《Fog of Oblivion》


 Prologue

    A storm of madness raged across the boundless expanse. Shapes without form twisted in and out of existence, their bodies shifting between grotesque amalgamations of flesh and chitin, and unnameable horrors. Some loomed like mountains, only to crumble into rivers of liquid void, spilling into the yawning abyss below. Others slithered through the ever-warping landscape, their limbs¡ªif they could even be called such¡ªsprouting and withering in erratic pulses.


    The sky, if such a thing could exist here, was a tumultuous sea of contradictions. Veins of molten night slashed through its expanse, birthing impossible constellations that blinked out before any eye could glimpse them. Cascades of luminous shadows drowned the world in their ephemeral brilliance, only to be swallowed by a darkness deeper than the void itself. Time twisted upon itself, dragging the past into the present, erasing futures before they could be imagined. To perceive this realm, was to unravel. Mortal minds would be flayed apart, their thoughts rewritten into incoherent whispers before vanishing into the night.


    Yet in the midst of this chaos, there was a wound. A blemish of stillness carved into the ever-consuming storm.


    A sphere of dull, gray entropy hung in the heart of this madness, a stagnant bubble where time held its breath. here, the endless churning of destruction and creation fell silent, leaving only stillness¡ªan unnatural void where even chaos had forgotten to exist. Within this dead hollow stood a manor, untouched by the writhing nightmares outside.


    It was beautiful, in the way of things long lost and ill-remembered. its spires reached towards the sky in impossible shapes, its walls woven from techniques no living soul could recall. The archways bore patterns erased from history, their designs whispering of civilizations that had never been. And yet, something was missing.


    Color.


    Where the rest of the abyss bled vibrancy¡ªScreaming hues beyond mortal comprehension¡ª this place was drained of all things. The stones, the wood, and the very air itself had been bleached of life. It wasn''t gray, or white, or even black. It was simply.. an absence of color. A space where the world had forgotten its vibrancy.


    Within this void, where silence reigned and entropy lay undisturbed, change was an impossibility. The air never stirred, the manor did not decay, and the lifeless garden did not bloom or wither. A  moment stretched into eternity.


    But this eternity was not absolute.


    A star was born in the shifting chaos beyond. It flared into being, carving itself into the sky for an instant¡ªone that might have been a millennium or the blink of an eye. it cast its light downward, its radiance stretching across the wr?thing landscape, breaking against the colorless wound of entropy.


    A single ray of light pierced the courtyard, brushing against the petrified flora, For the first time in a time beyond reckoning, color breached the stillness.


    The light did not fade or disperse. It froze in place, defiant of the colorless gloom. The golden glow solidified, a jagged sliver of radiance suspended in midair. Then with a crack, it fractured¡ªshards of brilliance splintering like broken glass. But the fragments did not fall. They hovered, shifting, twisting upon themselves as they began to form a shape. The air around them warped, bending inward, reflections upon reflections cascading in endless recursion. The shape grew, unfolding into something that looked almost humanoid in shape. Tall and slender, but indistinct, the sharp shards of light assembled into a being of a thousand mirrors, held together by an unseen force. it did not belong here. It was an intrusion upon the entropy, its surface mirroring the chaos outside. Looking upon it was like gazing into an infinite corridor of mirrors, each pane swallowing the next, devouring depth and space until all meaning unraveled.


    The figure exhaled. A sigh of annoyance, perhaps at the lack of reception, or the gloom of the place. It lifted its head towards the towering structure before it., then strode forward with measured steps, moving through the garden of forgotten things. It walked without hesitation, its mirrored form catching the light of stars long dead yet newly born, towards the waiting doors. Its footsteps echoed through the empty corridors of the mansion, each step a defiance of the stillness that had reigned undisturbed for an eternity. The figure moved with neither hesitation nor reverence, its presence pressed by the weight of the one who had made this domain yes, but it had a weight of its own. The oppressive feeling mirrored itself back at the space until they canceled each other out, as the entity traversed the countless corridors, untouched by time, untouched by decay, until it emerged into a vast chamber.


    It was a thing of glory. Octagonal in shape, it was filled to the brim with ostentatious ornaments, exotic treasures on display, and forgotten art decorating its walls. Windows in the ceiling showed scenes both of this realm and others, both entrancing and chilling. it was filled with a reverent silence, an unspeakable sense of majesty. But the steps of the entity cut through the silence like a chisel through stone. The mirrored being directed his gaze to the middle of this hall, unperturbed by the hoards of treasure.  At its heart, upon an elevated throne woven from the stolen breath of a thousand men, sat the one who had made this hollow place.


    It was a being of darkness and fog, shifting, with an ephemeral form that never fully settled into anything distinct. The mist coiled around her, as though she herself was an unfinished thought, an existence unformed, yet absolute. She did not need shape. Her presence alone was suffocating.


    here eyes, black as pitch, empty as the abyss, rose to meet her guest. And in that moment, the hunger that radiated from her was palpable. A void unending, an abyss that devoured all, yet was never full. A need to consume, to claim, to make all things hers simply so that the emptiness within her would not consume herself.


    The mirrored figure did not flinch beneath her gaze. It just reached out a hand and plucked from the air a faint ray of light that had dared wander into the chambers of the devourer as if it was tangible. The light shuddered, stretched, and then settled into the form of a chair of pure light, beautiful, yet fragile. The mirrored figure sat down, unbothered. And lazily, it spoke in greeting.


    "Sister."


    its voice rang, smooth and sharp as polished glass, layered in an unsettling harmony, as though countless voices whispered in unison behind it. "You know why I''m here. Our siblings want their answer."


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    The being of fog chuckled, a low, velvety sound that sent ripples through the stagnant air. The stillness recoiled at its disturbance, and mist began to seep through cracks in the floor, lazily curling towards the mirrored entity.


    "And they chose you to tell me? You always come with demands, brother, but you never bring offerings. You of all people should know, that hunger, especially mind, is eternal. Why should I sate your hunger for answers when you won''t do me the honor of appeasing mine?" She laughed, a deep and rich sound, yet predatory. "And yet here you are, full of demands and void of promise." The mist curled around her fingers, as she inspected them. "They should have sent Meraxos. At least he is pretty to look at."


    The chair of light the mirrored being sat upon trembled, then melted into its form, swallowed by the endless reflections. It dashed through its form, lighting up pane after pane in the being''s body, each showing a different scene. Many different eyes began being reflected in the panes of light that made up its existence, Each different, yet each filled with the weight of power, as their gaze settled upon the being cloaked in fog.


    "They sent me, dear sister, because I am the mirrored copy of all that was seen, is seen, and can be seen." it spoke, the layers of its voice intertwining. " And all that is seen can be seen through me. Even you, sister. You address me, you address all of us."


    The fog around her coiled tighter, thickening, as if trying to shield her from the powerful gazes.


    "But I digress." The mirrored being''s voice sharpened. " Your actions were quite detrimental to our efforts. And to me personally, last time. I''m here to remind you that crossing the divide and dislodging those so-called gods is something all of us want. And your selfish actions, devastating the world with your manifestation and unleashing your spawn, harm us all. Your usefulness is the only reason the rest of us haven''t wiped you out yet, sister."


    This time there was a slight menace to the entity''s tone, that cut through the rising fog.


    She tilted her head, the shadows of her form rippling from anger. Her presence began to grow, the mist thickening, condensing, and gathering in tendrils that slithered through the hall. her silhouette swelled, as more and more of the fog filled her being, her form expanding, depending, the emptiness within her pulling at the space around her like a hungry void. Endless arms, formless, yet unmistakably grasping, flickered in and out of existence, shifting through shadow and mist.


    "You wouldn''t think to dare threaten me in my own realm, would you?" Her voice dripped with mockery."Its not my fault the rift opened on your little island," she murmured, voice smooth as silk. "Or that the Convergence realm''s fragile little laws couldn''t even handle me.. or what I left behind."


    Her mocking gaze lay upon the mirrored man, whose form assumed what could be mistaken for a smirk, and the central pane reflected her mocking smile back at her. And the air shifted. Not by her doing. The mansion groaned. The ancient wood of the floor let out a long croak, as though it had just remembered the concept of weight for the first time in eternity. Countless presences began pressing down on them as the eyes reflected within the being brimmed with power, a mere echo of their true power, but stacked on top of each other the effect was nothing short of overwhelming. As the silent, unseen weight bore down on the pocket of entropy, pressing on the edges of her domain, the gazes within the mirrored being sharpened. Some turning dangerous, some merely watching with disinterest.


    The moment stretched, the floor groaning even more.


    Then the shadowed figure sniffed, flicking her mist-woven wrist in what was meant to be idle dismissal. but her tone had grown slightly more respectful, with a hint of worry. "Fine, fine. I apologize for causing the gods to level your little pet project."


    The pressure on the domain eased slightly.


    " And I won''t interfere in your little war with them anymore. happy''?"


    The pressure reduced to negligible levels. most gazes within the mirrored entity grew more satisfied. At their levels, words uttered could not easily be withdrawn. Most began to disinterestedly look away from her, though some particularly hateful ones maintained their gaze.


    The mirrored being gave her a polite nod, and one by one the reflections began to dim, their sight being sent back to where it belonged.


    The shadowed lady tsked at the mirrored being. "I doubt that''s all you came here for Isharaal." her voice was softer now, more polite. " You hardly care about the mortals enough to personally come threaten me. Nor do you care for our sibling''s ego. So tell me¡ªwhy are you really here?"


    A crooked, fractured grin spread across the place where his face should have been.


    "You know me well sister," he admitted, his voice rippling with layered amusement." Apologies for the pomp. You know how Xal''Tharos gets when it comes to mortal matters. My worshippers getting glassed wasn''t much of a loss to me truly. Pretending to be a god was getting exhausting"


    His fingers flexed idly, as if brushing against something unseen. Then, slowly, he lifted his hand, light bending and coiling at his fingertips, refracting, warping, until it settled into shape.


    A chessboard. Not an ordinary one.


    The mirrored surface of the board stretched unnaturally, shifting under the weight of too many pieces, too many paths. it was not black and white, nor was it bound by symmetry. It was vast, intricate, unpredictable¡ª a map in a way, of something greater than the game it was meant to represent.


    The shadowed figure''s eyes gleamed as she lowered her gaze to her side of the board. Then, for a fraction of a moment, she paused. One piece sat slightly apart from the others, an anomaly. It should not have been there.


    her mist curled in amusement, a faint hum escaping her. " How tenacious"


    The mirrored being chuckled, knowing. "Mortals are full of surprises, sister. It''s part of what makes them so delightful."


    he plucked a piece from his side, twirling it between his fingers. its mirrored surface shimmered, shifting as though uncertain of its form, until for just a moment, it stilled. Within its polished depths, the faint outline of an older noblewoman emerged. her fair hair shone, her beauty unblemished by her age, her presence unyielding, and her deep blue eyes held a quiet force, the kind that had shaped the fates of many with a mere whisper.


