted cabinets made from the same wood as the bed and closet. A latch opened to reveal writing desk stocked with pens, ink and parchment. The cabinets where filled with everything he could possibly need in his research. Books, both blank and printed where stacked randomly with the map making equipment and star charts. There were two chairs, one plain one for the desk and one a soft and worn armchair. The floor was dark wood but covered with a faded exotic carpet.

Not sure what to do with himself, Nathaniel looked in the mirror and saw the alarming state he was in. He wiped the blood from his face, not sure how his nose had started bleeding. A dark bruise was forming at his temple and he felt as if he had been trampled, bruises on his black could be felt but not seen. He removed his bloodstained and splinter covered clothing and hung them neatly on pegs, changing into the clean clothes.

As he was pulling on his boots he heard a soft knock on the door. He stood up to answer it but found that the world was spinning and he had broken into a cold sweat. Steadying himself against the door frame he opened the door.

“Miss Rass…how can I help you?” He said formally.

“You knew my great-grandfather, I was just curious to find out what he was like…I’m sorry…I won’t bother you…” Her voice was quiet and her eyes were cast down as she turns to leave

“Wait, I would be glad to, once this sea sickness passes.” He leans his head against the door frame trying to compose himself. Gwendolyn gives him a curious look.

“The ship is quite still actually. Maybe you should sit down” Expecting him to make it over to the chair, she was surprised when he lowered himself down to the floor using the wall as support.

“Just a bit dizzy…I apologize for not greeting you appropriately.” Gwendolyn looked at him with concern. “Rass was an eccentric, stubborn but a great intellect…” She took out a small notebook.

“We probably should have seen to your wellbeing earlier, the others were just so excited about the map…what is the last thing you remember?” Her curiosity was winning over her shyness

“I was at my desk, it was rather late. Professor Leal was waiting for a certain celestial convergence for one of his experiments. I heard him yell and then I was here, well now and here…” Nathaniel’s eyes became unfocused. “I’m sorry…I’m still a bit off. I just wonder how I ended up in the exact time and place that I was needed…”

“We can worry about that later…I’m concerned that you were exposed to unknown powers.
Magics can have effects on people but they are not usually gone as long…teleportation and such. I suppose the effects could be worse when they are as unplanned as it sounds like was the case with you. I will let Professor Dvell know when we are settled.”

“I would like to get some air, if that would be amenable to you…” She nodded and Nathaniel pulled himself up, closing the door and setting off down the hall.

Eryx decided to go down to the cargo hold to see what he could find. The man - Caius was it? - had said there were weapons down there, which sounded interesting enough for him to check it out. He walked towards the staircase, marveling at the beauty and care that was evident in every part of the large vessel.

Going down, he quickly passed the floor directly below where he had started, seeing that it held only stacked crates and stuffed sacks. He turned a corner and got halfway down the steps before pausing, awestruck at all the destructive objects before him. Shaking off his shock, he rushed down to a double-edged long knife. It was light and cool to the touch, with an icy blue triangular design decorating the hilt. Putting it down, he moved on to a sharp battle axe. After a few minutes of wandering amongst the weapons, he traced the Celtic patterns down the handle of the short sword he was holding, before placing it back on the rack and moving on to explore more of this incredible ship.

Ambling mindlessly along, Eryx came across another staircase and headed down it. It ended in a poorly lit cement hallway which he followed before reaching a windowless metal door covered in dings and scratches.

He had heard something about the engineer’s workshop, this must lead to it. Reaching out, he found the door was unlocked. He hesitated for a moment, before stepping into the glaring white light of the clustered room. Even if he wasn’t allowed to use anything in the workshop, Eryx was sure it wouldn’t hurt anything for him to look around.

He walked about, examining the screws placed in colorful containers in that had been left out haphazardly, clamps on every available surface, and delighting in the sight of tons of incredible metalworking, woodworking, and electrical tools, that left him aching with desire. He began to daydream, his head filled with endless diagrams and plans of what he could make with such expensive tools.

A pale brunette made a sudden appearance while loudly protesting his presence, making him quickly regret his decision to enter uninvited.
“What are you doing in here? Who told you that you could come into my space?”

