The Blue Sea of Lost Souls - Part 1
- Enekos
- Aug 15, 2023
- 17 min read
It was early November 1521 when Quietus Alpharious carefully uncorked the bottle of the Limpart’s 300-year-old Aurum Mead – a fitting way to conclude successful negotiations with the officers of the Black Sails. Safe passage for the ships of the Golden Bank had been assured. In exchange, the Bank would treat the Sails as an ally on any future battlefield. And both had agreed zero interference in each other’s business dealing and property investments. Yes, a good deal and a good reason to pour the exquisite mead.
“So, my dear Mr. Mearaithe, I hear your ventures into the Menavam provided rich fruits.” Quietus made the statement, but it was also question that probed the back of Mear’s mind.
“Not quite fruits, more adventures into Khellarq: a place that doesn’t look kindly upon outsiders.” Mearaithe was not perplexed by the hidden question.
“Ah, the forbidden lands.” Again, a statement that was also a question. Mearaithe nodded, took another sip of the Aurum Mead, and smiled. The business, in those forbidden lands was his business and his business alone. Save for the information he would pass to Jean Flint. That business was the origin of this story: the search for an artifact, and his business in those forbidden lands had borne fruits.
For the past few years, Mearaithe had taken adventures beyond the Behemoth. The ship would arrive in some port and Mearaithe would bid farewell to the crew and, with a simple backpack, head off into the unknown (and sometimes known). Along the way, he would gather the lost souls and those whose unfortunate coincidences placed them in peril.
We’ve heard many of those tales already. You’ll remember the unfortunate story of Horatio who was merely unloading a cart when Euph’s plan to bring down the Blind Monk intertwined with his story, creating fire and carnage the likes never seen in Veraku. Mearaithe called these ‘innocent coincidences’ much like the farmer from Ekrinaya who went to meet a watchmaker only to hear his last breaths and find himself the suspect in a murder.
Some tales from the Behemoth may never be told and when they depart for other adventures, their reasons will travel with them. But there are some tales that can be told. Some are brief, others are sad, some are laced with humour, but one thing resonates clearly: All came to the Behemoth to help Jean Flint, and each vowed to treat the other with respect. When the respect dies then what the hell are we fighting for?
The Lady with the Billowing Dress
Whenever I mention a white billowing dress, your mind is often drawn to the unfortunate lady hanging upside-down, hurling profanity (and knives) at people who either wanted to rob her or (most probable) murder her. We last saw her in the original great fire of 1519, but I never explained how she came to be upside down in the warehouse that was so carefully robbed by one Lady Penelope du Chemont before all hell broke loose.
The lady in the billowing dress came from a land far beyond the Blue Sea. There are many others who arrived in the world from the same place. It’s a place where deadly spiders outnumber the deadly snakes, where furry creatures bounce up and down, where jungles meet mountains and then deserts and just about everything that isn’t nailed down wants to kill you. But it more than makes up for this by its sheer beauty, succulent food, and mostly pleasant weather – except when that’s also trying to kill you.
Some people decide to seek out new adventures and they often cross the Blue Sea and find themselves in Ghenu. It’s a decent place to begin a new life. Sure, it’s colder and yes it rains more. But there are still mountains, lots of trees and it’s only a moment from adventure and death. But when you arrive on a trader’s vessel with one heavy chest of clothes and begin introducing yourself as the Bogan Queen, most people don’t understand the first word. They do talk about the strange sounding woman who claims to be a queen but only has a chest and is currently holed up in the Silvered Birch tavern. Their laughter tends to carry and eventually reaches the ears of the Queen’s Guard (the Veraku Queen), and they want to know what’s so funny. Well, that tends to lead to suits of armour heading into the Silvered Birch and banging on a door, finding someone in a billowing dress that begins swearing in a language not used by the known Queen and asking her to politely come with them to a waiting carriage. Which has bars on the windows. And then she finds that knives don’t work too well against armour until you find the soft bits in the seams. That makes them mad. So now you have attempted murder to add to the charge of impersonating a member of the royal family – a list that is now growing by the minute to include use of foul language in a public place, resisting arrest, scaring horses, scaring grown men in armour, public disorder, making men in armour run when they don’t really want to, not stopping when ordered, causing damage to numerous apple carts and their respective fruits, actual assault of several people who appear from nowhere in the tight alleys (she calls it bumping into them, they call it assault), theft of silver coins from one such person who had just won a small fortune at an illegal wager house (she called it helping the man pick up the silver coins after bumping into him) and ultimately evading capture resulting in her become a fugitive with a 10,000 gold coin reward (dead or alive) for a woman in a billowing dress.