    The mirrored being studied it, tilting his head just slightly before finally setting it down upon the board.


    The game responded. Ripples coursed through its surface, shifting countless other pieces in its wake. A rugged sailor, standing idle on the far side of the board, lurched forward, drawn into motion by the disturbance. Elsewhere another piece, one that had not yet been played, eerily similar to the dignified noblewoman, teetered on the edge of the board, on the verge of being pulled in. A satisfied smile settled on the mirrored being''s reflective face.


    "So what say you, Devourer''" he murmured, his voice playful. "Shall we have a game?"

 Chapter 1: Nightmare at Sea

    " The cursed walk the thin edge of sanity, their nights consumed by the abyss''s whispers. In their dreams, their minds open to the abyss, often leaving the weight of alien truths and a hollow longing for the god''s light"


    ¡ª Excerpt from "Studies of the Cursed Mind", by Codex Judiciar Erios Azitoli


    Alric awoke to the creaking of taut rope and the splashing of waves against wet wood. The rhythmic sound accompanying the swaying of the floor dragged him from his restless sleep. "Where the hell am I?". That was the first thought that pierced through the fog clouding his mind. A pounding headache was assaulting him, making him damn near wish he hadn''t woken up. As if that wasn''t enough, his body felt like it had fallen off a cliff, hitting every rock along the way.


    Trying to shake the horrible feeling of emptiness that was haunting his head, accompanied by the vice grip of his headache, Alric groggily pushed himself up from what looked like a bed of dirty rags in the dim light of his cabin. The effort made his throat feel blocked, and he half vomited out a cough, feeling a warm liquid drop onto his hands. The taste of Iron filled his mouth and he realized he had just spit out a mouthful of blood that was now slowly forming a puddle on the wooden boards. At least his breathing had returned to normal, and he took the first real breath since his awakening. And regretted it instantly. The stench of fish, sweat and piss filled his nostrils in a nosehair-curling mixture, and he almost vomited out a second puddle, this time not of blood.


    Covering his nose with one of the surprisingly better-smelling rags than the shiphold he was in, he calmed his breathing down. His mind was still foggy and he was having trouble hearing his own thoughts, but at least the headache had lessened. He sat up and began inspecting his surroundings, hoping to find a jug of water or anything of the sort to clean the horrible aftertaste out of his mouth and clear his mind. He was in a dark room, a small glowing stone in what looked like a hallway with his only source of illumination. But this small amount of light revealed a significant predicament that instantly took his mind off the thought of finding water. Separating him from the hallway with the light were bars of metal, and a rusty, locked door. First, confusion, and then fright pierced through the fog clouding his mind, as he tried to remember what in the abyss had happened for him to end up in a jail cell on a ship. But the fog clouding his mind refused to budge. The deeper he pushed into it, the more lost he became, his own thoughts and emotions becoming lesser and lesser replaced by hollow apathy. And so he stopped grasping for what he couldn''t find and tried to focus on what memories freely came to him.  And what he found was very little. A disordered mess of recollections, fleeting vague images and half-formed thoughts flitted through his consciousness like the scattered pages of a torn, forgotten book.


    He could recall vague impressions of a tranquil village, the gentle swaying of a small sailboat, and the distant echoes of laughter¡ª Yet these memories slipped through his mental grasp, like sand slipping through fingers, leaving behind only an emptiness like he had never known. Alric almost could see it, the shredded remnants of his mind floating through his foggy head, floating around the nothingness he had found, like flotsam around a whirlpool. A whirlpool he was standing in.


    But then, a thought lit up the void like a flickering flame.


    If his mind was a whirlpool, what would lie at its center? Would it really be empty?


    And as this thought passed through him, he felt his consciousness dragged deeper and deeper into the recesses of the fog clouding his mind, drawn to the void his scraps of memory revolved around. He tried to open his eyes, to wake up, to do anything, but it was of no use, his body didn''t respond as his mind slowly sank into the depths of his own subconscious.


    He was being dragged toward the eye of the storm, the center of the whirlpool, and the closer he got to it, the more his mind began to shake with fear, began to struggle, to try to flee. It started slowly, faint echoes of waves slapping against a hull, the screaming of wind, growing louder and stronger, more insistent. He felt his senses begin to betray him, as suddenly, harsh, salt-laden air filled his lungs and he gasped for breath, fighting against the panic that raged in his mind. His breathing was ragged and intense, searing his lungs with every desperate grasp, as his body began to feel exhaustion. His palms were bleeding from rowing at a breakneck pace. His arms burned with pain between each panicked stroke, matching the frantic pounding of his heart. Why was he rowing? He didn''t know. But he knew that if he stopped, something terrible would happen. His eyes shot open between strokes, yet they were still blind¡ªsave for a tiny tallow lamp attached to the mast of a small Skiff, flickering wildly and threatening to extinguish under the heavy rain and wind.


    Amidst the chaos, a voice pierced through the darkness of the storm, a familiar voice, but his damn fogged mind didn''t let him identify it. "Faster Alric! Don''t let it catch up! Just a bit more!" The voice, laced with panic, yelled over the storm. " Row damn it! And don''t look back! Never look back! Your mind will break!"


    For a moment, only the splash of water and his own breathing broke the noise of the storm, as Alric heeded the voice he implicitly felt he could trust as he rowed for his life. But then the voice spoke again, as it screamed in fear. "No! Get away! You''re not real! You''re dead!" he faintly heard the pain-filled sobs, even through the roar of the storm "It''s not my fault. Forgive me. Please forgive m.."


    The voice disappeared in the roar of the storm, before returning, this time sounding much closer to his ear, but behind the familiarity lurked something else. "You know Alric. There''s no escape. Everyone else is already with them. Why are we running? Why would we run from what''s inside us? Join me. join us." A hand lay upon his shoulder.  "There''s no point in resisting, Alric" The hand''s grip grew stronger, painful. "You''re already one of us. join us. And be free."


    The fear was too much. Before his mind shattered under the threat, Alric fought and punched the hand away, and turned towards his assailant. He had looked back.


    An intense, burning pain around his neck spreading into his body, jolted him awake from his nightmare. He felt like his entire body was on fire, burning with pain like he had never known before. but anything was better than that nightmare. Alric shuddered with fear. He had almost gotten lost in his own damn mind. What the hell was going on? Why was his memory so scattered, save for the one in the center of the void? His hands were shaking uncontrollably, and though he could see only faint scars from time past on them, he almost expected them to rip open and bleed like they had in the nightmare.


    Alric tried to calm his breathing, calm his heart that hammered in his chest. Too afraid to close his eyes, he instead began to take deep breaths¡ªIgnoring the stench of the cabin, for even it was a welcome distraction¡ªThe pain was slowly dying down from a flame to a tingle, and retreating towards his neck. Almost out of instinct, Alric lifted his hands towards his neck. To his surprise, what he felt on it was not his own skin, but a metallic material, still warm to the touch. Using the sparse light in the cabin, Alric peered into the puddle of blood in front of him, trying to take his mind off the nightmare and investigate this strange phenomenon. Looking back at him was a youthful face, foreign yet familiar. His own face. His features weren''t very distinctive. He had soft features, no angular manly jaw like one would expect from a prisoner. his unkempt brown hair was in short locks, knotted and dirty. He had freckles and a tan, olive complexion that came with working in the harsh sun. The dirty scruff on his chin marked him as young, though certainly on the cusp of adulthood. If there was one thing that stood out about his face, it would be his eyes. They were an empty gray, bordering on white, with hardly any color, quite the contrast to his complexion and hair.


    Around his neck, he found the culprit for his pain, and the savior from his nightmare. There was a collar made from a silvery metal, filled with beautiful symbols etched into its surface. The symbols were mesmerizingly beautiful and symmetrical, as if they hid some hidden rule or meaning. The collar was softly glowing in the dim light, though that glow was dimming by the minute, along with his tingling. As he felt his mind slipping back into fear, worried about what would happen when the tingling disappeared, he shook his head, trying to shake the fear off with it. "It''s just a nightmare of a storm. You''re not on that small ship. You''re safe" he whispered into the dark cell. His voice sounded raspy from disuse. He needed to keep his mind occupied, off the horrid memory. And as the last vestiges of light darkened from the collar, he noticed a lingering soreness throughout his body, as the ache he felt at awakening came back. His muscles hurt from exertion he didn''t remember, his skin felt tender and painful. He dragged himself closer to the bars of the cell, using the light of the glowing rock to inspect his body.


    He wore a rough-spun linen tunic and breeches, worn, but still mostly intact. His body was in surprisingly good shape, not exactly muscular, but definitely well-toned. Well, in good shape aside from the veritable collection of cuts and bruises that littered his skin. Maybe his first impression wasn''t entirely wrong when he felt he had fallen down a cliffside. He looked like someone who had done exactly that. On the plus side, he was not restrained by shackles or rope save for the collar around his neck, but it didn''t hinder his mobility in any way and didn''t even feel uncomfortable. Alric touched his various bruises, and while they stung, it didn''t seem like anything was broken or not working like it should. But there was only one way to make sure.


    With a quiet groan to not stir anyone who might be in the vicinity, Alric got up from the floor. His steps were a bit unsteady, his muscles ached with pain and his bruises protested, but other than that he was fine. He gave a grim smile. It was the small victories one had to count when stuck in a shiphold heading for gods know where. After doing a few stretches to make sure there were no hidden problems, he took his first unsteady steps away from the bars, towards the rest of his cell.


    With surprise, he noted that the sway of the ship did not affect his balance in the slightest, muscle memory kicking in and remembering how to balance in such a situation. Alric took note of this clue to his shattered past and turned to more important matters. Namely, exploring his cell. It was rather spacious and made from an amber-colored wood that felt somewhat familiar. But like with everything else, the sense of familiarity was vague and fading quickly. he looked around. The cell had no windows to speak of, and the wood was almost as rigid and solid as the metal bars on his cell. His so-called mattress, a collection of rags, was in one corner of the cell.  He stepped away from the wooden wall and was about to walk to the other, yet unexplored corner of the cell, when he heard the quiet rustling of fabric coming from the corner shrouded in darkness. Alric froze. Violent, terrifying thoughts flitted across his mind. He may not remember much about his past, but he knew what a prison was, and he knew exactly what kind of people were inside it. Once again mentally cursing his mind for not remembering how the hell he had ended up in this situation, he took a few quiet steps backward. Only after not noticing any reaction for a moment, did he return to his corner of the cell, not taking his eyes off the opposite corner, shrouded in darkness.