Eryx quickly raised his hands in the air, calming his voice in hopes of decreasing the tension of the situation he had found himself in.

“My sincerest apologies, I didn’t mean to disrupt your work. It’s quite an amazing hideout you’ve created, I was only admiring all the parts and dreaming of the fantastical things that could be done with all of this.”

Upon hearing his reply, the woman brightened significantly, smiling at him and beginning to chatter away excitedly about all that she had made in her workshop. He smiled back as he listened, hopeful that if he could gain her trust, and get her to help him, he may eventually be able to make his fanciful ideas a reality with her knowledge and tools.

The power onboard this ship was like none she had ever seen. Incredible, but too incredible. She couldn’t be dealing with all of this wonder. Which is why she gave a sigh of relief upon seeing her own room. A plain and authentic ship’s cabin. Nothing spectacular or unbelievable, just what she had expected to see. She needed this room to help her keep a grip upon reality. The room was small but cozy with plenty of places to hide. Large open spaces made her feel claustrophobic like she was constantly being watched.

The cabin smelled musty like any ordinary cabin would. One thing in particular made her realize that this cabin was hers and hers alone. Tucked away in a corner next to the bed that she would never sleep in, was a violin. Old and worn it was. And it was hers. Somehow, this object which she had not seen for fifty years had come crawling back to her from the recesses of her mind.

Her mother had bought this instrument for her on her fourth birthday and it was the best thing she had ever received. Everyday she would practice and by the age of seven, she was playing for the whole street. She hadn’t played since her death but she knew that she had to again. Her fingers trembled with joy, sorrow and anticipation. Tears rolled down her eyes as memories, both good and bad came flooding back. Freya picked it up by the neck in one hand and lifted the bow in her other. She couldn’t feel them but in her mind’s eye, she already knew how they felt. Coarse and worn but warm in her hands. She rested the bottom of her instrument under her neck, pressed her fingers down onto the strings to make a chord and caressed the bowstrings gently against them.

She didn’t realize how long she had been playing but she slowly built up rhythm until she was completely lost in the music. Her fingers danced between the strings as the violin and bow moved as one. It wasn’t until she opened her eyes that she noticed Sammi standing in the doorway, smiling. Freya startled and quickly put down the violin. “Oh - I’m sorry if I disturbed you.” Sammi laughed, “not at all! I heard you playing and I came to see who it was. You’re good. You made a few mistakes at first though.” Freya smiled awkwardly, “I’m a little rusty. How long have you been standing there?” Sammi smirked, “long enough.”

Freya looked at her feet in embarrassment, “oh. You’re the ship’s cook aren’t you?” She nodded, “I am.” Freya continued, “Then I should tell you that you don’t need to cook for me. I’m a ghost so I… erm… I don’t eat.” Sammi was taken aback. “A ghost? That explains why you look a little… different. How come you’re not with the rest of your kind in Louve?” Freya winced, “I get that a lot. It’s a long story but I kind of fell out with them. Didn’t like the idea of spending eternity in a zoo.” Sammi seemed to understand. “I see. Well I’ll let you get back to it. See you later, Kitten.”

Kitten. She hadn’t been given a nickname since her mother. Freya blushed at the idea that maybe she had just earned herself a friend.

Aras tossed the key to his cabin in the air a few times, admiring the glint of metal as it tumbled over and over. He’d traveled all over in almost every form of conveyance known to mortals but this ship was already his favorite of them all. This was a vessel custom fit for an epic, the ship that would convey his cast of heroes into the vast unknown. Of course, he’d tweak a few details, mostly to make a pleasant rhyme scheme, but by and large the ship spoke for itself and would make a welcome addition to his masterpiece.

Eager to explore, he turned his key into one of the doors and pushed it open. “Oh, Sella,” he whispered to his shoulder, “Look what you’ve done! Well, don’t look at me, this didn’t come from my brain. No, no, it’s far too organized to be me.”

Inside was a medium-sized amphitheater perfect for putting on a performance and with enough seats for most of the expedition. The door opened at the back of the audience, and stairs descended down to the stage level where a red curtain hung from a proscenium arch. Curious, Aras went down peaked behind the curtain to find a cozy bed and living arrangements.