And even when she makes it to Veraku because, well it’s the last place they would look for her: well now everyone is looking for her. And some people find her, which results in temporary incarceration (usually hanging upside-down) in some barn or other, to which she now adds murder, grievous and actual bodily harm to the list of charges against her. Which is why she was so pleased to meet Lady Penelope du Chemont that fateful night…
Her journey from Ghenu had been mostly quiet, keeping away from towns, stealing the odd piece of bread when no-one was looking. Sometimes that bread had cheese which brings me nicely into the story of Gaius the Hunter.
Yamara Fruit
Gaius waits patiently for the Menavariyam striped goat which produces a milk that is both mild and rejuvenating at once. It’s said that once fermented the effects also include the feeling of additional fortitude and it’s the preferred cheese of the Queen’s guard.
The trick to hunting the Menavariyam striped goat is to always carry a yellow yarmara fruit. Yellow: not orange. It’s particularly important to use the correct colour as the effects on the eventual cheese (after the goat eats the fruit) can be… unpredictable.
The problem with moonlight is that yellow and orange fruits tend to look the same, so taming the goat with yarmara fruit was a small gamble. And on this occasion the gamble didn’t pay off. Orange yamara fruit isn’t deadly: we’re not talking about mass-murder here… well not exactly.
Orange yamara fruit has an added potency that’s too much for the average member of the Queen’s Guard to cope with. ‘Hit me with the battering ram,’ isn’t what you’d get from yellow yamara, nor is the sudden feeling of being so invincible, that a member of the Queen’s Guard actually believed he could jump from the watch tower and not take any injury. He was completely wrong of course. Although he did strike a heroic warrior pose as he landed, followed by the shattering of bones.
Gaius was somewhat lucky as a cheese fayre was in full swing and Divol couldn’t resist experiencing something from his past life. But Gaius was unlucky because he was the only person with cheese made from the Menavariyam striped goat and questions were soon asked about yellow and orange yamara fruit. All roads began to reach back to Gaius and angry pointy metal soon followed.
He spent the night cramped up in a small crate as Divol’s wagon bumped hurriedly across the landscape hearing only the bumps and bangs and a muffled voice shouting “Be quiet back there!”
Once safely away from the Menavariyam and numerous villages along the way, they stopped to make camp just outside Ghenu, where the silhouette of the Behemoth could be described in the moonlit bay. The choice for Gaius was sparse. Return to his home and face the wrath of the Queen’s Guard, find a new home anywhere beyond their gaze, or: “That ship. That ship, right there…”
The Problem with Denaviim
Not everyone who made it across the Blue Sea reached Ghenu. James the Great was such a fellow, landing in the port of Whenutoo – a lovely place from the distractions of life and somewhere that people from across the known world would connect and share their experiences. It was a good place to set up a shoppe and sell artifacts and rare treasures – sometimes so rare they were made in small factories on the outskirts of Denaviim – a city we are yet to explore in the lore.
When an expected shipment of exotic figurines from the (ahem) 9th century failed to arrive, James the Great booked passage on a ship to the mainland. It was to sail as dark fell and armed only with a billet du passage James the Great set foot to the harbour but popped into the Whenutoo Tavern along the way where one drink became two and two became a card game and a card game became seven drinks and… well he woke up on a ship – just not the one sailing for Denaviim…
The Gaius Ripple
As James adjusted to his new life aboard the Behemoth, the great ship’s anchor plunged into sea and the usual commotion of heading to shore began with the Bogan Queen tasked with a simple quest to acquire gunpowder from a local – illegal - merchant. Everything went well until she stepped out of the rowboat and onto the soft sand. It went downhill from there on in – or rather uphill as she needed to head into the foothills on the Ghenu side of the Menavariyam…
First there were the checkpoints where members of the Queen’s Guard continued to search travellers for traces of yamara fruit: the exploits of Gaius the Hunter were still fresh in their minds. This forced the heavily armed lady in the billowing dress to take a less obvious route following the streams that lead into the hill country. I’m told that billowing dresses tend to become heavy when their hems touch muddy water. She was vaguely sure she was heading in the right direction, but she wasn’t sure.
