Fiction #3: The Master and The Commander

Reference illustration based on the Black Sails TV series.

Reference image from https://www.artstation.com/artwork/k4zVdy

The story about a ship captain, his crew and his ship as he is chosen by his country's mysterious king - a wraith-lord - to sail out into sea and prove his worthiness - not just as a captain of his ship, but as the potential successor to rule his country.

ULSETH, Nethulsis (Silence Day, 31 Sellestine, Tae 4053), The Ice Kingdoms of Serpentriss 

They huddled around their tables, watching in silence as the ale in their wooden mugs grew stale and bitter. There were a dozen of them - burly men and skinny boys, one woman, a Nolrim dwarf, an Akwipi (a Hawk-man or Primoerial-Hawk as some might call 'em in the southern lands) and an elf from one of those forgettable pirate islands in Morassin. They were seated in batches of twos and threes, some drinking their ales, others rolling bone-shaven dice, listening to the howl and hiss of the blizzard outside the inn.

These people were his crew, sturdy and steadfast since their first days on his ship, but for all their days and nights suffering the heaves and roils at sea with him, Captain Stieghan Turghest knew what was on their minds that night. It was the 31st day of the month of Sellestine - known as Silence Day - the day many across the continent of Serpentriss honored their kings and leaders with quiet prayers and pensive devotion. But not in Nethulsis. Nay, on that particular Silence Day in Nethulsis, a ship captain had been asked to sail out into the unwieldy waters of the Upper Vaults. It had been the tradition of Nethulsis since the civil wars from the aftermath of Kaeos' departure.  The Storm-God of Chaos had nothing to do with this tradition, but he definitely didn't care much for it even if he knew of its practice when he walked the earth, or so Stieghan believed.

A week ago, Captain Turghest had gotten the call. He was asleep in the bunk of his ship, The Illuthian, feeling the ominous creak and roll of his aging galley protesting against the ropes and anchor by the docks of Ulseth. A hooded messenger had come from Iluhten Castle, one of many ruined fortresses still standing from the war, bearing a scroll sealed with the mark of a vortex - the mark of the Wraith-Lord. Stieghan's quartermaster, the Akwipi named Osulo, had passed the message to him with cautious green eyes and frowned beak, his brown-feathered claws shaking ever so slightly. Stieghan didn't bat an eyelid when he accepted it; he merely unfurled the twine, broke the waxed seal and surveyed the letter. It had been hand-written in gibberish - wraith-tongue - but as the blood-ink came in contact with the air - the words changed, becoming legible against candle-light. Stieghan exchanged a glance with Osulo before reading it aloud.

"Nethulsis' king, the 34th Wraith-Lord since the days of Kaeos and the Divine Oath, has chosen you, Captain Stieghan Turghest, to be the Heir-Captain-designate of the year Tae 4053. Upon the last hour of Silence Day, the 31st day of the month of Sellestine, you and your crew will ferry the Wraith-Lord as your honored guest on the Illuthian, and set sail out into the Upper Vaults. There, you, Captain Turghest, will hold the ceremony of our kingdom's succession, as is our tradition since the days of our forefathers, and if chosen worthy by our Lord, take his place as the 35th Wraith-Lord of Nethulsis.

"Prepare your crew and ship and may the blood of Kaeos burns you stronger than the chill of the void." Stieghan stared at the bottom of the letter for a minute, before setting it aflame against his candle-fire. ​Osulo studied him carefully, having been his second since Stieghan saved him as an eyas and learned their unspoken hand signals and squawk-calls on-board. Between the both of them, they knew that being chosen by the Wraith-Lord for succession was no small matter. It could also mean suicide and the end of Stieghan's career as one of the best sea captains off the coast of Nethulsis.

Stieghan sensed Osulo's hesitation and fear, but he knew the inevitable would come. Ulseth had many worthy sea captains. By Kaeos, Nethulsis had too many of them in fact - all nestled in towns and cities along the coast, earning their keep and amassing wealth by protecting fishermen and noble seafarers against storms, sea serpents and pirates. Every ten to fifteen years, one of them got chosen and a new Wraith-Lord was crowned. How it worked, no one knew. For Stieghan and his crew, it didn't really bothered them much...until the 34th one was chosen, five years ago.