“Well done, my dear. This will do nicely. Now, off to explore!”

And with that he was out the door, shutting it behind him. Only then did he pat his pockets to check to ensure he had the key. “Ah,” he murmured to himself, “How unfortunate.”

He set off at once to seek aid, noting the sound of someone playing the violin. They needed a little tutoring, but on the whole not bad. Whoever they were, Aras was determined to play a duet with them. Eventually.

The group had scattered to explore their cabins and the rest of the ship, so it took Aras a while to find a friendly face.

“Francy!” he shouted. From down the hallway, Francois Desjardin stopped and visibly flinched. “So glad I found you!”

“Yes, what is it? I was on my way to speak to the captain–” Desjardin began, only to be immediately interrupted.

“Oh I won’t take a second of your time, I just have a teensy weeny request.”

“Look, bard,” Desjardin said, peering over his spectacles, “To be frank, I don’t really understand why you are even here, so–”

“I’m here to make your life more interesting and fun, Francy. The gods know you were doing a piss poor job of it on your own.”

“How dare you–!”

“But I shall let your insult slide, Francy, because we are such good friends.”

“My insult–?”

“I just happened to have left my key inside my magical room and now I’m a bit locked out. It wasn’t my fault, it was Sella’s.” He looked sharply at his shoulder. “Yes, it was, my dear, you distracted me!”

“Oh, for the love of–” Desjardin growled, “I have nothing to do with that. Find Caius, go annoy him, and leave me alone.” With that, Francois stomped off.

“Stop flirting with me,” Aras called after him, “it’s unprofessional!” He was rewarded with an agonized yell from down the hallway. The bard smiled to himself, immensely pleased.

It took a while to find the first mate. The layout of the ship was rather confusing at first and Aras wasn’t particularly good at exploring in a systematic way. He wandered from area to area, waving at some of the crew as they passed. Eventually, he found the Sea Elf who had given them a tour.

“My dear Mr. Wavecrooner…” Aras began.

“Tidesinger,” corrected Caius.

“Yes, exactly. I seem to have locked my key in my room, what exactly is the protocol for such things?”

“I have no time for your jokes, bard.”

“Oh I assure you, I am not here to tell jokes.”

Caius crossed his arms. “Honestly, I have no idea why you are here.”

Aras threw up his hands. “You too!? Everyone’s a critic.”

“You really locked your key in your room?”

Aras smiled angelically and shrugged. Caius shook his head and motioned for the bard to follow him.

Caius reflected that he’d have to warn the captain about this one. Absolutely insane.

Alethea felt the click of her key in the lock and swung open the door to her chamber. A rustic feeling of wood was made regal through deep colored cloths and intricate gold designs. Unconsciously, she found herself tenderly dragging her fingers over the books and documents lining the shelves of a large bookcase. Only after she read the spine of each carefully bound book did she turn to examine the rest of the room. A large writing desk, charting paper, and tools caught her eye; the other pieces of furniture did little to hold her attention.

Turning back to the shelves, she pulled out a large volume examining basic sword techniques. All Alethea knew of the sword was some practical self-defense taught to her by her father when she was young. For a while now she had thought it would do her some good to know more about wielding a sword.

She wrapped a thin piece of ribbon around the base her key and tied it behind her neck. Then, with book in hand, she made her way up to the deck.

Ignoring the crew of the Blind Albatross as they darted about, it took no time for Alethea to find a spot to lower her head into the pages of her chosen book. Her eyes darted back and forth across the notes trying to visualize what the author was describing to her.

A man laughed.

“You can hardly expect to learn anything about the sword just by reading a book.”

She looked up. The speaker was tall and well built. He looked rough and she could see a sword at his hip.

“You must be a member of Rillian’s crew,” Alethea looked the man in the eyes.

“Quentin Hrath, I am the crew’s enforcer,” he looked amused, “and you’re part of the help enlisted for the expedition?”

“I suppose I am. My name’s Alethea Venture.”

“Yet you don’t know how to fight?”

Alethea frowned, “I suppose I don’t.”

