1222-01-07
Whoosh!
The sound of the southern sea filled the air as our small boat approached Chalos, the southernmost island of Rali. The cold waters shimmered under the pale light of dawn, their surface broken occasionally by the sleek forms of dragons drifting lazily through the waves or soaring high above in the sky. These waters were infamous. Stories told of countless boats that vanished—some claimed pirates, others swore it was the dragons. But no one knew for sure.
This boat, though small and battered, was the lifeline for merchants like us, servants of the Merchant King. It was cramped, just large enough for ten or so people and the goods we carried. Below deck, the air was heavy with the mingled scents of salt, wood, and cargo. Worn sacks filled with Var—the coin of trade—were stacked neatly alongside barrels of ripe fruits, their tops stained with the juices of their contents. Chalices and trinkets wrapped in burlap glinted faintly in the dim light, their sheen a testament to their worth. A few crates, tightly roped shut, held supplies and other valuable items destined for Chalos.
I sat on my mat, watching as the sea seemed to flow endlessly past us. The soft creaking of the wooden hull lulled most of the crew into a restless sleep, I quietly left my bunk as I made my way to the deck
The deck was weathered and worn, the planks smoothed by hundreds of voyages across treacherous seas. The railing bore deep grooves from years of ropes tied and untied, and the mast stood tall, its wood polished to a dull sheen by constant use. Above, the Ralian flag flapped gently in the breeze—a bold yellow with a black diamond in the center, a symbol of resilience and wealth. Thankfully, we hadn't had to raise any distress signals or fight off trouble, at least not yet.
As I walked, the cold sea spray caught on the wind, splashing up against the side of the boat and dampening my sandals. The water was relentless. I leaned against the railing, looking out at the vast horizon. For now, the journey was peaceful, though the weight of the stories about these waters lingered in the back of my mind.
At the helm stood John, Son of Tailor. His broad shoulders and messy black hair gave him a rugged look, and his sharp gray eyes were focused on the horizon. Beside him was Sheila, Daughter of Dougal. She was smaller, her brown hair flying in the wind as she studied a worn map of Chalos spread across her lap.
"Almost there, Captain," John said with a grin as he noticed me approaching.
"Captain now, am I?" I replied, smiling back.
"Sure," Sheila said without looking up. "Someone's gotta be in charge."
John chuckled. "And it's not you, that's for sure."
Sheila shot him a look, holding up the map. "Maybe it should be. You're steering too far north. Chalos should be to the right."
John groaned but glanced at me for confirmation. I pulled out my spyglass, extending it toward the horizon. The faint outline of an island came into focus.
"She's right," I said, lowering the spyglass and pointing. "The island's over there."
John sighed, adjusting the wheel. "Still on course," he muttered.
"Barely," Sheila quipped, folding the map and tucking it under her arm. "You'd have us circling the island all day."
"You're lucky I don't throw that map overboard," John shot back, though there was no real heat in his words.
I shook my head, amused by their bickering. "Any idea why the Merchant King called us back?"
"None," John said, keeping his eyes on the water.
"It's probably trouble," Sheila said. "It always is."
John laughed. "We'll find out soon enough."
The island grew clearer as we sailed closer. The salty breeze whipped past, carrying the faint sounds of the crew stirring below. Sheila stood, brushing off her pants.
"I'll be glad to step on land again," she said.
"Don't get too comfortable," John replied. "We won't be staying long."
Sheila sighed, her voice barely above a whisper. "We never do."
With that, they went back to their tasks. I stayed for a moment longer, watching the island come into view, its rocky cliffs rising against the pale sky.
"Good morning, Captain," a voice called from behind me.
I turned to see Rory, the ship's cook and steward. He is a skinny man, with light brown skin and black hair that always looked like it needed combing. His dark eyes shone in the light..
"Good morning, Rory," I replied.
"Should I start cooking?" he asked.
"No need," Sheila interrupted from her spot at the helm. "We're almost to Tane."
Rory squinted at the island ahead. "It's about time," he muttered.
Armored footsteps echoed on the deck, and we turned to see Bridget, Daughter of Patea. She was our guard, her imposing figure was clad in armor, and her green eyes seemed to glow beneath her helmet.
"Do you ever take that thing off?" Rory teased.
"You never know when we'll be attacked," Bridget replied coldly, her hand resting on the hilt of her sword.
Rory shook his head with a laugh. "It's unsanitary. You're gonna scare the fish away."