Once passed the village, she left the river and headed towards drier ground, approached a tree overhanging the sandstone rocks and suddenly felt something tight grasping her ankle, followed by an unexpected offer to take a seat on the ground, get dragged a small distance only to be flung upside-down, mouthing evermore obscenities as her favourite knife tumbled to the ground.
As she swung from side to side, she became aware of figures approaching her, reached into hidden pockets and began launching her small collection of throwing knives. She got one between the eyes and shouted more obscenities at him. As she swung, one of the men struck another with a rock and then plunged his sword into another’s neck. He then made his way towards her. The Bogan Queen was having none of this, whispers something to him, waits for him to lean in and then punched him in the mouth.
She remembers he was really kind to her, even cut her down. She swore a lot but as she ran out of breath he asked if when she came across the Blue Sea. Turns out they came from the same town thousands of leagues away… He’d arrived with little money, found a tavern on the outskirts of Ghenu and got involved with these unsavoury thieves. He liked Jonas – but Jonas was now dead, and he owed him money anyway.
They made an uneasy alliance, found the gunpowder merchant, made the exchange, and headed back toward the ship. By that time, Bogus Khan was sold on the idea of becoming a pirate…
Before his Time
Not everyone came from the same place as the Bogan Queen, but they often came across the Blue Sea. And, just as not everyone made it to Ghenu, not everyone made it to dry land at all. One was hungry and thirsty in a small boat writing in their journal Water, water everywhere and not a drop to drink…
Lost at sea, facing starvation, and dying of thirst, Alpha Nobbs was at death’s door when he saw a giant turtle with a ball on his back… no, no he was mistaken. It was a ship; a dark, ominous ship and he was pulled aboard. True, the idea had been to rob him, but even in a weakened state he proved to be a formidable fighter.
His story was simple. He was a merchant of trades from far across the Blue Sea and while he began his journey on a golden ship known as the Rincewind, a combination of pirates and a mutinous crew lead to his escape in a relatively small boat, with just a couple of men. Both had succumbed during a storm, leaving him alone and adrift. When taken aboard the Behemoth, the merchant had proven to outclass many aboard with his sword and he simply asked the crew to allow him to convince them of his talents in the procurement of fine goods from which they could profit.
The Rum Problem
The day before the Behemoth left port and found Alpha adrift at sea, Lolosenfen was minding his own business in the Ghenu Tavern, drinking some cheap ale, and taking small bites from some nuts the barkeep had left for him. No one bothered him and he liked that. He was a mercenary, and he drank to remember, then remembered to forget. He’d spent some time as a legend – a for hire fighting machine that went everywhere, except the sea. Every battle was celebrated with ale and that often led to a wandering into places where a sober version of himself would fear to tread. Like those who light the darkness – the sanctuary of new era or something fighters who carried torches into the night battles. He’d escaped by playing dead and was now holed up the Ghenu Tavern waiting for a signal.
“Rum. And one for my friend.” A voice beside him asked the barkeep. It was gruff, focused and broke the chill of the autumn air.
“I don’t drink rum,” he responded; his mind lost in his cloudy ale.
“You do now Lolosenfen…”
Mention of his name made him look up. One thought was to kill this person. No there was only one thought. But one look suggested otherwise. He knew this figure. Knew of this figure. He was a pirate lord, some called him a king, but they didn’t live long afterwards.
“There’s a ship waiting for a man of your talents.”
“Do I have to drink rum?”
“It’s kind of frowned upon if you don’t.”
The Whenutoo Sting
We got slightly ahead of ourselves in the timeline – the story of Alpha slotted in nicely, so let the sands of time rush backwards a few weeks as the goose flies into the east-end of Veraku and sets her gaze on the Tipsy Kitten tavern: home to the shy serial killer known as PuddyTats.
That’s possibly harsh, but she did like her own space – which was hard to come by in a city such as Veraku. Known principally for her investments into properties across Veraku, she engaged merely in the transactional process and seldom in the chatter between people. Which all makes her reason for making a home in a tavern odd.