Another gruff laugh. “You’d better hope your skills lie elsewhere then. If you can’t protect yourself then you’d better have enough value for someone else to keep you alive.”

One of the crew’s members called to the man and he turned to go. He glanced over his shoulder at Alethea.

“If you want to learn, you’d do better with a sword in hand.”

Caius handed the Doctor his key and continued with his task without a second glance. Korozon turned the key over in his hands.

A key or a doorway to possibility?

A room or a reflected view of self?

A ship or a device for shifting through worlds?

“So” whispered Korozon. “Our rooms will shape to reflect our own needs and desires… this will be very interesting indeed.” Some part deep inside him gave an involuntary shiver.

They key slowly turns in the lock. ‘Click’. An ominous squeal of rusty hinges and the room revealed is… surprisingly pleasant. A large mahogany drawing room, rows of books, fine dark liquors in antique glass bottles. Between the bookshelves hang imposing taxidermied heads of all kinds. Off in an alcove to the right is a fully equipped alchemical and medical research laboratory.

The Doctor meanders into the room. “Well I must say, I am disappointed, it only really picked up…” as he reached halfway turning back to the door, just visible below his mask, a wicked smile begins to spread across his face.

Looking back through the door is one of the young scholars, yes Gwendolyn was her name, whose curiosity had gotten the better of her as she peeks into the Doctor’s room perhaps hoping to discover something about who he is. Korozon turns the smile into one of charm and professional care. Gwendolyn shyly looks down and heads away having simply no idea what the good doctor is viewing.

From his vantage point the room looks remarkably different, like an Escher drawing twisted in upon itself. Every book, every trinket every piece of furniture has a slanted alter surface like a glitch in reality. Wood, stone, metal, flesh, and blood imposed over each other like impossible layers in some nightmarish picture. Perfectly visible from one perspective and invisible from another.

“Well played room. Well played.”

Trench watched the others silently as he turned the key over in his hands. He felt out of place yet again, he had tried to make friends at the tavern, but he had been overshadowed in all the chaos. He had never even really got to speak to that young woman he had scared. Trench rubbed at his nose as he remembered her. To be honest, Trench just didn’t leave that strong of impressions on people. He was physically odd, sometimes anyone with Orc lineage was a rare sight, but that novelty soon wore off.

So, Trench stood in the hallway and watched as the others conversed. Casius seemed like a fair man, “Mother would of liked him.” Trench was sure. Even though Casius was stern at times he was still welcoming them into his home. That was what the Albatross was, a home, the more Trench saw the more he was convinced. It was the small touches; the knickknacks, the niches, and the way the people moved about the ship. This was more than just a transport to them and someday it could even be like a home for those of the expedition. Trench was sure of it.

He was lost in his thoughts for some time. He still clutched the key in his hand, but he didn’t want to enter the rooms. So, he waited. Trench was sure he knew what waited for him and he wasn’t quite ready for that sight. So, he stood there his feet planted in the ground like roots. As he waited there Trench saw a woman lean into a room that had been left open and then then most beautiful music emanated from inside. Trench was drawn to it, and he peaked just a bit into the room to see who was playing. It was the ghost, Freya, and Trench wasn’t the only one watching. The unknown woman silently watched as Freya played.

It appeared the woman was the cook, Sammi, if he remembered Casius’ speech correctly. When she eventually spoke up Trench finally decided to slip away. He didn’t want to eavesdrop any more than he had. Trench gulped as he placed his key against the lock. It slid into place with a clank that frightened him. He pushed open the door hesitant for what would come next. It was just as he remembered it.

A large holm oak rose from the center of the room situated on top of a hill. Its leaves and branches extended upward and outward creating a natural ceiling in the center of this place. What peaked through was exactly like the sky above the Albatross. The hill itself was covered in grass in the color of the season while the oak itself was green, always green, and before he knew it Trench felt droplets of water slide down his face.

It was just like home.

As Trench approached the grass crunched softly beneath his boots and he could finally see the acorns that dangled from the branches. Trench was a large man but even he had to stretch his arms and stand on his toes to reach an acorn and pluck it from the leaves. He remembered all the times that he had toasted acorns with his mother. It had been some years since he had seen her now.

