The vessel, bedecked with inert azure oyster shells, surged through the waters with unyielding momentum, its destination set for the fabled Dead Elf Bay—known amongst the elves as Vahlcos Albnatr—in the far north of the Athellas Inland Sea. Aloft, a scarlet flag, adorned with the emblem of a fiery boar, danced proudly atop the mast, while its sails swelled and billowed in response to the playful gusts.
"So, the vessel bears the name Blue Oyster?" Ismeth inquired, his steps ascending towards the ship's deck.
"Aye," came the response from Captain Barbarossa, a colossal figure boasting the most luxuriant ebon beard and a broad countenance that Ismeth had ever laid eyes upon. This strapping mariner, possessed of sun-kissed skin and an air of command, further expounded, "Yet we, in all our glory, are the valiant War Pigs."
"Indeed," the captain intoned with his resonant baritone.
"The War Pigs aboard the Blue Oyster. How intriguing," Ismeth mused, a playful glint illuminating his eyes.
Captain and crew hailed from the illustrious Illinthia Island, the grandest of all known isles within the Aerkha Realm, ensconced in the southeastern expanse of the sprawling Illuthar Continent.
"Should not you Illinthians be meandering amidst the ethereal Mist Sea on the south or along the western shores of the Infinite Sea?" Elphered queried as their voyage commenced.
"Weary did I grow of the Mist Sea, thus into the Inland Sea we ventured," expounded the captain, elucidating his choice.
"Ah, indeed, the true excitement always awaits here, in the inner seas," Ismeth quipped, his mirthful gaze accompanied by a sly wink.
On the tenth day of their arduous journey, the company finally arrived in Smyrnia, as dusk cast its enchanting hues upon the horizon. There, nestled within the Smyrna Harbors, they beheld the unique vessel known as the Blue Oyster, destined to carry them toward the Varylles Region—a mysterious and dangerous elf land, nestled in the mid-north of the realm. The weight of exhaustion hung heavy upon them all, sapping their vitality and resolve.
They had sought respite within the comfortable confines of Bournavia Castle on the eighth eve. But Brad, Caleb, and Priest Centavius shared a moment during the attack of ethereal creatures. Though they remained tight-lipped about the events that unfolded beneath the shroud of night, the rest of the group had also endured restless nights, plagued by an array of restless spirits that eluded their comprehension.
In truth, the threads of their experiences were interwoven, creating a tangle of enigmas that confounded all but Priest Centavius, who possessed a discerning eye for the arcane. Yet, he chose to withhold his intuitions until certainty embraced his convictions.
As the night of the tenth day unfurled its tranquil wings, each weary soul retreated to their designated quarters, seeking refuge in the sanctuary of dreams. Slumber claimed them with greater serenity than the preceding days, save for Brad.
In the depths of his restless slumber, the sleepless knight became ensnared in a haunting vision of Charlotta—his heart intertwined with her anguish, tethered to her plight. When dawn graced the sky, they treaded lightly, abstaining from any significant undertakings and cloaking themselves in solitude.
And as the eleventh night descended, Brad stirred once more from his tormented reverie, bewitched by haunting images of Charlotta's suffering. Driven by an insatiable urge, he ascended to the deck, seeking solace in the embrace of the nocturnal breeze.
Brad, Ismeth, Dylan, and Elphered took up residence in the crew's quarters, sharing the space with the ship's mariners. Caleb and Asvelas found solace in a guest chamber, while Shae, Christine, and Priest Centavius occupied another chamber nearby.
Leaning against the railing on the deck, Priest Centavius cast his gaze upon the boundless sea, his hands perpetually lifting the goblet to his lips.
"When did sleep forsake you too?" the priest inquired upon noticing Brad's presence.
Brad shook his head restlessly and couldn't help but ask, "Why do you partake in such copious drinking, Father?"
With a gesture, the priest revealed the bottle and replied, "It aids me in enduring."
Brad merely shrugged, choosing not to delve deeper into the matter. The air had turned bitterly cold, and intermittent showers of rain mingled with snow descended upon them. With every step taken toward the north, the frigid bite of the northern cold penetrated their very souls.
"Do you continue to experience the same dream, Brad?" the priest asked, his gaze unwavering, fixed upon the undulating waves.
Brad nodded. "Have I spoken of the sorceress before?"
"Charlotta?" Centavius queried.
Again, Brad nodded. "She is dying. I can sense it, somehow."
"So, you have formed a connection with her," Centavius remarked.
Brad shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know why," he whispered softly.
"Nor do I, my friend," Centavius said.
"I know little about her, only fragments of her life, a mere glimpse into her existence. But I perceive her fading away, slowly surrendering to the depths of agony. It defies all reason," Brad continued.
"Sometimes, the world reveals its senselessness until meaning unveils itself," Centavius replied.
Once again, Brad shrugged, finding solace in his indifference.
They sat in silence, their eyes fixed upon the ever-changing vista before them. After a while, Brad sought refuge in slumber once more. He slept for a brief respite, only to awaken and immerse himself in the rituals of training and the demands of their daily tasks.