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    His senses now honed on detecting anything wrong with the corner, he picked up quite a few similar sounds from the hallway. Faint coughing and shuffling could be heard from what he now noticed were many more cells down in this hold. Making sure nothing would spring at him from the corner, Alric tried to peer into the faintly lit hallway. he could make up a large set of stairs going upward in the middle of the hallway, and from the curvature of the wall of his cell, he was pretty sure this was at the very bottom of some ship. As far as he could see into the dark, there were cells in this hold. There had to be at least 20 cells of similar size to his own. The ease this knowledge came to him surprised him, as did the sheer size of this vessel. That wasn''t good. He sat down in his corner, letting the quiet noises of activity and regular splashing of water calm him down. He had to do something. He dreaded trying to push into his mind again, but he needed answers. He needed to know what was going on, preferably before the sun rose. And right now, his situation was bleak enough to risk a few nightmares. At least he was prepared this time. And he had the collar to save him if anything went wrong. Well hopefully. If it did it once it could do it again right? Happy thoughts Alric. Happy thoughts. He steeled himself, and leaning against the warm wood, closed his eyes. His fragmented mind, a sea of vague impressions and half-formed memories drowned in fog appeared before his mind''s eye. Grasping at what came close, making sure to avoid getting pulled into the fog, he tried to piece together what he could.


    "How did I end up here?" he wondered, the question echoing in the fog endlessly. "Who was I?"


    Shreds of memory once against surfaced. A peaceful village, the smell of the sea, the rocking of a boat. Laughter and fun. Vague figures flitting through his mind. He couldn''t remember the look of the village, but he knew it was by the sea. He could remember trees, at least thousands of handsbreadths tall looming nearby. He remembered the feeling of coarse rope and the burns it can cause. He remembered the satisfying sting of saltwater into an open wound. He remembered the awe he felt, as a group of people with blue robes and rope tied around their arms lifted their arms to the sky, and a drizzle of rain followed.  He remembered vague and hazy faces of maybe friends, acquaintances, or even lovers. he had no way of knowing. He remembered the joy and safety he felt, living in simpler times. These scraps of memory brought him a fleeting sense of peace, but they were overshadowed by the haunting void within the fog, subtly calling him, luring him in. He resisted as best he could, making sure to stay as far away from the fog as possible, only grasping for memories that surfaced from its depths.


    He organized what he could remember, and tried to make sense of all his scattered impressions. The person from his nightmare at the center of the fog had called him Alric, so that was the name he decided to use for himself as well, at least until he knew more. His body seemed to remember how to act and move on a boat, and his memories of a coastal settlement and swaying decks reinforced his certainty that he had been some form of seafarer, be it sailor or fisherman. The trees were also a clue to his scattered past, trees that tall couldn''t be common. The figures with their cordage wraps were strange, but Alric felt somehow that they were an important part of the puzzle of his memory, but they remained a mystery to him. Unfortunately, his memory of all the familiar yet unknown faces blurred by the fog remained lost to him.


    From this information, Alric managed to draw a few conclusions: The ship he was on was much too large to be from a village as small as his. He must have left shore from a different port. The village he was from was surrounded by massively tall trees, and it contained people who could alter the weather. And finally, the best news he had so far, while he was trying to organize his thoughts he noticed one very significant detail. The fog only obscured the memories of his past. But his common sense, the things he knew about the world unrelated to his past, and his skills remained untouched. He remembered that the currency of the place he was from was crowns and shards, he remembered how to count, and he knew how to talk to people without looking like a mindless fool. He knew how to read facial expressions, hell he even remembered how to read and write in his native language, even though he couldn''t recall its name. And it was exactly this common sense of his that spurred him into action.


    While he had no idea how he got here, he had to face the fact that he was now on a prison ship. And being in prison without anything to defend oneself was not inductive to survival. And so Alric began a careful inspection of the corner of his cell, not daring to approach the dark corner where his cellmate still presumably slept. But of course, aside from the rags, there was nothing. But that didn''t mean the rags were useless. He remembered from his inspection of the cell just how hard the wood this ship was made of was. If he could only find some sort of splinter, perhaps it would serve as a makeshift shank. He ran his hands along the smooth wood, occasionally throwing glances at the corner. The wood definitely had been treated well with some sort of material, making it very smooth and without many gaps. To make things worse, in the darkness of the cell, he could only search for any gaps by touch which made his task all the more tedious. But he persisted. After an unknown amount of time, finally, his finger snagged on a sharp spike of wood. Despite almost cursing at the sudden pain, elation filled his mind. A few silent victory gestures later, he had taken a rag from his pile, twisted it so it would be both thinner and harder to tear, and stuck it between the splinter and the rest of the plank. Using it as leverage, he pulled against the blasted splinter with all his might, but while the damnable thing bent, it didn''t break off. Only when he used his legs to push off from the wall, cursing the blasted thing, it came free. Alric fell to the floor with a thud, that in the silence of the hold sounded like a thunderclap to Alrics ears. Immediately immobilizing and being quiet, he heard some rustling from the dark corner, but no further movement. Releasing the breath he had held till now, Alric wiped his brow and began searching the floor for his prize. It wasn''t very large, about one and a half fingers in length, and not much thicker than his thumb. But it had a sharp, jagged point, and while slightly pliable, Alric''s very recent experience with it taught him that it was not easy to break at all.


    "Take that you misbegotten feck," he thought, grinning victoriously at the miscreant in his hand. Taking the rag with which he had won his spoils, he wrapped it around the bottom half of the splinter in a makeshift handle, before concealing it in his waistband. It wasn''t really a weapon, but it could give someone a nasty surprise that was sure. And most importantly it gave Alric some of his swagger back. Something about being armed made this unknown situation much more bearable. He sank to the floor in his corner, savoring his victory, absentmindedly fingering his new weapon and listening to the splashing of waves.


    The exhaustion from his battle with the splinter and lack of sleep was catching up to him. The creaking of the hull the splashing of the waves and the subdued whispers were as good as any lullaby. Wait. Whispers? Alric shot up, his ears twitching. If there was one thing he hadn''t lost to the fog, it was his thirst for gossip and drama. Especially now that said gossip could clear many things about his situation up. he shuffled closer towards the hallway, before straining to listen to the conversation of his neighbours. From the cell to his left, the piss-laden air carried a whispered conversation to his ears.


    "Hey brother, didja hear any new tings about where we''re goin''?" one voice asked. "I ''eard from de Saltbloods on guard that de emperor sanctioned all cursed in de pillar of penit.. petine.. de prison to be sent after our batch lands. At least we''ll be in good company aye?"


    Saltbloods? That word sounded vaguely familiar, and if they were on guard they must be the ones behind his imprisonment.


    "Yeah, I ''eard. And its pillar of penitence ya brainless drunk" came another voice. "Weird dat. Tings are getting more tense in Calindor, dey say there''s another war brewin'' with Orinthia. Usually, dey send us off to de front to get splattered by some Stonehides when that happens, like dey did to ole Gregor"


    "Dont dey always say dat?" Asked the first voice. "I swear, everytime there''s a skirmish near Vorlund all de town criers cant stop ''arping about a comin'' war."


    A quiet laugh wracked with coughs came from the other, quickly quieted by what sounded like a smack to a dense skull. "if dat ain''t de truth. By de Codex, ma always used to say she''ll sell me to the nearest military cohort if I misbe''ave. But look at us, going on vacation instead. What do ye think dey need us for O''er dere?"


    "Not for yer brains Sandor, that''s fer sure. Yer skull sounded just as hollow as de mug I emptied tonight when I gave it a knockin''. Even if you''n wasn''t a Cursed, all you was good for was diggin'' ditrches."


    "Oi! I resent dat. I passed school just like ee''ryone else"


    "Sure ya did brother, by copying my answers. Now go to sleep, Merric had an awful mean mug yesterday, and I don''t want to get whipped if ye slack off again."


    Alric stayed in his position, ear pressed against the wall for more, but aside from some more muttering about smarts, the hold returned to quiet. "a Cursed? Was that why those two here here?" The word sounded familiar, but the memory behind it slipped from his grasp. Calindor also rang some bells for Alric, and he was sure it was the name of some Big important city. If those two came from there, he could safely assume he did as well. It would explain the size of the ship. Alric ached to know more but asking would only put him in a vulnerable position. Instead, he decided to do what he knew best. More snooping.


    And so as the night wore on, Alric stayed awake, collecting more and more whispers and rumors as the ship began to slowly wake up. But he did not learn much more beyond what his neighbors were discussing. It seemed this looming war was the juiciest and most actual gossip around, but it wasn''t all for naught. He was able to confirm that Calindor was indeed a city, the Capital of the Thalorin Empire in fact. Orinthia was a neighboring country, and was not well-loved by his fellows it seemed. The name sounded quite familiar as well, and he even felt a sense of revulsion thinking about it. He chuckled to himself. Not even a mysterious memory fog could stop humanity''s hatred for their different-looking neighbors. The strangest part of his findings, however, was that all of the prisoners referred to themselves as the cursed. Who willingly calls themselves the cursed? How weird.


    One more thing he found out, that was both concerning and reassuring, was that according to one of the prisoners, it had been 3 weeks since they left port in Calindor. Three weeks. The good part of this news was, that besides his bruises and cuts, his cellmate hadn''t murdered him yet. The bad part was, what the hell had he been doing these past 3 weeks? Did he hit his head and loose his memory somehow? No, the fog couldn''t be a simple concussion. The whole thing stank more than a bilge-gargling pirate. From what intact memories he had, he didn''t think he was a criminal deserving of this kind of treatment. And the cursed? The Saltbloods? Did he fall into the hands of some cultists?


    His mind churned with questions. He wanted to know what happened, why everyone thought they were cursed, why he was missing most of his blasted memories, why his head was filled with scary fog, why he had a strange glowing collar, and most importantly, how he was going to get out of this mess.


    But despite his worries, exhaustion was beginning to catch up with him. Who would have thought staying awake to listen to gossip while bone tired would make the exhaustion worse? His mind began to drift, teetering on the edge of sleep. The ship''s gentle rocking and waves began lulling him into a restless slumber.


    "Tomorrow," he thought, his eyes growing heavy "Tomorrow I''ll make sense of this mess".

 Chapter 2: A cruel awakening

    "Mind-loss is a peculiar affliction. Though it can be crafted by mortal hands, it most often takes root in those who have gazed upon truths beyond mortal comprehension. The mind.lost are ideal servants¡ª obedient, unthinking, and imprisoned within the silence of their own minds. Be aware however, the trade of unsanctioned mind-lost, while very lucrative, is banned by most divine institutions."