As the letter disappeared in embers and ash, Stieghan clasped his hands across his chest and let out a deep breath that ruffled his otherwise well-trimmed orange beard. For a man of fifty, he looked young for a sea captain. Dark, hazelnut eyes framed under almost non-existent brows, a broad forehead and a sharp weathered nose, wrinkles that hardly showed and sea-blisters that warped his skin into barnacle-like scabs. He swept his long curly auburn hair aside and placed a comforting hand on Osulo's shoulder.

"There's a reason why he has chosen me. There's a reason why I want to be chosen. Prepare our crew, we sail in a week."

A mysterious fog had blanketed the coast, shrouding Ulseth into nothing more than a port-town of flickering glowing lanterns filled with the whimper and scatter of street dogs caught out in the cold. As the Iluthian sailed away from Ulseth, the sounds of the port faded, replaced by haunting creaks and the yawns of poles shifting and ropes tightening. Beyond the fog, all they heard was the sound of chilly waters slapping against her hull.

---

When they left the port of Ulseth in the final hour of Silence Day, the blizzard had mellowed into a stinging wind that continued to blast and whip against their hooded fur coats and faces, making it hard to even walk across the deck, trim half the sails or weigh anchor. The crewmen of the Iluthian did all of them anyways, even doubling their efforts to scrub ice and snow off the railings, boom and floorboards, cursing and spitting against the wind, only to cuss some more when their spittle flew around and smashed into their faces.

A mysterious fog had blanketed the coast, shrouding Ulseth into nothing more than a port-town of flickering glowing lanterns filled with the whimper and scatter of street dogs caught out in the cold. As the Iluthian sailed away from Ulseth, the sounds of the port faded, replaced by haunting creaks and the yawns of poles shifting and ropes tightening. Beyond the fog, all they heard was the sound of chilly waters slapping against her hull.

Captain Turghest was standing astern on the quarterdeck next to Byorian, his dwarven helmsman. Osulo stood nearby, ordering his crew about with a threatening claw, hushed squawks and grunts; sounds they had all been used to after many sailing adventures together. Besides Byorian and Osulo, there were a few deckhands, namely Wymgard, Pouhl, Quenthus and the elven first-mate wizard Leganthel; his sailing master Johyness, who doubled up as carpenter and surgeon; and Urvilla his weapons master, who was also the only woman in his crew. Stieghan knew all of their histories by heart, having drank, battled, suffered, laughed and wept with them on countless occasions. He attributed Illuthian's fame to their tight-knitted closeness and camaraderie, their mutual arm's length understanding of each other's flaws and misdemeanors. Without them, he was really nothing.

Despite the night's fog settling across the deck and covering their frowns, Stieghan felt their melancholy and fear. Given a choice, they would have preferred he refused the Wraith-Lord's request and fled to Messathia or Arksis. But no one had ever refused a Wraith-Lord of Nethulsis and escaped unscathed.

"Byorian, Osulo, reef our sails by another half until we clear this fog, then ease her out into open waters. Johyness has the coordinates. I'm heading into my cabin to speak with our guest. No interruptions unless necessary."

"Aye, aye, captain," Byorian muttered through his weed-pipe, sharing a surreptitious look with Osulo. Stieghan could feel the dagger stares of his crewmen as he made his way down. They knew what was on his mind, they sensed his hesitance. Good thing they felt that way. If he had willingly accepted, they would have all felt betrayed. Now...if only he knew what was in their minds. Maybe they were hoping he's proven unworthy and they all get to go home from this blasted chill...

When he entered his quarters, he locked the door and hung up his cloak. He was aware of his guest standing nearby observing the maps on his desk. Stieghan walked over to his wine table and poured himself a glass.

"You should be out there...with your crew, captain." It was the first time he had heard him speak, and the sound was unearthly, part mellow, part deep, like hearing a pirate rasp quietly with sand stuck in his throat.

Stieghan turned and gazed upon his master and king. This was the 34th Wraith-Lord of Nethulsis, ruler of his icy kingdom for five years now. Truth be told, no one in Nethulsis really saw or spoke to the Wraith-Lords during any of their reigns. They hear him now and then, like a voice coming out of one of the ruined towers and castles scattered across the land, or a wispy cloudy shape appearing before their council meetings to deliver a message or two. Sometimes it would be a warning, a premonition of sorts to help them chart their course or deal with a menace at sea or land. But always from a distance, as if from another world. 