Of course, people would become drunk and try to engage in conversation with her. And they tended to take umbrage by her apparent snub to their advances. Which resulted in PuddyTats often leaving the tavern in the dead of night, only to be followed, whereupon a slightly stinging sensation would begin in their neck as time slowed down – enough for them to see PuddyTats tuck a small pipe back into her tunic. It wasn’t a smoking pipe – just a long piece of metal and they felt so fuzzy now. She was saying something, but it made no sense. They just wanted to sleep. Sleep sounded good. A long sleep. Just here in the mud. Ah, what’s that bright light. Mother, is that you? But aren’t you dead? Oh, it’s so peaceful here…
This only happened a few times – maybe a dozen. The poisoned dart was effective. Death was painless and yes, she did find it on the isle of Whenutoo, where she too landed following her journey across the Blue Sea. Eventually, with the mysterious deaths piling up PuddyTats felt the need to move on and happened to cross paths with the green cult that our friend Jeremy… you know, the decent one, had proven it wasn’t futile to resist there mind-bending ideas. To PuddyTat’s mind, it seem a good enough place to become hidden for a while. That “while” became a year until there came a need to return to Whenutoo to acquire more poison. I’m not saying there were more bodies involved, but her stocks were running precariously low.
Of course, Whenutoo is a frequent port for those who don’t want to be found, which is the perfect place for Mearaithe to find them anyway. And because Mearaithe goes everywhere, he hears everything. He hears about the quiet killer, and he believes she’ll make a good addition to the crew. And she’s easy to find.
‘He is dressed in green,’ she thought. But he was talking to her and that meant she had to use her final poison dart. She blew and he just continued talking. Nothing. No effect. She took a cursory look at the pipe. Yes, the dart was gone. She looked back at him. He was still talking, but then stopped. Sighed and said, “Anti-venom.”
It was fascinating. For the first time someone had survived an encounter with her, and she was hooked by the tales of the Behemoth. How she was free to come and go as she pleased, how no one would bother her, how she could continue her business so long as she didn’t mind helping to remove certain threats along the way. She liked that…
But My hands are Tied…
Assassins come in many forms and the name “Freehand” conjures up many ideas – perhaps this will be the story of a master painter or perhaps it’s the story of someone who always has a freehand to help people. We’ve often found that even the most well-intentioned of souls can find themselves on the wrong side of the Queen’s Guard and such things can (and do) happen to painters and those who help people.
But Freehand gained his reputation from doing anything he set his mind to, his way. And for the frail of mind, and without wishing to get myself on the wrong side of his skills, let’s just say that people paid him money and he took care of other people. You have a frown on your face. You seem puzzled. I know he’s left the ship now, but walls have ears, and the sea has eyes and I’m trying to be discreet here. He took care of people for money. He used sharp pieces of metal attached to whisper quiet dark ash or beech strips of wood, placed into a device which propelled the ash or beech (and therefore metal) at fast speeds into an unsuspecting person, whom he had been paid to take care of. Look he’s gone now, and I don’t want to say why he came to the ship, nor why he left. You come to your own damn conclusions.
The Bane of my Wolf
And then, in the heart of Ghenu lies a simple shoppe that sells herbs of many kinds, tonics for the heart and talismans for the evil spirits that are said to wander in the night. You have to remember this is 1520 and such tales are what makes sure small children are home before sunset.
The owner of this shoppe is Fentanyl who acquires his wares by travelling to across the realm to exotic places we are yet to discover. When you meet Fentanyl, a few things can happen. He can make you feel relaxed, confused, euphoric, or a general feeling of nausea and inability to breathe. It really depends on your maladies and the mixture of herbs and tonics he prescribes.
And he is absolutely certain of the right mixtures for the right ailments, which would tend to make his story simple to tell. But then you have to wonder – if everyone on the Behemoth is seeking the avoid unwanted attention, what happened to turn Fentanyl from a healer to a fugitive?
We can assure you that all his patients are well. His story is more accidental. At 4am, most mornings he defies curfew to run into the foothills to find the new shoots of various plants that are to be freshly ground later in the morning. He generally knows how to avoid the night watch but lately there’s been fresh patrols as they search for a cheesemaker known as Gaius. And as everyone knows when you continue running after a night’s watchmen has ordered you to stop, well that invokes responses that mean you simply must continue running.