    ¡ªExcerpt from "Merchant lord''s Musings" by Soral Illios


    Alric awoke to the sound of muffled shouting from abovedeck and the insistent ringing of a bell. his brain instantly switched from groggy to alert, and he jolted upright, his hand instinctively reaching towards his waistband. The improvised shank provided a small measure of comfort, as he scanned his surroundings, searching for the source of the commotion.


    Yet, instead of the hulking, hairy brute with heart-shaped tattoos on his bicep he expected to see, his gaze landed on a strikingly beautiful woman, leisurely sitting in the other corner of his cell. She was on the shorter side, with black hair that fell in smooth waves around her face, and delicate, even pretty features. Her skin was pale as a newborn child''s, and made Alric think the poor woman must have not seen the light of day for months at the very least. Like him, she wore a linen garment, though hers was significantly less dirty and torn than his was. A silvery collar encircled her neck, matching the one he wore, but fitted to her more slender frame. She was sitting on what was a significantly more impressive bed than his collection of rags, complete with a blanket and pillow, even a bedside table made from what looked like expensive wood. Her deep green eyes were scanning a stack of paper she was holding in one hand, before shooting up to meet his eyes with a mix of surprise and suspicion.


    "You''re aware," she finally spoke, after an awkward silence Alric hoped wasn''t due to his gawking. "How curious." her eyes bore into him as if searching for something hidden beneath his surface.


    Feeling a bit uncomfortable under the scrutiny and strange greeting, Alric quickly attempted to shake off the unease and gave her his best charming smile. All things considered, he could have had a much worse cellmate, and being friendly cost him nothing. "I sure am, miss. Alric''s the name. A pleasure to meet you" He said, though his voice came out rough and raspy from a combination of nerves and disuse, ruining his attempt at a charming first impression. he cleared his throat. "Who do I have the pleasure of speaking to?"


    After a moment of hesitation, the pale woman gave him a nod, managing to make the simple gesture seem authoritative. "Elara Vale. You may call me Lady Vale." She put the papers to the side. "Forgive the suspicion, it is just that to my knowledge, a case of recovery from your condition is entirely unprecedented. Or at least rare enough that I haven''t heard of it happening in my circles. How tremendously interesting." Her eyes hovered above the hand that he held close to his waistband.


    Noticing his mistake, Alric quickly folded his knife-happy arm in front of his chest, disguising the gesture behind politeness, before performing a small bow. He may not have his personal memories, but there was no mistaking the authority with which this woman carried herself. The light skin, the tone of her voice, and the air she exhuded, all spoke of this woman being a highborn. That begged the question of why she was in a cell with him, but such sensitive topics were best left for later. Especially after she dropped a bombshell like that on him. "Well met, lady Vale. I would love to clear up your puzzlement, but I''m afraid I''m just as confused. The last thing I remember is waking up on this ship and feeling like I picked a fight with a carriage and lost. What is this condition you''re talking about? And where are we?"


    "You had been afflicted with what is known as mind-loss." She explained, her tone slightly more approving." Usually, your ilk would end up fetching a high price on an auction, there are no better servants after all. But I imagine your nature as a cursed made you somewhat.... dangerous merchandise to openly sell. Hence your presence on this ship." She tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Oh, but that doesn''t entirely answer your question does it? To clarify, the mind-lost are humans whose minds have been completely broken. They are incapable of thought, have no sense of identity, and are completely obedient to any verbal commands heedless of their own desires and safety. Which is also why it is so curious you managed to recover from that state. Unbreaking a mind is no easy feat."


    Alric almost choked on his own spit as the implications of her words hit him. He had been no better than a mindless puppet for at least 3 weeks? Gods above, how did this even happen? Not to mention the tiny detail about being sold. Losing his memory was one thing, but his future did not sound like sunshine and rainbows at all. His mind churned with questions and anxiety, but he forced himself to stay composed. This wasn''t a good place to show weakness, even if the lady seemed cordial so far. "Well.. not that I would have particularly enjoyed being sold at an auction instead, but what is a cursed? And why would that make me... dangerous merchandise? And if I''m not being sold... where is this ship going?"


    Elara gave him a bemused look that turned thoughtful after. "Oh my. You do not know what a cursed is?" She chuckled "Have you perhaps been living under a rock until the Saltbloods sniffed you out? We cursed are.. not exactly popular in the eyes of the local churches. Or anyone else''s eyes for that matter. You see, they think us heretical creatures tainted by the abyss, monsters wearing human skin that will corrupt all that comes into contact with us. Of course, that is mostly due to ignorance and fear. Those bird-brained brutes of the Tidecaller Order, and the Order of the Codex with sticks so far up their asses they might as well have a second spine, would not understand the workings of the world if it was written down in a book for them to read." She scoffed. "And the reason why we are on this ship, my dear Alric, is because said churches are bringing us evil and corrupted cursed to a colony in Eirathor to become mine slaves until we work ourselves to death. But I suppose you must have been... well ... let''s say out of sorts for a while already. I do not blame you for not knowing that."


    To say Alric was flabbergasted was an understatement. He was supposed to be what now? a heretical creature tainted by the abyss? One destined to become a mine slave in a distant continent? Just what the hell had happened when he had lost his memory?


    He felt adrift. Waking up on a prison ship had already worn down his nerves, and now this¡ªthis revelation gnawed at the pit of his stomach like something alive. A familiar sensation. Fear. Fear of what was to come, and fear of what lay buried in the past he''d forgotten. Almost instinctively, his hands found each other, index and middle fingers interlocking like a knot. The motion was calming, ritualistic. He didn¡¯t know where he¡¯d learned it. The meaning was lost somewhere in the fog clouding his mind, but the gesture brought comfort all the same.


    "Why are you making the sign of the Tidecaller, Alric?" came the pleasant voice of the noblewoman. "Were you perhaps a believer before?" She paused long enough for Alric to open his eyes and look at her. She smiled, all teeth. "You shouldn''t bother. The gods don''t listen to cursed like us. If anything, drawing their attention will only bring you misfortune."


    The Tidecaller. That title sounded so familiar, yet so alien to him. Something stirred within his mind¡ªlike a faint chime carried by the wind. Alric stood once more before the fog within his mind. But it wasn¡¯t the impossibly deep and undisturbed sea it had been the first time. Now, it was roiling, like the angry sea before a storm. The chime sounded again, louder this time, rippling through the fog¡ªjust as a memory slipped through its grasp.


    A towering blue-and-white building.


    A desk with books.


    Murmured prayers, repeating a word¡ªfaint, indistinct. Alric felt the weight of it. The power behind it. His mind spun. He wanted¡ªneeded¡ªto remember that word. That name. But the fog surged forward, swallowing the memory fragment again, and he could feel it fading, slipping further from reach. He couldn¡¯t let that happen. He pushed into the fog, grasping for whatever he could hold onto. The murmured prayers grew louder, more distinct¡ªbut with each step deeper, his mind strained, stretched, slipping further from his grasp. Still, he pressed on. The word was on the tip of his tongue now. He almost had it. The scent of the sea filled his nostrils. The roll of distant thunder echoed in his ears. The murmurs rose¡ªhigher and higher¡ªlike the rising wind before a storm, until they roared in his ears with triumphant clarity:


    A single word.


    A single name.


    Thal¡¯Kareth. God of Sea and Storms.


    And like floodgates opening, the power of that name surged through him. Elation crashed through his chest¡ªso fierce it felt like he might burst from the pressure of it. And then, softly¡ªunconsciously¡ªit escaped his lips. A whisper turned into a storm. A thunderclap shattered the fog clouding his mind. A great swath of it dispersed, torn apart by the rising storm the utterance had provoked. But the fog was not defeated. It rose, seething, like a towering wave ready to crash down upon him in fury¡ªyet now, scattered fragments of memory slipped free of its grasp, spilling into his mind like debris after a broken dam.


    A happy childhood, filled with blurry faces of people flitted through his mind in a haze. Days spent in the blue and white building, reading, learning along with many other blurry-faced children, a stern blurry figure praising and chastising him in equal measure. A young boy, feelings of jealousy turned into admiration, Days spent together at a small port, learning to tie knots. The same youth standing before him, taller, wearing blue robes and ropes tied around his arms decoratively. Pride in his friend, celebration. The blurry-faced youth making beer float from his mug through the air straight into his mouth. The youth standing before him, defending him from larger youths. Alric stealing a pastry for a smaller yet similar vague figure to the now familiar youth warm feelings within his chest.


    And the storm keeping the fog at bay howled. The wall of fog roiling, furious, began to descend. The light of memory began to fade once more. But before it could fall, an arm burst from the fog. Tan, filled with old scars, tied with ceremonial ropes, the hand was stretched towards him.


    "Alric! Take my arm!"


    A voice shouted, familiar, so familiar. The same voice that he heard in his nightmare, warning him from looking back. Alric didn''t hesitate. He ran towards the towering wave. The fog was above him now, threatening to crash down. But Alric didn''t care. He grasped the arm, putting all his strength into pulling that arm from the fog. The arm of his friend.


    And then his face emerged from the fog, the haze dissipated. A young, irritatingly handsome man, smiled dazzlingly at him, familiar eyes filled with the sparkle they always had been. And Alric remembered. Owen. his first and closest friend.The light to his shadow. The golden boy of the neighborhood, always willing to take the blame for Alrics antics. More memories flooded his mind, Each of them still blurry, save for Owen''s face. tears ran down his cheeks. Like a rock, an anchor within the storm of confusion Alric awoke in, the memory of Owen grounded him.


    And then Owen spoke, in a teasing tone. "Really Alric? You having some piety? Tidebringer knows how many times I tried to bring you to Septa Rosa''s sermons."


    Alric, overcome with joy at remembering his friend, tears in his eyes, slapped the broad man''s shoulder. "Oh shut up you infuriatingly handsome bastard. You know I slept through all that bullcrap in school. But how are you here? And how am I talking to you?"


    The blonde man grinned at him. "I''m your memory of Owen. Where else would I be but your mind, fool? As for how you can talk to me, how would I know? We''re in your head, not mine."


    Alric gave a frown. before giving the man a light slap. "You feel awfully solid for a memory. Are you sure you didn''t somehow crawl into my brain and are pulling my pizzle?"


    the man waved his one arm, chasing Alrics hand away from his face. "Oy! Hands off the merchandise. This face is meant for a fair maiden, not an unwashed shiprat. And stop fooling around. The name of my god might have empowered your memory of me somehow, but I cant hold back the fog much longer.


    Cold sweat rolled down Alrics back as he saw the fog looming around them, pressing closer and closer. Owen might be a blessed of Thal''kareth, but even the god''s name could not hold back the fog for long it seemed. "Good point Goldie. Actually, you wouldn''t believe the shit that''s happened to me this time. I woke up on a prison ship, everyone''s calling themselves cursed, and this blasted fog has been giving me a headache ever since. Do you have any idea what it is?"