The Wraith-Lord standing before Stieghan now was an ephemeral shape, his face and body hidden underneath a tattered cloak all but lost in a whirl of smoke and darkness; only his two glowing blue eye-sockets looked back from within translucent bones and flesh.

"I don't suppose I can offer you a drink, milord?"

The Wraith smiled, an awkward gesture as wisps of smoke moved against his face to form a grin.

Stieghan approached the table, wanting to get a better look at his lord. The only source of light came from a half-candle sputtering on his desk. As the Wraith's wispy tendrils seeped around it, the flame danced menacingly to avoid them.

"Why did you choose me?"

"You know why..."

"It means there is still a part of you that remembers..."

​"We had a good run, Stieghan. For the three years before I was made king, we were two of the best. You, with your exemplary crew and illustrious ship, and I, well, the previous I, with my now sunken Rosilium and ten of my able-bodied sailors."

Stieghan suddenly slammed his wineglass on his desk, spilling wine all over his maps. The candle-light sputtered against the spill, but remained burning, illuminating the frustration and angst on the captain's face.

"If you still have your memories from before, why choose to appear and speak to me only now? Why after five years? Why hide in your ruins and castles...away from all of your people...why my friend? Why Captain...why...Ygnar?"

The Wraith lowered his head, slithered across the room and gazed out through one of the portholes. The fog was clearing but beyond the waters of the Upper Vaults, illuminated by moonshine, there drifted a heavy wall of mist, like a soufflé of low travelling rain-clouds.

"Ygnar...ah, it's been quite awhile since anyone has mentioned that name to me."

"It is your true name, comrade," Stieghan choked as he spoke, his eyes watery as memories flooded back, his cheeks red as the wine took effect, "I wished I could have stopped you, stopped Ygnar then. He was one of the best we have ever had. Him and the Rosilium and his crew. They mastered the Upper Vaults like they were kissing the backs of their hands! The ship-captains of Nethulsis loved him...favored him...I admired him...I worshiped him...he was like a brother to me!"

Stieghan threw the wineglass across the table. It went through the Wraith-Lord and smashed against the far wall.

"Careful captain...don't want you starting a fire you cannot control. Think about your crew. Think about your ship."

"Until you...you and your wretched old traditions, this stupid, ridiculous succession tests, all but scuppered his life and the lives of his men, leaving their wives, children, all homeless and begging in the streets! What of me then? Am I to sink my ship and bury my crew in the Vaults as well? Tell me!"

The Wraith suddenly flew across the room and grasped Stieghan's neck in a casual choke-hold. He lifted Stieghan a full two feet off the ground, knocking his head against a shelf full of ornaments and worldly trinkets. His glowing blue eye-sockets were fiery red now, ablaze and warm, their tendrils licking and caressing his face.

"You speak as if I took Ygnar's life, but you forget, Captain Turghest. I was Ygnar! I chose to become who I am. Whatever life I had previously is long gone. What I have done over the past five years, I have done for the good of our kingdom! For all of our people! For all of Nethulsis! It is unfortunate that not many in the kingdom saw the good I have brought; the harvests of fishes when the tides were low, the fogs of war when pirates roamed our waters, the blizzards and storms when our enemies breached our borders. Yet...all you ever saw, and remembered, were the cold and the chill of our bitter land, this empty, barren waste of snow and ice you struggle to call a home."

Stieghan could feel the Wraith's cold fingers clutched against his throat, sucking air from his larynx. As he tried to breathe, the air passed through from his nostrils into the wraith's bony hand, bypassing his windpipe and lungs. As his face began to turn purple, the Wraith realized himself and released him. Stieghan collapsed onto the floor coughing and inhaling, hands massaging his bruised neck to force air back into his windpipe and chest. He had never felt so helpless before, not in such a way. 

"Captain Turghest, you and the sea captains of the coastal cities and towns are too self-centered and selfish to look beyond the coastline. Your fathers and grandfathers have trained you to always look out to sea, to study the winds and waves, and decide which time and season would best serve the paying fishermen and seafarers too eager to sail under your steady course.