Until you can’t.
When the net was removed from him, he protested, explaining that he needed to get the herbs. No, I’m not the cheesemaker. Yes of course I know how to make cheese, everyone does. No, I’m not being sarcastic. Sarcasm is when… Flippant? Yes, I have an accent. No, I live here. You’ve been into my shoppe. I cured that strange rash you had. Where are you taking me? I have rights. Look I can get you gold if that’s what you want. No, I’m not bribing you. I have to go. Resisting? No, I’m coming with you, but I need to be somewhere. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get the dogs barking. No, please don’t go through my bag. It’s for personal use. No, definitely don’t smell it. Oh, please untie me, I can help him. Under arrest? Murder? But I tried to help. I own a shoppe. No, I don’t make cheese. Hang? But why? What, this morning? Why are you all holding your necks? What’s happening to you? Oh hello. What do you mean, don’t talk to you? I’m so confused. Are they OK? Dead? How? Oh wait, the Whenutoo Aconite? Yes. Wolf’s Bane. I know it. There’s a cure for it. Sorry. I will be quiet. Who wants to see me? A ship? I can’t go to a ship. I need to be. What’s that powder. Ow. Kinda stings. I feel sleepy.
As much as Mearaithe wanted to find lost souls, he also wanted people with talents and Fentanyl had been in his mind for a few weeks now. It was purely coincidence that they met an armed group of night’s watchmen and… eventually, Fentanyl saw it the same way. Plus, he liked the ship, travelling to exotic places and discovering new herbs, plants and there were always pirates who needed tonics to help them fight for longer.
The Cod Reaper
Ghenu proved to be a popular place for the Behemoth to dock. People seldom asked questions and whenever they arrived the same fishmonger would greet them with the familiar lines. “Cod, get your cod here. I specialise in cod. World’s best reaper of cod. Menendez by name, cod reaper by nature.”
“Do you live local, reaper of cod?” Flint was direct.
“Yessir, got a small shack and I’m out most mornings in my boat with some nets. It’s like sea calls me. Like it’s my duty sir.”
“And you’re handy with a knife?”
“Fillet them myself sir.”
“We have a bigger boat. And a need for someone help improve our meals. Can you fight?”
“Well, I have to sometimes. Some try to steal my nets you see, so things happen at sea. But I’m not telling you anything new.”
“Well, Reaper Menendez, you have a new job.”
The Ring
The sands of time rush forward as you remember the port of Elsewhere and the ramshackle Dabbakins Alehouse, where lost souls go to forget their past and dream about a non-existent future. The man who would become known as Arcturus was sat there. Alone. One hand on a cup – its contents; warm mead. Oblivious to the noise of rowdy drunks he looked at the papers in front of him. One name filled his mind. Marc Wick.
Those same sands of time rush back to the eve before the eve of 1521 and Marc Wick is sat alone in the same Dabbakins Alehouse waiting for the arrival of one man. He touches an ornate, black ring on his left hand, it pulses briefly, and his mind is taken back to the gateway high in Menavam, where the dragons roam. He’d arrived moons ago; a fabric torn between two worlds – exhausted by magic. He smiled. This world was older than time, but anything not understood was deemed magic or the work of talismans. They came with deep alluring stories from ancient and murky pasts, but then their true origins would mean a level of wisdom that few possessed. These were dark days or war and pestilence, trade and thievery, murder for hire and a seeker of knowledge.
A man dressed in green sat beside him, a small glass placed before him, and a dram of rum poured into it. “My apologies, I hope you haven’t waited long…” Mearaithe didn’t look up from his glass.
“Only a thousand eons, Mr. Mearaithe, but you’re here now. We have best begin your journey proper.” He touched his ring once more.
The regulars at the Dabbakins Alehouse felt the rush of wind, snow being sucked in from outside as unprotected candle flames fell silent. The described a darkness and a sudden cold and the pinprick of light so intense they lost all vision for a moment. Some described a pop and as their eyes adjusted and none noticed the hooded stranger and the man in green had disappeared. Two pennies spun on the bar. Mearaithe always paid his way…
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