    The memory of Owen smirked "Can''t leave you unattended a minute eh?" But his expression became more serious. "But this isn''t good Alric. If you''re a cursed... well let''s just say my god really hates those. All blessed of his too, actually. But I suppose I can make an exception for you, ratface, seeing as I''m just your memory. As for the fog, I don''t know more than you do. All I know is that once it''s back, I''ll slowly disappear again."


    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    Alrics heart rate sped up. He didn''t want to forget, not again. he grabbed the memory''s arm and began dragging him. "Then let''s get you the hell out of here! I''m not losing you a second time." The fog covered everywhere he looked, but maybe the divine name would disperse the fog around the blessed. But before he could test his theory, Owen shook free.


    "What are you doing?" Alric shouted, grasping for his friend''s arm again. Owen just gave him a sad smile. "There''s no use Alric. I''m your memory. Where else can I exist except for in your mind? We don''t have much more time. I can feel the name''s power fading. But there''s something more I can do for you." he pulled Alric closer, And his mind began to flash with memories, conversations with Owen. Owen telling him about the cursed, his parents, his god, his adventures. His mind filled with conversations, helpful information, and context he had forgotten. As he was still dazed, processing the large amount of memories, he felt a push, and felt Owen''s palm push against his chest. his eyes shot open. He was falling away from Owen at a great speed, as the fog began closing in around Owen like a hungry maw.


    "What are you doing you damn bastard!" he tried to hold on, claw onto anything, but he saw his mindscape already fading. He had already begun to forget the upper half of Owen''s face.


    "Remember me Alric. Become stronger until you can navigate the fog. Use your memories. And find me again. if you don''t... I''ll haunt you, bastard."


    And with a start, Alric was back in his own body, staring ahead at a very intrigued Elara. The memories Owen had imparted him before his departure settled in his mind. Owen, his good friend, was a blessed of the Tidebringer. Which automatically made him apart of the Tidebound Order, the same Organisation that supposedly was persecuting them and was transporting him to Eirathor. They worshipped the Tidebringer, a God with capital G. He held domain over the Oceans and Weather, and his churches were present in every port in Thalorin, the country he and Owen had grown up in. Aside from helping with the education of the young and guiding the common people in the faith of Thal''kareth, they were responsible for assisting all ships and defending the coast against the great threat lurking beneath the waves of the Cerulean. Eldrovora. Beasts corrupted by the abyss, twisted into abominations that attacked all things weaker than them indiscriminately. Normal humans stood little chance against their threat, with the exception of very well-armed military regiments. And so, in their benevolence, The Tidebringer and the other gods chose humans that aroused their interest and bestowed them with a blessing. This blessing, also called a manifestation, could take many forms, but most were related to the god who granted it. Owen''s he now remembered well. Owen could control liquids like an extension of his limbs, breaking or creating waves on their ship, instantly drying himself, using it to always have a perfect hairdo... Alric thought about the state of his own hair, and cursed the bastard silently. The Blessed of any god automatically became part of the clergy and were revered and powerful figures of authority, only second to legal authorities of the empire depending on their rank.


    Which brought him to the much more important, and much less pleasant part of his regained memories. The cursed. While the abyss could corrupt animals quite easily, and Eldrovora were quite common, it could also happen that the abyss corrupted Humans. Known by most folk as Evil and murderous magicians, they were considered the scourge of civilization. The churches put priority on containing or exterminating the cursed, not only because of their powers, which were eerily similar to that of the blessed, but rather because of their ability to interact with the abyss and become a much greater threat to the stability of the Empire and the churches. Eldrovora, at least the weaker ones, were mere beasts after all. But the cursed had all the benefits of human intelligence, and to make it worse, had no distinguishing features like Eldrovora. One never knew whether they were talking to a human or a murder wizard planning to use them in their next ritual sacrifice. At least, that''s how Owen remembered them. They were much rarer than Eldrovora, but they were the stuff scary bedtime stories were made of, rather than Eldrovora.


    Not only did this mean that he was now stuck on a netherblasted ship full of dangerous, twisted, and evil murderous magicians, but he was supposed to be one of them too! A cursed! A thrice flogged scary bedtime story mothers tell their children. Him! He may not be the kindest soul he knew, but that didn''t mean he was a monster! Tidebringers beard, this day kept getting worse and worse.


    The memories of Owen offered answers, if not very fun ones to some of his more pressing questions¡ªbut in turn, whipped up even more. How had he gone from a simple villager to a cursed? What had he done that the fog was hiding from him? Blast, what even was that damned fog in his mind, and why was it there?


    His mind was reeling, and stuck between the difficult choice of screaming at the heavens, or beginning a litany of his now expanded repertoire of curse words he had developed by sailing with Owen, a small cough snapped him out of his dilemma. The beautiful Highborn was still looking at him, but had raised an eyebrow, her smile more sharp than friendly. it seemed spacing out, convulsing from the power of a divine name and waking up ready to unless a torrent of curses unfit for any lady was considered a social faux pas. This tipped the scale of his difficult choice towards the litany of curses, but thankfully Alric remembered one tiny detail just in time before going on a tangent in front of this complete stranger. If everyone on this boat was a murderous dark wizard, that meant this tiny, elegant woman was one too. And despite her frail appearance, the fear inspired by his newly remembered scary bedtime stories made him think twice about his choices. And he settled to save his outburst for later.


    "I take it from your expression that you didn''t follow my advice?" came the elegant voice of the murder wizard. Her voice was just as relaxed as ever and she sized him up with her eyes quietly. "He must have one of his benevolent days, you didn''t even start bleeding from your orifices" She chuckled.


    If Alrics attitude towards this woman was blas¨¦ before, having discovered she wasn''t some muscular freak that could strangle him with one hand, it had now completely switched. Alric was a pragmatic man. Shame was absent from his vocabulary when it came to his survival, and his childhood had taught him well how to read people. His talent for saying what people wanted to hear, combined with the golden boy appearance and reputation of Owen, he had tricked his fair share of adults to his benefit. And there was no doubt that this woman was much too calm for an unarmed prisoner half his size, not to mention eerily knowledgeable. Combined with how she carried herself, her pale skin, common amongst the nobility that did not have to work in the sun, Alric was sure whoever he was talking to was not some small fry. She had already told him to address her as lady, so Alric tried his best to recall the etiquette classes he had snored through and copied off of Owen, and replied with a genteel bow.


    "Indeed my lady. Forgive my presumptuousness, I simply had to try. But as you must have noticed, the experience was none too pleasant. I can''t believe I once admired those vile saltbloods." Alric was quick to throw his former ilk overboard to attribute his grimace to them rather than the fact he was face to face with a walking nursery rhyme of the bad kind. Maybe it would get him on her good side.


    The woman''s eyebrow shot up another notch, surprised by his sudden eloquence. "That must have been quite the experience for you to suddenly find your tongue," she laughed, "but all the better. Those curs will be here soon, and I don''t want to be seen associating with a bumbling fool. Alric, was it? Some free advice: Don''t attempt any more foolishness of the kind you just did. Our manifestations are sealed, but they can use theirs freely. Not to mention that using ours on the open ocean would doubtlessly attract many unpleasant critters."


    The fool in question, of course never had such plans. Mucking up in front of someone with a big stick was a sure way to get it to the face. And if those tidebringers were anything like Owen, they could likely drown him with little more than a finger. They weren''t called the blessed for nothing. Besides, as much as he regretted it sometimes, his face never seemed to stand out much, quite the boon when faced with a hammer seeking the nail that sticks out. One of the reasons he had befriended Owen in the first place. So handsome, flashy and popular was he, that poor unremarkable Alric could avoid the brunt of attention the schemes that his... more devious side liked to come up with conjured. Who better to have by your side than an unfairly powerful and popular guy who had the massive weight of the church to throw around? But alas, he had no such thing this time, and a lady to answer.


    "I would never think of tarnishing the reputation of one so radiant as you, fair lady. But I am afraid many matters on this ship are unclear to me. I am afraid my ignorance might make me commit other acts of foolishness." he bowed low, fishing for more information.


    A sly smile spread on Elaras lips. "Ah my dear Alric, you flatter me with your newfound verbiage. Very well, considering you have made my morning interesting I shall grant you this small favor, the only of its kind. Firstly, stay discreet. All Cursed have secrets, and none like prying eyes." Alric didn''t miss the implied warning in her tone. "Secondly, stay away from Zain. Unless you would like to die, of course. he''s been unstable lately. And finally.. Pick your side, and pick it soon. This ship isn''t a safe place for lone wolves. And it would be a shame if I had to clean up my cell."


    Leaving Alric stewing in the implications of her words, she strode towards the bars of the cell and gazed towards the stairwell. Alric knew an implied threat when he heard one. And this advice of hers was less advice and more instruction. Firstly, she warned him against spying on her. Then she told him to stay away from someone. A rival? He couldn''t know. And lastly, she advised him to pick the right side, with a very thinly veiled threat. There were a few assumptions he could make about this, none of them very reassuring. Firstly, his hunch had been right, she definitely wasn''t a small fry. Her dismissal of him meant she hadn''t made his mind up about him yet, and her vague words could be interpreted that he should stick his nose out of her business, not join up with a fellow called Zain, and make himself useful to her. So for the foreseeable future, that was what he should do. But before he could make any plans about how to go about such a thing, a group of 8 sailors slammed open the door at the top of the stairs and entered the brig. They were dressed in blue and white, ceremonial ropes wrapped around their arms tightly to not get in the way of movement. They were holding staves made of wood that had a metallic sheen to it. Alric immediately recognized the garb, it was, after all, the same one Owen had worn before he got promoted. These were underside acolytes, the lowest ranking blessed among the clergy of the saltbloods, but still much more powerful than a typical mortal thanks to their manifestations. And they did not at all share Owen''s easy smile and easygoing attitude. Alric swallowed, and following Elara''s example, stood to the side of the door.


    the acolytes moved with practiced ease, opening up the cells and herding the prisoners out. They were not shy about prodding anyone who didn''t move at their expected speed. One of the acolytes stood at the top of the stairs, as his fellows were opening the doors, this one having much more intricate arm ropes, the same ones Owen wore in his memory. Which made him their superior. He crossed his arms and hollered loud enough to be heard across the ship. "It''s time for breakfast you bilge rats. Eat up and be quick about it. The ship''s listless, with no wind in sight, so you''ll make yourselves useful in the galley. Slackers get no food tonight."


    Soon one of the acolytes came to their cell, peering inside with a smirk. He was a burly man with a cruel glint in his eyes. Alric instantly recognized the type and cursed his luck inwardly. "Well, well, well, look who''s finally up and about," he sneered, eyeing Alric with disdain. "The puppet''s awake. Enjoy your beauty sleep did you?" He rapped his staff against the bars, the metallic clang echoing through the brig. "Move it, both of you. breakfast time." Alric and Elara both moved as instructed and got out of the cell.