"But when you are forced to look beyond the coast, to turn your eyes around and look at the hearts and minds of the people inland, your countrymen living far from shore, in the foothills and caverns down south, poor, cold and dying, you will appreciate that not everything revolves around who pays and who doesn't, who sails the fastest and who returns the safest. You will learn that there is more to being the captain of a ship, than just the ship itself. Nethulsis is not just about the sea, Captain Turghest. It is about our land."

Stieghan sniffed, grabbed hold of the side and pulled himself back on his feet. If he felt fear, he tried not to show it. Instead, he knew there wasn't much time left. The Wraith-Lord was never seen as a patient ruler.

"Then why me? If I am such a lousy benefactor, if all I care about is my ship and my crew, what use am I as a king and lord?"

"Until now, Captain Turghest, you still do not see. You refuse to admit the truth about yourself. Where were you when Ygnar had to fight off the sea serpents of Xenthiss, to defend our shores from their festering malice? Where were you when he joined Messathia in her war against Mortarsis, to defend Nethulsis' honor? These things do not benefit you, captain, so you chose not to--"

There was a knock on the cabin door. Stieghan glanced at it, then turned back towards the wraith. As if expecting it, the Wraith-Lord dissolved into the darkness, leaving him alone in the cabin. Stieghan walked over to the door but stopped short of unlocking it.

"What is it?" He whispered.

"Cap'n, fog's cleared but we're seeing some rain-mist comin' our way, ten miles off the starboard bow." It was Johyness, his navigator. There was concern in his voice, no doubt about it.

Stieghan let out a sigh and unlocked the door. He opened it. To his horror, it wasn't a living Johyness standing there. Stieghan was facing the dead corpse of Johyness, skin all peeling and grey, one of his eyes missing and spilling black ichor, the other all white and glassy. As Johyness reached out with his hand towards Stieghan, the captain let out a yell and side-stepped quickly, slamming the door against his navigator's face. The force knocked Johyness back, who stumbled and collapsed onto the floor. Stieghan looked beyond and saw the rest of his crew, all ghostly and pale, staring back at him.

"You're all dead, how can this be?" He muttered to himself.

Leganthel, his elven first-mate, came over and helped Johyness back up. The elf's hair had fallen into clumps, his baldness marked by a deep red gash from scalp to nape, threatening to split his head in two. His eyes were sunken pale black buttons with lips so torn, they looked like a dead clover. The elf pointed towards the rain-mist, his words forced through his lisp.

"Captain, the rain-mist. I recognize them. They're the Mists of Ulthiss and they're headed towards Ulseth. They shroud a dangerous creature of the sea. If we sail towards it, the mist will blind us and we will be trampled by the beast. I suggest we turn back, return to Ulseth and warn the others before it's too late."

Stieghan barely heard him, not that his elf spoke funny, but there was a throbbing in his head and none of them answered his question. He began to wonder if he had knocked his head and lost his bearings. Maybe he was dreaming. Maybe it had all been a dream.

He stumbled out of his quarters and saw the rain-mists on the horizon, just as what Leganthel and Johyness had said. The full moon was at its peak, illuminating their faces and the ship like a gossamer blanket. By Kaeos, he wasn't dreaming.

"Captain Turghest, I'd say we sail right for it! We've got weapons we can use to fight it! A hook we can arm from the bowsprit and let loose with a trigger to frighten it! Better we fight it off than let it reach Ulseth, where there are women and children, families and friends!" Words from Urvilla, his weapons master. She had almost half her face peeled off, revealing bone, flesh and blood veins. Her hair hung loosely off to one side, her left arm was broken and bent the other way, and her clothes were bloody and torn. They had been intimate before, Stieghan suddenly remembered, but it was over several drunken stupors during one of their more boring tours, which they chose to abandon as quickly as it got started.

Looking at Urvilla now made him nauseous. He vomited. The stench of death finally got to him, coupled with the glistening sounds of maggots slithering all over their decomposing bodies, chewing from inside their hearts, livers and lungs, crawling out through their nostrils, earlobes and fingernails. His gaze looked past Urvilla towards the rest of his crew. Even Osulo was a husk of a hawk - shed feathers and broken beak, a deep gash on his neck revealing tendons and sinew covered in blood. It was a nightmare he'd wished he could wake up from. 

"You're in a world between the living and the dead now, Captain Turghest. It prepares you for what is to come. You must be ready when it happens. Your crew is already prepared.  Are you?"