Trench found himself at the base of the tree. He sat down and rested his back against its trunk. He closed his eyes and breathed in the earthy smells of natural around him. He spread his fingers into the soil at the base of the tree. Through some magic the ground seemed rich and fertile. He could even grow a garden here, he was sure. In a few weeks he would have all the vegetables he could ever eat. Enough for even the others maybe.

Trench opened his eyes and looked around. The room didn’t look like a room at all, just an open plain. The only odd feature was a door that stood on its own connected to no wall. Trench decided that now might be a good time to nap. He closed his eyes and some time passed. When he awoke the sun had barely moved at all. Only minutes must have elapsed, but he felt completely refreshed.

At some point he must have removed his war-hammer and shield . He retrieved his gear and made his way for the door. As he opened the strange portal to the ship proper Trench looked back one more time. His face contorted into a wistful expression like this was a dream that would disappear and he would awake again, but it didn’t happen. He smiled and just closed the door behind him.

Trench explored the ship for a time just to get his bearings. In truth, he was looking for other members of his expedition. Maybe he could try to make some friends again. Maybe they would like him. Maybe, just maybe.

He wandered and at last he found a woman reading, she was the blonde woman who had been wearing the hooded cloak. Trench was about to walk up to her when he noticed she was nose deep into the book shutting out the world around her. He didn’t want to interrupt, but that was when someone else decided to speak up.

Trench leaned against a nearby wall and tried not to eavesdrop, but failed horribly yet again.

Trench didn’t like how the crew-member spoke to Alethea, though Trench was relieved to finally learn her name. He decided to approach the young woman after Quentin left.

“Quentin, isn’t right you know. There is no shame in not knowing how to fight.” Trench said as he took a seat across from Alethea.

Trench’s hand unconsciously felt the war-hammer at his side, “Sometimes I wish there was no need for weapon in this world.”

Alethea looked at Trench.

“Oh sorry, I’m Trench.” Trench said apologetically.

“My name’s Alethea Venture.” She repeated.

“Well met, Alethea.” Trench smiled.

“I think that there are many ways besides the sword, but if you ever want to learn…” Trench gestured to her book. “You can ask me anytime for some pointers.” Trench winked with his terrible joke.

“Really though, anytime.” Trench said sincerely.

Trench stood up seeming to dwarf Alethea sitting as she was, “I’ll let you get back to your book.” Trench smiled again and waved good bye.

Now he had one more piece of business. Trench eventually found him on the deck of the ship looking out over the water. Trench approached Quentin Hrath but the swordsmen sensed him before he spoke.

He looked Trench up and down. “What do you want Big Guy?” Quentin asked.

“Name’s Trench, but that’s not why I’m here. I don’t like how you spoke to Alethea. I think you should a-a-apologize to her.” Trenched stuttered.

Quentin casually scratched at his chin, Trench noticed that his hand was now closer to the shoulder his sword now hung. “So, what are you going to do about it?” He said calmly.

Trenched paused.

“I’m not going to do anything. I just thought you were rude and that there was no call for it-“ Trench said all in a rush.

Quentin just laughed gruffly, “Sure thing, big man. Anything else.”

Trench clenched his teeth which only made his tusks more pronounce. People always thought he was a joke, but why couldn’t people just get along.

Trench took a deep breath and exhaled.

“Why don’t we just be friends, Quentin? We’ll be on this ship for a long time together. So, what do you say?” Trench said as he offered his hand.

Quentin laughed again, “I’ve got enough friends.”

Trench’s eyes took on a wet quality as he drew back his hand slowly. The half-orc nodded silently as he turned around and walked away.

Rillian breathed a heavy sigh, finally alone in the confines of her quarters. Much like the other rooms, the captain’s chamber adapted to meet her needs. Surprisingly austere and much like a ships cabin, the room held mementos of voyages and friends past. Worn books, sketches, and an array of weapons. This room could be a bastion of luxury, but Rillian always found extreme extravagance to be uncomfortable. There was almost an edge of self-punishment to her lifestyle, a whisper that she did not deserve to live up to the standards she had access to. Even in her happiest moments she always felt a dark shroud of guilt, heavier now than it had been in years. Heavier but tinged with anger.