    As they were herded out of the cell, the burly acolyte stepped forward, blocking their path. The acolyte looked at Elara, and she looked back into the guard''s eyes, before taking half a step back behind Alric. The eyes of the acolyte turned dark, a cruel smirk appearing on his face. Alric cursed his luck, as he stood a good head taller than the smaller woman, who had all but disappeared behind him, seemingly sensing the guard''s mood. Where the hell was tall Owen when he needed him?


    The acolyte''s cruel smile widened as he looked Alric up and down. "Didn''t you hear me puppet? I said move it." he snarled, raising his staff and bringing it down hard on Alric''s back.


    The blow sent him stumbling forward, pain radiating through his body. He gritted his teeth, refusing to give the acolyte the satisfaction of hearing him cry out, and just tried to keep his head down and moving. Talking to someone like that was pointless and would only get him beaten for talking back. He cursed his rotten luck, meeting a sadistic guard on his first morning.But the acolyte wasn''t done yet.


    "Hey look merric. The puppet still can''t speak." he smirked, as another, pointedly short acolyte looked up from his task." I think I''ll help him find his voice."


    before Alric could react, the staff in his hand lit up with a cascade of sparks. The burly man drove it into Alrics side, and an intense, searing pain tore through him. his muscles spasmed uncontrollably as the electric current coursed through his body. it felt as if his very nerves were being set on fire, the agony overwhelming any attempt to maintain his composure.


    A tortured scream ripped from his throat, echoing through the corridor. he faintly heard a few snickers from either the acolytes or prisoners, but he was in too much pain to care.


    "That''s enough!" a voice boomed from above, commanding. The higher ranked acolytes stepped forward, eyes narrowed in displeasure."Keep your bad habits for the punishments Crom. We need them functional today."


    Reluctantly the burly acolyte withdrew his staff, the sparks retreating back into his arm, as he stepped back. Alric collapsed to the floor, gasping for breath, his body still twitching from the aftershocks of the electric assault.


    "Get him on his feet and keep moving" the Overseer barked. "We''ve wasted enough time."


    The Burly acolyte sneered, but complied, hauling Alric up by the collar. Alrics legs still felt weak and didn''t respond to his commands properly, but he forced himself to stand. The pain still throbbed through him, and a sense of indignation of fierce anger burned in his heart. Not that he showed it on his face of course.


    Another Prisoner grabbed his shoulder and dragged him forward. Alric was too exhausted to care who it was. His thoughts spiraled as he was dragged through the brig and up the stairs, thinking about the metallic staff the acolyte had used to transmit lightning from his hand straight into his spine. The more he thought about it, the more he understood why Owen had compared the manifestations of the blessed to magic. But how did it work? Did he have some magic too? He had to have it, otherwise, why would he be locked up with all these other black wizards? Was that what the collar was for? He vaguely remembered the collar burning and shining when he relived that horrific memory, but other than that it was dormant and comfortable. The thought of having magic powers also exited him, even as he was revulsed at the thought of black magic and the fog clouding hismemories. He''d always secretly been jealous of Owens''s water manipulation. He had to find out more no matter the cost. After all, he couldn''t expect to survive among dark magicians without some magic to himself right? A little bit of dabbling wouldn''t hurt anyone. It was for his survival, yes, strictly survival.

 Chapter 3: Factions and Foes

    "Only the Saltblood curs could love the cerulean sea, for it is no more than a cauldron of horrors. In its depths, countless Eldrovora are born, only for the strongest to rise, swollen with the strength of their devoured kindred. Gigantic monsters hide beneath its glittering waves, eating until nothing is left. The gods save us, should they ever rise to claim the surface."


    ¡ª Excerpt from "Tales from the Blue Maw", by Captain Kael Vandrin


    Alric was still thinking about magic and fantastical powers when he was unceremoniously dropped onto a wooden bench. Alric blinked, realizing he''d been dragged to a smoky hall, filled with large, solid wooden tables. The Air smelled of sweat and porridge. The room was dimly lit, using the same few rocks that he had seen in the brig before, glowing faintly. As if that wasn''t enough, the smoke from the kitchen wafted all the way into this room, making seeing anything clearly in this room a chore. He glanced around. He was seated at a corner table by himself, any nearby prisoners avoiding crossing gazes with him. He was the furthest from the kitchen, joining a bunch of rag-tag loners that wolfed down their sticky porridge like their life depended on it, casting cautious glances around themselves. There were other tables, of course, tables closer to the kitchen, with better illumination. it was from there that the din in this cafeteria originated.


    Groups of prisoners sat amongst themselves, making crass jokes and laughing, getting the stress out before a hard day of work. They seemingly weren''t worried about anyone snatching their food, and the contrast between them and his corner of sad outcasts was stark. Alric clearly saw what Elara had meant by lone wolves not making it far.


    Speaking of Elara, that sneaky witch was sitting at one of these better tables. Alric glanced at them. As far as he could tell there were 3 main groups in this prison, well 4 if he counted outcasts like himself as a group. After a bit more observation, Alric quickly identified the leaders of the main groups, and could even make some preliminary observations about them. But what he saw didn''t give him much cause for hope.


    The largest gang in the hold was led by a man of truly gigantic proportions. He towered two full heads above everyone else and had a build that would put a bear to shame. Aside from the fur that is. His bald head reflected the light of the glowing stones well enough it might aswell have been another lamp. He was loud and boisterous, his laugh echoing through the mess hall with every crass joke from his cronies, and his knee slaps created small dust clouds. If anyone had told Alric that this man was supposed to be a mysterious shadowy wizard he''d have laughed his pants off. Even worse, the rest of his gang shared his sturdy build too, and gave his table the look of a gathering of buffalos. Not what he expected from the mysterious and corrupted cursed in the slightest. Observing them a bit longer, he was fairly sure he recognized the voices of his cell neighbours that were gossiping the night before. Good to know.


    The next group was more... eclectic. Its leader was easy to identify, as he was the only prisoner in the hold not wearing the linen prisoners'' clothes. Instead, he was wearing a rather loose shirt he kept unbuttoned, and the same kind of pants the sailors wore, but in a different color. Rusty red. He had beautiful blonde hair that shone like gold in the amber glow of the glowing crystals, and icy blue eyes. He was lithe, but muscular, and his skin was even more pale than Elaras, as impossible as that might sound. In other words, this man was even more infuriatingly handsome than Owen was. Bastard. The gang that surrounded him, if one could even call it that, was more a gaggle of sycophants than a group of cursed. They fell over themselves to serve him, trembling before his eyes. Oh yeah, Alric was not getting anywhere near that man. Anyone who could wear proper clothes in a prison and have a group of trembling death wizards attending to them was not someone to be trifled with. Not to mention the suspicious color of his clothes. Nope. Double nope. Alric quickly averted his eye from that group and turned it to the last one.


    Predictably, that one was the smallest of the 3, with only 5 members. Unlike the other gangs, however, it wasn''t immediately clear who the leader was. A thin, wiry fellow with a weasel-like appearance did most of the talking. Beside him was a woman with fiery red hair playing twirling a spoon in a bored manner. A man who looked like he was currently sleeping with his eyes open sat next to her, and in the most creepy fashion Alric could imagine, ate his spoonfuls of porridge in the exact same intervals and order, without blinking. Of course, there was Elara aswell, with her beautiful dark hair and green eyes, watching over the table with an air of superiority. Next to her, a man who sat taller than all but the giant, who truly was a freak of nature. He shared Elaras facial features, eye color and jet-black hair, leading Alric to suspect the two might be related. This man gave Alric the chills, even more so than the tired man. It was his eyes. Cold, focused, and utterly apathetic. He occasionally scanned the hold, and when his eyes went Alric''s direction, he shivered. This man had killed before, he was sure of it. His instincts were screaming danger, and he thanked the tidebringer, or well, any god that wouldn''t smite him for being a cursed, that he had saved his litany of curses for another time. This gang looked by far the most like the cursed from the children''s stories, and Alric had no doubt that one wrong move in their presence could lead to him becoming the next stew the sleepy man would be scooping one by one.


    Before the green-eyed menace of a relative Elara could catch him staring, Alric quickly shifted his gaze to the rest of the hold, namely, his corner of outcasts. Most were far from as relaxed as the gangs, throwing nervous gazes over their shoulders. Alric counted 11 in number, the same number as the Bald bear''s gang had. Elara was 5, and the scary peacock''s group held 9. That made 36 in total. That was a huge number of prisoners for a single ship to transport, and Alric grew more and more awed at the sheer size of vessel that must be transporting them. But at the same time, it made him nervous. he was sure the cells he had counted the first night could hold a lot more prisoners. If so then where was the rest? Did they not ship all the prisoners? Or..


    Shaking off those scary thoughts, Alric went back to observing the outcasts. Most of them were sitting either alone, with their wall to the back, or in small groups of one or two, but all of them with two notable exceptions, looked rather miserable.


    One of these two exceptions immediately stood out from all the prisoners in the hold. He sat the furthest away from everyone else, most people keeping their distance. His skin black like charcoal, and his eyes the red of a particularly angry ember, he looked utterly different from everyone else on the ship. He seemed to be of average height and sturdy build, but had a plethora of old scars littered across his body, which were especially prominent against his dark skin. His face seemed to be permanently locked into what can only be described as the face of a particularly upset toad, which certainly didn''t help his popularity, but Alric guessed it was mostly due to his heritage. This man was an Ignatharian, from the Ignathar Archonate. Alric knew this from the caravan that would sometimes pass by their ports, trading exotic goods and runic baubles. As a Thalorian himself, he was all too well aware of what his country thought about other countries, and the Archonate was no exception. Located in the scorching desert of the Sunscar, Ignathar was a desert country full of Zealots who worshipped the sun god. Alric wondered what the blazes the Ingatharian was doing on a Thalorian prison ship, when his staring got noticed. The man briefly met Alrics gaze before resuming his meal Unconcerned.


    The other Exception was the kind of tall muscular man you''d expect to see with the bald bear''s gang. He had small black eyes, dirty brown hair, and a large scar than ran from his chin up to his left eye. His cheeks hung slightly too. Alric mused that his face resembled that of an exceptionally ugly dog.