Bridget sighed and removed her helmet, revealing her long brown hair that flowed freely in the sea breeze. It had been a while since I'd seen her face; her sharp features carried a sense of calm strength, even as her lips pressed into a tight line.
We used to be a small crew—just five of us and the Merchant King himself. Years ago, the King had left the crew to raise his daughter after his father, the previous King of Rali, passed away.
As Tane came into view, the sight of the city stole my breath. Often called The Jewel of the South, Tane was renowned as one of the richest cities in the world. Its beauty was unmatched.
The city rose gracefully from the shoreline, with grand marble roads winding through its hills. Stone and brick buildings gleamed in the sunlight, with terracotta roofs. The walls surrounding the city were high and strong.
At the port's massive gate, a group of workers toiled to move an enormous crank that slowly lifted the metal barrier. From atop the wall, figures bustled back and forth, their voices faint but lively. Beyond the gate, I could see ships of all sizes docked in the bustling harbor, their sails fluttering in the wind like banners of trade and exploration.
"Still a sight to behold," Rory said quietly, his tone almost reverent.
"A city this grand doesn't build itself," Sheila added, steering us toward the port. "
Bridget crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing as the gate opened wider. "Let's just hope the Merchant King has answers for us."
None of us were, and as the ship drew closer, I found myself wondering what had prompted him to call us back now, after all this time.
As John docked the boat and Rory dropped the anchor, the familiar bustle of the company began. Workers rushed onto the vessel, replacing empty barrels with fresh ones and carefully carrying off any treasures we'd brought back.
Amidst the commotion, a familiar voice called out, cutting through the noise.
"It's good to see you, Angus!"
I turned to see a man approaching the dock, his stride confident and commanding. He is an athletic man, with long light brown hair, pale olive skin, and dark eyes. By his side walked a young girl, her light brown skin glowing in the sunlight. Her curly black hair framed her face.
"Good to see you too, Merchant King Ronan," I replied, pulling him into a firm embrace.
Rose, Ronan's daughter, tugged at his sleeve "Where's my present?" she asked jokingly.
I chuckled, reaching into my pocket and pulling out a small amber stone. "Will this do?"
Rose examined the shell. "Yes, it's enough."
Ronan laughed, patting her on the head.
Bridget stepped forward, her armor clinking as she moved. "We'll stay with the boat, Captain,"
I nodded in agreement and followed Ronan as he led me away from the harbor.
The castle loomed over us. White stone walls stretched high, their surfaces adorned with intricate carvings of battles, and dragons. Stained glass windows caught the sunlight. A gate, with two towering statues of warriors, welcomed us inside.
"Just through here," Ronan said, ducking into a side room.
I followed, entering a vast throne room that commanded attention. The throne itself stood at the center, a masterpiece of carved wood,gold and crimson velvet.
As I admired the room, the door creaked open. A group of guards entered, their black, and yellow armor gleaming in the light—matching the colors of Rali's flag. Behind them was Ronan, carrying a small chest in one hand, its surface adorned with gems and intricate designs. In his other hand was a sealed letter, and close on his heels was Rose, her curious eyes taking in the room.
Ronan approached me and set the chest down on a nearby table followed by a letter.
"Angus," he began, his voice steady, "I need you to deliver these." He motioned toward the chest and the letter. "The letter goes to Loret first."
I raised an eyebrow. "To Loret or too Tafari?"
Ronan's expression turned serious. "Yes, it's for Tafari."
Tafari's name carried a weight of its own. Known as Slayer, he was said to have slain so many dragons that they avoided Loret entirely. A man of unyielding will, he had united the tribes of Loret through sheer force, carving out a reputation as someone impossible to reason with. Many whispered that such a man was destined to meet a violent end, though none dared to challenge him.
"Is this a declaration of war?" I asked. "I don't want to be caught at the end of his wrath."
Ronan laughed. "No, Angus. It's nothing like that."
"Why send something to him?" I asked cautiously.
Ronan shook his head, a faint smile playing on his lips. "I made a promise to Loret, and the time has almost come"
"So, what is it?" I pressed.
Ronan glanced at the letter and then back at me. "It's a reminder."
As I left the hall, one of the guards quickly followed, holding the gem-encrusted chest. While I held the letter. Ronan wouldn't put us in a life-or-death situation—this was likely just another task of trust.
When I returned to the boat, the crew greeted me with warm smiles. "What's the mission, Captain?" John asked, leaning against the mast.