Stieghan looked up, wiped his mouth and beard. The Wraith-Lord stood nearby, observing him.

"This is a test isn't it?" He stood up straight, ignoring his crew-men, pointing his finger at the Wraith-Lord, "You set me up for this?!"

"You are the captain of this ship. Your crew awaits your instructions. The rain-mist and the monster it hides is real. You must decide quickly, Captain Turghest."

The Illuthian was no match for the creature from within the Mists of Ulthiss. It was a leviathan born from the depths of the Upper Vaults, and all it wanted was to devour the living. (Reference image from https://www.artstation.com/artwork/nY1yO)

---

"All right! All hands on deck!" Stieghan moved quickly, unsheathing his rapier and spurring his undead crew into action. Osulo squawked to the rest, telling them where to go, what to do. Urvilla, Pouhl and Quenthus mounted the hook on the bowsprit using ropes and a pulley, while Leganthel summoned a weightlessness spell to ease their effort and keep the trigger secured. Wymgard was up on the crow's nest, his right arm now a bloody stump, shouting back at Byorian and Johyness as they navigated the ship towards the mist.

As the Illuthian sailed closer towards it, the waves grew choppier, the moon disappeared and the clouds grew darker. Stieghan could feel the weight of the Illuthian's bow pounding into the water, then riding upwards, then pounding down again. Right up front, the figurehead of the God Kaeos mocked the weather. Her masts strained against the winds, ropes unfurling as Pouhl and Osulo hurriedly caught them and yanked them back. The boom spun out of control, prompting Leganthel to cast a spell to stabilize it, allowing Urvilla to grab it with her one good arm and shift it back into place. All across the deck, Stieghan could see his crew struggling to keep control of his ship steady, despite their broken limbs and misshapen faces. He admired their tenacity and persistence, something he wished he had more of himself.

The Illuthian began to rock more violently, heaving and heeling against stronger waves.

​"Steady!" Stieghan shouted, his hand on Byorian's saggy and mushed-up shoulder as the dwarf steered the wheel against another pounding while Johyness consulted his compass with a shaky hand. Rain was beating against their faces, winds were pummeling their hair and feathers, and streaks of lightning flashed in front of the ship. The brief illumination lit up the wall of rain and mists in front of them, projecting the silhouette of a tall, gigantic creature too horrifying to describe. It was a creature from the depths of hell, its size more than forty times the length of the ship. Its serpentine and ugly head was as big as a hill, with jaws large enough to swallow the Illuthian whole and accidentally spit it out.

"By Kaeos! That hook's not gonna frighten the bugger!" Quenthus screamed, hands covering his flimsy skullcap. As if it heard him, the leviathan unleashed a loud gurgling cry, like a thousand horns blasting at once. It slid back underneath the water as the light faded, throwing a giant wave that curled underneath the Illuthian.

"Byorian, I want eyes all along starboard and port. Watch out for its head and tail!" Stieghan spat, taking over the wheel as the dwarf scrambled across the deck and rallied Quenthus and Pouhl towards the forecastle. Leganthel and Urvilla stayed on the main deck, Osulo hung from one of the shrouds to keep a lookout just below Wymgard, while the captain and Johyness remained behind the wheel.

"It's gone back down cap'n!" Wymgard, the youngest member of the crew at nineteen, shouted from the crow's nest. "Can't see it!"

A streak of lightning suddenly struck the mainmast, setting it alight. Osulo squawked towards the boy, motioning for him to jump onto the net-shrouds and back down to safety. Wymgard scrambled, his right stump of an arm caught against one of the rigging.

"Leganthel! Drench more rain on the blaze!" Stieghan shouted at the elf. With a quick nod, the elf raised both his arms and chanted, diverting more rain onto the fiery mast. Despite the windswept weather and magical rain, the mast continued to burn, the fire roaring downwards towards Wymgard who was still stuck on the nest.

"Jump lad!" Byorian screamed from the front, panic clearly in his voice.

"Incoming off the starboard bow!" It was Pouhl, he had spotted something large and dark flying through the mists and rain towards them. It was the leviathan's tail, striking sideways towards the ship's masts off to the right. Stieghan gritted his teeth and sprung the wheel quickly to steer the ship a hard left. Everyone lost their balance and scuttled sideways to port, Wymgard screaming as the fire licked against his feet. 