    Trailing behind him were two others. One, a a thin beanpole of a man with rodent-like features, and a nervous look about him. The other was a lithe woman with a shaved head, and what looked to be a glass eye. Their leader was in the midst of extorting food from one of the loners, his lackeys flanking him like hyenas. Oh, fantastic. That sadistic acolyte wasn''t enough, now he also had to deal with the poor man''s tyrant. He hadn''t even gotten his bowl of porridge yet, and once that mutt was done shaking down his current victim, he''d likely set his sights on the fresh meat. Feigning catatonia wouldn''t work¡ª that bilge gargling Acolyte had seen to that when he fried him like a cerulean Eel. The established groups definitely weren''t about to welcome a loner, and he didn''t particularly want to try his luck either. Compared to the murder-math man Elrara had as a relative and the bloody peacock, this dog was certainly much more welcoming.


    Alric moved swiftly towards the pot dispersing the morning''s porridge. The cook, a surly man with a perpetual scowl, raised an eyebrow at Alrics newfound alacrity (heh), but said nothing as he ladled a portion into his bowl. Without wasting a moment, Alric wove his way to the far end of the mess hall, slipping behind a particularly rotund loner who seemed to be engrossed in his own meal. With any luck, the woman''s bulk would shield him from the beady eyes of the mutt. he began shoveling the sticky, unappetizing mush into his mouth. It tasted like ground-up sawdust mixed with water and quicklime, probably was too actually, but it was nourishing. He shoveled it down like a madman, his spoon becoming a blur. He was barely 2 thirds of the way through the bowl when he caught sight of an all too familiar sneer emerging from behind his human barricade. Mutt-face and company were looming closer.


    Sighing internally, Alric prepared himself for another beating, and took one more spoonful, savoring what might be the last one till evening. his hand slipped casually below the table, hovering close to his makeshift shank. From the look of this guy he probably wouldn''t need it and get away with a beating and a warning, but you never knew.


    "Well look what we have here!" His voice boomed, dripping with mock delight. " If it isn''t the puppet. Woke up did you? Heard your roosters crow all the way to the bow. Though seeing you from up close, I think Puppet is a bit wrong. We should call you doll instead, aye?" he laughed¡ªa Harsh grating sound. his two lackeys snickered dutifully behind him.


    Alric raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk borne from false bravado playing on his lips. His mind was working overtime to find the right words reduce his inevitable beating, yet as often, his blasted mouth moved faster than his thoughts. "Ah, master mutt. To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?"


    Brandt leaned over the table, his breath somehow smelling of raw fish. "Master is right, little doll. You can drop the rest. Jannik here always told me it''s bad mojo to go after the mind-lost. Brings bad luck he said. Not to mention the Saltbloods would have been none too happy if I broke their precious merchandise by getting too rough. But since you''re nice and awake now, and worthless as a servant, It''s high time you were introduced to how things work around here. I''m Brandt¡ªyour lord and protector. I keep the sorry souls who aren''t pretty enough for the big boys safe from all the dangers on this ship. Especially cute dolls like you. Out of the goodness of my heart of course. Isn''t that right lads?


    His cronies cackled on cue. Alric fought the urge to roll his eyes. If he wasn''t about to get a taste of a proper introductory beating he''d have laughed at how clich¨¦ this man''s lines were getting. If this was another situation like the street scuffles he often got into, now would have been a great time to strike, since the man was presenting his chin perfectly for a good right hook. Unfortunately, this wasn''t street scuffles with teenagers anymore, and it was 3 against one. The ratface didn''t scare him much, but he was sure the woman knew how to fight. Not to mention Brandt. Alric on the other hand, didn''t know much more aside from what a street rat would know. There was no way he was winning in a straight brawl.


    Feigning earnestness, Alric smiled with mock sincerity. "Well aren''t I a lucky one? Such generosity is rare these days. Here," he said, sliding his half-eaten bowl of porridge to Brandt, carefully and without the spoon, as if he expected him to eat straight from the tray. "Your Lordship must have worked quite an appetite with all the protecting you''ve been doing. Here''s a treat."


    For a moment, Brandt seemed taken aback. This wasn''t how his usual script went. But his confusion quickly morphed into suspicion. "First mutt and now this? You think you''re funny don''t you?"


    Ah rats. He figured it out. "Me? Never, " Alric replied innocently. " In fact you''ll find I haven''t got a single funny bone in my entire body. I simply recognize true nobility when I see it."


    Brandt''s face darkened, well aware of just who the true nobility on this ship was. "Got a smart mouth on you. I don''t like that. Dolls should be quiet."


    He snapped his fingers. "Jannik, Tori¡ª teach our new friend just who is the dog here."


    The two lackeys moved. Alric remained seated, muscles tense but outwardly calm. As Jannik grabbed his shoulder and went to slam his head into the table, Alric reacted. He quickly moved backward, pulling on the arm the skinny man had tried to push on his shoulder, using his own momentum against him. Given the short man''s lack of mass, it wasnt particularly hard for Alric to twist the arm between him and the table so that Jannik''s rat nose and the table had a romantic encounter with enough sparks to make the sauciest bard blush. But before he could capitalize on the situation, Tori''s arm had already turned into a blur, and cracked into his jaw. Stars exploded in his vision, and Alric''s sense of balance was temporarily thrown off. Free from Alrics grip, An incensed Jannik properly grabbed him this time, And together with Tori they slammed his head down into the hardwood. And again. laughter echoed in Alric''s ears, a cruel chorus that made the humiliation sting even more. His fingers discreetly approached the makeshift shank as blood began roaring in his ears, and his jaw clenched in anger. He was pulled upright, a trickle of blood seeping from a gash on his eyebrow down his nose. he looked up at Brandt, who had taken a seat on the other side of the table.


    he smirked at the half-dazed Alric. "See, doll, that''s what happens without my protection. Nasty accidents. And we wouldn''t want anything to happen to that cute face and those perky lips of yours. I still have use for them after all." He laughed a vulgar laugh, And Alric''s hand tightened around his makeshift shank. "But I''m feeling generous today. See, you show me the proper respect, and this can all be forgotten. Maybe I''ll even let you join my entourage, I like me a cute man with some spunk like you." he extended a grimy hand, displaying a tarnished iron ring on his pinky.. "Kiss my ring, and we''ll call it square."


    Alric''s blood boiled with rage. So he thought he was cute huh? He''d see how long that would last. But despite his anger, he tried keeping a cool head and analyzing the situation. Around them, other prisoners watched with guarded interest, especially Elara was leaning on a hand watching the entire proceeding. This wasn''t a moment he could show weakness in. Submitting to Brandt would ruin any chance he had with any of the stronger gangs. Not to mention Brandt''s rather clear intentions with his ''cute mouth''. His eyes darted from side to side, searching for any way to escape the situation. Could he drag someone else into this? No the loners were too scared and the gangs were enjoying the spectacle. Only the Ignatharian seemed unconcerned with Brandt''s antics, but he had no reason to help him. For a moment, things looked like he would have to eat more pain. But then, faintly, he heard the step of heavy boots thudding down the stairs. Perfect.


    He grinned at the ugly scarred face of his tormentor. "What are you, a fair maiden that you want me to kiss your hand? You have a face only a mother could love. Or another dog. Besides, don''t you know you fool? Merric''s the one making sure nothing happens to me." he purposefully chose one of the two names of the acolytes he knew to be ill-tempered.


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    Brandt''s eyes flashed with anger. "Careful Puppet. You don''t want to talk about my mother."


    "Why not mutt? She throw you out too? Find another man to have a better son with? Poor mutt, alone on the streets, running after stray dogs, since that''s the only bitch that would ever want a man like you."


    The boisterous laughter of the bald bear echoed through the mess hall, and a few chuckles rippled through the gangs. Sensing the impending violence, the other loners slowly began taking their distance. Even the Ignatharian had taken a minute off his meal to raise an eyebrow in Alric''s direction. Brandt''s face had reddened, a vein throbbing at his temple. His lackeys exchanged uneasy glances, not sure what to do in a situation like that.


    "You''ve really got quite the mouth," Brandt snarled, his hand inching towards his own waistband, where there doubtlessly was a surprise similar to Alric''s waiting. "I was only maybe gonna get rough with you on account of your cute face. Now, I think Im gonna take my time ruining it. And don''t think that the likes of Merric can stop me neither. That bastard son of a dwarf only can throw his weight around because we''re all collared. But now? I''m gonna have some fun, with you, doll."


    Alric''s heart pounded, but he smirked. His quick time might often get him into trouble, but not nearly as much trouble as Brandt''s just had gotten him into. The door to the mess hall flew open with a bang, as the Acolytes entered to announce the work shifts. Brandt hesitated, and his face began to drain of color when he spotted a short acolyte with his eyes locked onto his every move. Alric chuckled, as the lackeys took a few steps back. He looked right at Brandt, and silently mouthed "bastard son of a dwarf huh Brandt?"


    "This isn''t over Doll. Sleep with one eye open" With a final glare, he signaled to his lackeys and the trio melted into the crowd gathering to hear the announcements. Alric exhaled slowly, rubbed his eyebrow of the blood, and ate the last few spoons of porridge left in the bowl before joining the crowd. "Well, that went swimmingly" he muttered to himself. All things considered, that was as well as an initiatory beating could have gone, especially knowing Brandt''s intentions. If Merric was anything like Crom, Brandt would have other things to worry about than Alric, hopefully giving him enough time to find himself a suitable meatshield or join a gang. As for what he had said about sleeping with one eye open? Alric chuckled. His cellmate was much more scary than Brandt. he doubted the stray dog that none of the gangs wanted would even have the balls to approach her cell.


    A booming voice echoed across the room "Break over! You! You! You! Kitchen duty." The same senior acolyte that had saved Alrics bacon from Crom pointed at a few prisoners. "You people! Porter duty. He pointed at a few from Elara''s gang. "You! Scribe duty! He pointed at the scary peacock." The rest of you bilge rats, to the Oars."


    of course, being one of the bilge rats, Alric was assigned to the oars with the majority of the prisoners. he swiftly followed the nearest acolyte, keeping his distance from Brandt. The prisoners were herded like sheep, prods with their staves not uncommon, though Alric noticed the Bald bear and his close members got off scot-free despite their leisurely pace. Alric himself could add a few bruises to his ever-expanding collection, and gained some sort of idea where the rest might have come from. Soon they arrived at a very long hall, at about the water surface level of the ship. The hall was lined with benches, and of course, long sturdy oars. Alric shuddered at the sight of the oars, his last memory involving rowing none too pleasant.


    The members of the same gangs went to benches in pairs with some banter, everyone already being used to their own position. Soon Alric only had a few places left. Once was next to Brandt, as no one wanted to get caught in the crossfire between him and Merric, one was next to one of the loners who looked at Alric with pleading in his eyes to go elsewhere,. and one was next to the taciturn Ignatharian. The Ignatharian seemed to be lost in thought, and barely registered Alric sitting next to him. He barely graced Alrics presence with a glance, and then as the sound of drums came from the front, immediately began rowing.