Rillian’s fingers flexed once again around the worn letter in her pocket. She did not even realize that she was clutching it. Absentmindedly she went to place it on an alcove, but stopped herself and pocketed it once again. Mentally waring with herself on reading it over and over again. Safe from prying eyes in this chamber she knew she could open raw wounds and just let herself be vulnerable to no one but herself and the memories on the wall.

Heaving another sigh, Rillian shook her head, feathers and beads brushing her shoulders. Rebuilding herself emotionally from the brink she feels like she’s been perched on, she sets a faint scowl in place, almost a trademark at this point, and leans against the heavy door to her cabin.

Thinking on some of the new recruits one might think that she would worry. She’s seen enough of all sorts come and go. They all seem so eager and ready to act as if they know of the dangers ahead, but do they really? Rillian is always hesitant about the scholarly types. When met with certain realities that question their studies, how will one react? The wrong move could put more than just themselves in jeopardy. That bard, the loud smirking one… she hopes there is more up his sleeve then just embellished stories and excitement. Much like journeys in the past, some things should never be told, will he come to realize this? The one of orc blood… naive seeming for all his size, how quickly will this one become jaded? The ghost? So eager yet reserved, yet Rillian has seen even a ghost die in a sense. Yes, she thinks, I could have done this with my own crew. However, with the funding from the backers, and the unique situation at hand, to have more people willing to risk and join is always a boon. Plus, she thinks rather harshly, it is more eager bodies willing to go dangerously beyond the duties of her cherished crew.

Abruptly Rillian turned and marched out of her room to the topside deck. She needed air rather than walls, memories, and thoughts. Caius seemed to have shown the bulk of the new ones to their rooms and was now on the deck with a slight unreadable expression.

“Think of it as when we hire for any other expedition.” Rill began. Before Caius could comment on the inevitability of this not being a normal outing, she added “like any situation, some will make it, some wont. Some will acclimate and those that don’t… may the end be kind.” She pauses, and odd somber smile ghosting about her lips.

“Tho it rarely is.”

With a shrug and a nod to her first mate, she stepped aboard the quarterdeck to get a full view of her ship and crew as preparations to set off continued, features closing off until what was left was a standoffish glare.

As the headed back up onto the deck of the ship Nathaniel clears his throat. He wanted desperately to be gallant and offer his arm to the lady but he was afraid he would topple over.

“I had a question for you as well, Miss Rass.” She glanced over and nodded. “They tell me I have been gone for seventy years…do you know what happened?” His voice got very tense and he tried to keep his gaze on the horizon.

“I learned of it early on in my academic career. They use it as a lesson in the proper precautions when experimenting. I’m sorry…I never thought…” She paused.

“Please continue Miss Rass. There is no need to protect my feelings.”

She nodded and continued. “It is said that the mishap destroyed the top floor of the building. There was a clear line where the energy must have hit you, shaped like an orb. Half the table where you were sitting was cleanly cut in two. The floor was similarly destroyed as well as the roof. The loss of structural integrity cause the roof section to collapse, damaging the device being tested. “Nathaniel nodded silently for a moment.

“What of Professor Leal?”

“He was forced into retirement. He left the city in shame and died in self-imposed exile. He attempted to apologize to your family but your father never accepted. I’m sorry…I didn’t”

“No, Miss Rass…I asked and I thank you for your honesty.” His voice broke slightly. “You are the first kind soul I have met in this new world I have found myself in. You never need keep the truth from me.” He turns to her and makes a small bow. “I will leave you to your preparations” He turned, walked to the rail of the ship and steadied himself but the world seemed to stop around him. The wind did more than calm, it stopped. Along with the clouds, seagulls and tide…a wave of stillness had washed over his perception and as quickly as he noticed it, it had passed and as it did it sent him spinning. He half caught himself on the rail but fell. As he collected himself he saw a crew member staring at him. “Sir, could you tell me where one might find medical attention on this ship…”

“Kaatra…look for Kaatra.”

Nathaniel pulls himself up and follows grabs onto anything he can in order get back down below decks. Not sure where he should be going he walks aimlessly down the hall.

“Where does one find Kaatra, nice ship?”