As the ship heeled to the left, the giant tail missed the bow and forecastle, its tip swinging and tearing across the starboard taffrail of the main deck right across the quarterdeck, before lunging upwards over the top of the stern. Stieghan ducked in time, but not so for Johyness, who caught its impact full on his chest. Stieghan and his crew watched with horror as his helmsman flew into the dark and the sea, the giant tail slithering back into the waves like it was never there.

"Man overboard..." Urvilla whispered, tears trickling down the one good side of her face.

Stieghan spun the wheel again as the stern compensated for the hard turn, maneuvering the Illuthian back towards the right. The fire had engulfed the top of the main mast, consuming the nest and threatening to sweep across the shrouds and main-sails. Just down below on the main deck, Osulo had pulled Wymgard to safety, much to everyone's relief.

"You made the decision to face the beast, Captain Turghest. Now you must bear the responsibility for the consequence."

Stieghan looked to his right. The Wraith-Lord was standing there with him, his tattered cloak fluttering against a different kind of breeze, not a single drop of rain on him at all.

"What must I do?" Tears were soaking up his cheeks, far more than the rain and chill. He could even feel the warmth on his face.

The Wraith-Lord pointed away, out towards the port stern, to Stieghan's rear left, where Johyness had last disappeared.

"How many more must die? How much do you really love your people?"

"I am not going to do what Ygnar did to his men and his ship! I will not sacrifice their lives for my sake!"

"But you must Captain Turghest. It is a fee you must pay if you want to join us... all thirty-four of us."

Stieghan finally understood the Wraith-Lord's offer. It was never a test. It was a sacrifice. All the previous sea captains had sacrificed their crew and ship to earn the power of becoming a wraith. To feed the watery beast all just to protect the land. The Wraith-Lord had been right. The ship captains had always been greedy. They would rather give away what they have to benefit themselves rather than suffer the same fate as their crew and ship.

"Never!" Stieghan shouted back through the rain, squinting through the sleet so the wraith can see his determination.

"Captain Turghest, I am the dominion and caretaker of Nethulsis, of both sea and land. I go by thirty-four different names. I was Hrognar... Godhal... Gvienar... Ulafsen... Turgyal... Erasyal... Pauldric... Shieya... Caulfen... Rothufsen... Gyladh... Wymshul... Arlythe... Margella... Xeptus... Virghal... Lynnebrook... Illysanth... Ulsethe... Wrenthis... Durmont... Armaine... Urfgal... Byornal... Glake... Iluhth... Gyrell... Thorstings... Dryndsall... Olafsen... Qynarro... Physsal... Oarin... and I was... Ygnar."

Stieghan could hear the leviathan's roar in the distance. It was charging back towards them. They were running out of time. From the corner of his eye, he could see his remaining crew assembled around the main deck and forecastle - Osulo, Wymgard, Byorian, Leganthel, Urvilla, Quenthus and Pouhl - their attention focused on the approaching leviathan, their arms held together as they tightened the ropes that held the hook latched onto the bowsprit in place. The fire had engulfed the main mast and sails, licking across the shrouds and snapping at the adjacent masts.

"The kingdom needs not just the intelligence and wisdom of her ship commanders, but the preservation and sacrifice of her masters. Without them to keep her soul and spirit in check, her wrath and wraith-like powers will consume us all, and Nethulsis will cease to exist as one. Without the thirty-four of us soul captains to keep the wraith in my place, this land, this sea, will falter and freeze. In time, Nethulsis and her people will be lost and forgotten. Only chaos keeps us in the order we live, Captain Turghest. Without chaos, we will become nothing. You must choose - your ship and crew for the greater good, or all of your lives against the inevitable chaos this leviathan will wreak once it reaches our shore."

Stieghan had made his choice. He didn't need to hear the Wraith-Lord speak any more. With his rapier still in his hand, he yelled and struck the Wraith-Lord through his heart. The rapier merely passed through, like a stick through water. Stieghan could feel the tendrils of the wraith wrapping around his blade and absorbing its metal.

The Wraith-Lord suddenly laughed, perplexed by Stieghan's simplistic survival instincts.

"You think a simple blade can undo me?"

Stieghan pulled his rapier back, holding what looked like a half-melted blade. He stepped back.