    They rowed in silence for a while, the rhythmic creaking of the oars and the occasional grunt of exertion filling the air. It was exhausting, and Alric was especially glad he got some food in before all this physical exertion. His rowing partner seemed to struggle after a while, Which Alric found strange considering his muscular physique. But the relentless rowing did not leave much time for galivanting, and so Alric placed his focus back on the oar. it didn''t take long for Alric to fall into a practiced rhythm. His arms were familiar with the motion of rowing, and his lings knew how to breathe to make it bearable. it was as if he had done this thousands of times before. Well perhaps he had. Soon, his mind became void of anything but the motion of rowing, and he lost track of the passage of time as he simply rowed to the rhythm of the drums.


    Until a familiar sense of dread overtook him, and his mind faded to black.


    The wind howled like a beast unleashed, whipping saltwater into Alric''s eyes and mouth, stinging like needles. The sail above him snapped and strained, barely clinging to the mast against the fury of the storm. Lightning tore jagged scars across the night sky, each flash illuminating the monstrous waves that towered over his tiny vessel, threatening to swallow him whole. Every pull of the oars was a desperate struggle against the relentless current, his muscles burning, lungs heaving as he fought to steer the boat through the chaos.


    Rain lashed down in torrents, each drop a tiny hammer blow that blurred his vision and chilled him to the bone. Alric''s breaths came in ragged gasps, his chest tight with panic. The boat lurched violently as a wall of water crashed over the side, nearly wrenching the oars from his hands and tossing him into the churning sea. His fingers slipped on the slick, wet wood, knuckles white as he clung on with sheer force of will.


    A primal fear gripped him as he dared to glance over his shoulder. Through the veil of rain and darkness, he sensed it¡ªa looming presence, dangerous and inexorable, cutting through the storm with a terrifying ease. The feeling of being hunted coursed through his veins, every instinct screaming at him to flee. He rowed harder, muscles screaming in protest, heart pounding so loudly it drowned out the thunder.


    Then, amidst the maelstrom, something shifted deep within him. The cold dread that had consumed him began to morph, twisting into an unexpected sensation¡ªa gnawing hunger that clawed at his insides. It was as if an insatiable void had opened within his very core, demanding to be filled. The fear that had propelled him now mingled with a strange, voracious craving that eclipsed all else.


    The hunger was overwhelming, a bottomless pit that ached to consume. He felt an urge, not just to escape but to devour, to absorb something that would satisfy this profound emptiness. Confusion mingled with this ravenous desire, but the need was so powerful it threatened to override all reason. The storm, the danger, the pursuit¡ªall seemed distant compared to the intensity of this internal longing.


    Suddenly, a searing pain exploded around his neck, snapping him back to reality. His collar blazed with intense agony, every nerve ending aflame as it activated to suppress whatever was stirring inside him. At the same moment, a heavy fist connected with his side, the force of the blow knocking the air from his lungs. Gasping, Alric doubled over, the oar slipping from his grasp, as his breakfast exited him the same way it entered.


    "Snap out of it you fool!" hissed the Ignatharian beside him, his red eyes nervously darting toward the acolytes patrolling the galley. "Do you want to get us all killed?"


    A few eyes darted over to them, but seeing Alric vomit, the only response was a few snickers and comments about land lubbers and weak stomachs.


    Alric struggled to catch his breath, the combined pain from the collar and the punch anchoring him back in the present. The roaring storm faded, replaced by the rhythmic creaking of the oars to the beat of the drum. His heart still hammered in his chest, but the ravenous hunger had receded, leaving only a lingering unease.


    "Why in the name of the veiled temptress would you try to use your Manifestation in the middle of the galley, you shit for brains?" Whispered the Ignatharian next to him with unbridled fury. "Dont you know what happens when we use our manifestations on the open sea? Do you want to attract every single Eldrovora within 30 nautical miles? You''re lucky I noticed before the acolytes did. They would have executed you on the spot."


    Still a bit out of sorts, Alric lifted his head to look at his self-proclaimed savior. The Ignatharian had sharp, calculating features, with a small scar next to an eye. His hair was in a hairstyle he never had seen before, and so curly he wondered if it wasnt secretly wool. his red eyes were looking particularly menacing, as they locked onto his own. He seemed about as tense as a strung bow, ready to snap any moment.


    "Well," Alric managed to say between breaths, "that was one way to wake me up from my nap. I don''t know about you, Ignatharians, but here in Thalorin burying your fist elbow-deep in someone''s guts isn''t even something we do in the sauciest of bathhouses. So keep your fingers where I can see them, country boy."


    "This isn''t a game, you fool." he replied with cold rage. "Your lack of control could have cost all our lives"


    Ah clearly this man was born with an exceptional sense of humor.


    "Trust me, it wasn''t my intention to do any manifesting of any kind. In fact, I don''t even know that you mean by that damn word, I''m not a blessed. And while it might not seem like it from my spat with Brandt, I actually do value my life. I haven''t the faintest idea what ant just crawled into your britches for you to mistake me having an admittedly unpleasant nightmare while on an oar with me trying to summon a deep sea monster, and then take that as an invitation to perform a Vorlundian Screwdriver on my liver. But if it makes you feel better, I''ll schedule my daydreams better next time."


    The man looked at Alrics outburst with a flabbergasted expression. "You.. do you not understand what you have just done? That wasn''t a daydream you idiot. You were about to activate your manifestation. Why do you think the collar activated?" He put his head into one of his hands, rowing with the other. "If you''re trying to tell me you activate your manifestation in your damn sleep, Im calling for the acolytes, snitching rules be damned."


    Jeez what an intense man. he could have led with that! "How would I even activate a manifestation? Don''t only the blessed have manifestations? Last I checked, the gods weren''t particularly fond of me." He gave an apologetic smile. " But in all seriousness, if I really almost summoned some deep-sea Eldrovora by accident, I''d really appreciate if you told me how to avoid doing that in the future. It doesn''t seem very productive to my survival."


    The man''s eyebrows twitched. "You don''t say." He paused, considering. "While I am not sure if this is one of your strange applications of humor in Thalorin, I will speak of what you ask, so you do not needlessly endanger us with a crackdown. Manifestations are not limited to the blessed. In fact, you could call the cursed the other side of the coin of the blessed. While the blessed receive their manifestation as a blessing from the gods themselves, us cursed are corrupted with it by the abyss. Consider it a mutation of your Astral body, your soul. You have been touched by the abyss, and so, you gain the ability to briefly manifest the abyss''s power in turn. Hence the name manifestation. Similarly to the blessed, a manifestation is a specific power. There are many categories, and a nearly endless variety of powers, so I do not know which one you have. To use your manifestation, you must learn how to channel it through your astral body. This takes focus, hence why we are all made to use this collar. The agony it unleashes on our minds is meant to break the focus, but it is not impossible to overcome. And like I told you, Unlike the blessed, the Eldrovora can sense us cursed using our manifestation. And seeing as the depths of the cerulean hold things even the gods fear to speak aloud, It''s considered a monumentally bad idea to use your manifestation here."


    he paused, considering, how to answer his question. "As for how to avoid using your manifestation... I''m not sure I know of anyone who hasn''t intentionally used it. Which is also why I performed the.. the punch. But to answer your question, avoid having the nightmare, and if you do, wake yourself up. "


    The man spoke as if this was all no big deal as if this was common information. But to Alric, this kind of information was as precious as food to a starving man. Gods above, so many things made sense now.


    "Thank you," Alric said, with genuine gratitude. The Ignatharian might have the sense of humor of a dry rock, but his straightforwardness was refreshing. And if he knew this much.... Alric could sense the taciturn man hid even more sweet sweet knowledge behind those red eyes of his. He mentally licked his lips. Straightforward people were so wonderful. "I will not forget the help you offered me. But it would help me to know the name of the man who extended a hand in my time of need. Alric is what I am called."


    The man hesitated. He looked at alrics hand and very honest and sincere smile, and then around the hold, judging if having a connection to this troublemaker was a good idea. Thankfully after some consideration, he shook Alric''s hand. "Call me Silas. But I warn you. I want no part in your quarrel with the dog-face. I have beat him off once, and I will not dirty my hands again."


    Alrics eyes sparkled with just a bit too much enthusiasm. he had found his meat shield. "Naturally Silas. I always handle my trouble myself." Alric lied with an honest smile on his face. Silas seemed satisfied, and nodded. Still got it.


    They fell into a slightly awkward silence, the crack of the drum and creaking of oars filling the void. After a few moments of silence, Alrics mind grew restless. Hell if he was going to spend the better part of his day here, he might aswell get to know his new asset... err friend better.


    "So, Silas, who''s that pale temptress you mentioned? I admit I don''t know too much about Ignathar, the little I know comes from a caravan that sold Warmweed cigars. Not the most accurate source of Information I know, but I thought you ignatharians only worshipped the Risen one. The sun god."


    A flicker of something, surprise perhaps crossed Silas''s face, before he caught himself, and it disappeared. "its the name of a rather famous personage. From a folk tale."


    "Ignatharians take folk tales I reverence? Interesting. I usually only use the tide bringer''s title when I want to conjure the most devastating of insults."


    The Ignatharian looked uncomfortable. "Yes. of course... I use.. the risen one for that purpose too."


    Huh? Why was he so awkward? Was that some important name? Alrics smile turned more sly. No use in pressing the Ignatharian, if he didn''t want to tell he wouldn''t have to. After all, he knew someone who almost certainly knew. he made a note of it for later, and switched subjects, keeping up the small talk. But Silas remained rather curt and taciturn. Alric was almost beginning to think the man was trying to avoid him, when he noticed how heavily the ignatharian was breathing. Strange. The drummer wasnt even pushing them that hard, And Alric, who hardly was a paragon of fitness after being a mindless puppet for weeks on end if not longer, could not for the life of him understand what was making the larger man struggle.


    "Can I ask you something, Silas?"


    "No. I am rowing." came the exasperated reply.


    "Why do you have so much trouble talking while rowing? Sure they''re pushing us hard, but everyone else is talking." He wiggled his eyebrows at Silas " You wouldn''t be avoiding me would you?"


    The man gave him a frustrated look " You dammn... Thalorians... always forget .. no one else... has your stamina."


    So it was a racial thing? Huh. Alric didn''t think he was that enduring personally. But he wasn''t going to miss such a perfect setup for a one-liner. " Stamina you say? Well I am a hit with the ladies"


    He couldn''t see Silas''s eyes, but he swore he heard them roll inside his skull through the din of the galley, before a grim smile appeared on the dark skinned mans lips. "Not only the ladies." he said, nodding his head towards Brandt.


    Alric was stunned for a moment, before breaking into laughter. "If that''s not the truth. Truly, I am suffering from success."


    Huh Perhaps he did have a sense of humor. They were going to get along swimmingly Alric just knew it.