"No, but the lightning-fire of Kaeos, our God of Chaos will."

Stieghan looked towards his crew, locked eyes with Osulo and Byorian.

"Now!" He shouted. The crew-members tugged at the ropes and instead of triggering the hook, it tore through the underside of the main mast.

Distracted, the Wraith-Lord looked towards his right and realized too late, as the main mast, still burning despite the rain and winds, toppled down and crushed upon his face.

The Wraith-Lord screeched in pain, as the fire burned through his cloak and darkness, eating its insides. Within seconds, the Wraith-Lord was gone, its essence absorbed into the holy fire that now surged and roared across the quarterdeck.

Beyond the flames, beyond the bow of the Illuthian, the leviathan reared its giant head over the ship for one last glimpse at the terrorized crew. Before it could throw its jaws wide open and swallow the ship whole, it dissolved into thin air, fading away like a sudden jolt out of a nightmare.

As the crew members blinked and squinted to see what had happened, they realized that the leviathan was no longer there. It was gone. So were the rain, the mists and the thunderous waves. In fact, they looked at one another and realized that they were no longer disfigured and dead, they were alive again, their faces and limbs back where they once were. The spell of the Wraith-Lord was gone.

They turned towards the quarterdeck, where their captain stood. The fire had raged across the entire deck, surrounding Stieghan. It didn't matter. The Illuthian will sink in a matter of minutes.

"Captain!" Byorian shouted, looking for a way to toss a rope or harness over the flames.

Osulo suddenly pointed and squawked. They looked at their captain. Something weird was happening.

Stieghan realized it himself. He raised both his hands and noticed that he was transforming. He could no longer see his fingers. He was becoming translucent. Suddenly, the flames engulfed him. Stieghan screamed, burning with a pain he could not fight, his flesh, bones, clothes and hair consumed in a whoosh and cry. Before long, the flames too disappeared, swept up into the sky as if it had a mind of its own. All that remained where their captain once stood was a charred quarterdeck and a broken mast.

"What in Kaeos' name just happened? Where's our captain?" Pouhl asked, relieved to be alive and yet, perplexed that his captain had just vanished.

Byorian lowered his head and touched the man's shoulder. The dwarf finally figured it out. "You've said it yourself mate. Kaeos took him as well..."

Pouhl looked around him and saw tears among his crew-mates. It seemed that the curse was never fully lifted.

"He's gone Pouhl," Quenthus said, "looks like our captain saved us but was unable to save himself."

Wymgard clambered over the soot and debris, and scoured the floor of the quarterdeck. He poked around and found the captain's rapier. He lifted it up, showing the broken blade. Scribbled across the hilt were the words: With this blade, I summon chaos and with luck, avenge my brotherhood.

"Captain Turghest didn't just save us. He saved our country."

---

As dawn swept across the horizon and the Illuthian gently sailed along a favorable tide back towards Ulseth, the crew tossed ash and sang eulogies in memory of Captain Stieghan and Johyness. They embraced one another and held hands, comforted by the fact that they had survived to tell the story.

They failed to look beyond the port stern, as an ephemeral creature hovered just slightly above the lapping waves, watching them from afar.

The creature was shrouded in a flimsy grey cloak and had blue-colored eye sockets, tendrils that curled and licked against the sunlight. The creature let out a mournful sigh, aware that its time had only just begun. It could feel the sea-breeze nonetheless, the hopeful sounds of fishermen, port-side activities and seagulls from the shore. There was a lingering sadness in its eyes, the way wisps of smoke betrayed its anxious movements. But there was also a steady caution in the way it shifted its weight, the silent flicker of the fire in its eyes.

Before the creature dissolved and disappeared, it smiled at the sight of the Illuthian, most of its crew still alive and well. It could feel the sounds and smells of the land, beyond the sea, further inland. It could hear the distant echoes of people crying for help, the sick and destitute asking for compassion and hope. It could hear the chatter of the sea captains, sitting in their wealthy councils, counting gold and regaling tales of bravery and courage at sea. It could sense it all, like a blessing and a curse, constantly pounding and begging for attention inside its head. It was time to rule the land... time to maintain the chaos within the order of this icy waste of a land it called home.

"I am the 35th Wraith-Lord of the kingdom of Nethulsis... and my name was Stieghan Turghest."

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