Arrival by Sea

The ship swayed heavily in the rough sea. Even though the day was cloudless and bright, these northern waters were always rough due to the complex nature of the currents that swept through the Great Northern Archipelago and its ten-thousand islands. It was a tribute to the captain’s skill that the journey had been as smooth as it has, despite the ship’s crew having never sailed these waters before.

While Azalon wasn’t bothered by the constant rocking the elf standing next to him wasn’t faring nearly as well, despite the fact that he had far more experience on the merchant ships than the vulpin scholar did. He was pale and visibly sweating in the frigid air, though supposedly the breeze above deck helped with the seasickness.

Azalon looked up at him with some sympathy, “It won’t be long now.”

They’d been skirting the perimeter of the large foreboding island for a few hours now and the protected harbor that they were sailing for was just now coming into view. It was difficult to picture a less hospitable place. There were no sandy beaches, no vegetation of any kind, just dark and jagged stones rising vertically out of the rough sea. The waves crashing against the stones sounded more like thunder than surf and sent huge plumes of salt water into the air with each undulation. This constant churning generated a thick mist that clung to the shoreline and made navigating these waters particularly dangerous.

The elf nodded, gripping the railing tightly. He didn’t look at Azalon as he spoke, preferring to keep his eyes locked on the distant horizon behind them, “How is it that I’m the one always chosen for ventures like this?”

The fox laughed, a little too quietly to be heard above the cacophony of ocean waves. Azalon had always gotten along well with the older elf, though this was the first time the two of them had traveled together. “You get results. Can’t blame the house for not wanting to take risks with this one.”

Cornell shook his head wearily, “Perhaps it would have been smarter to strive for mediocrity. All I ever wanted was a desk job, you know.”

The fox smiled as he felt that itch at the back of his neck he got whenever someone lied to him. The passive lie detection was one of the more useful abilities from the Arcanum of Secrets. His Scholar archetype was rare enough that hardly anyone knew the kind of powers it granted him. Admittedly they weren’t flashy, or impressive, or particularly useful in combat or as support. They did help him learn things though, and as they say knowledge is power. Well, that’s a thing the scholars say anyway. Most wizards seem to think that it’s actually lightning bolts.

The two of them stood in silence as the ship sailed past a natural looking jetty of sharp rock that helped to form the relatively calm harbor. The thick mist cleared somewhat as they put some distance between the ship and the rocks and in the near distance Azalon could just make out the shabby looking fishing village they were steering towards. That is to say, it was once a fishing village at some point in its history. Whatever people had built the place were long dead. Since the rediscovery of the island the Adventurer’s Guild had been using this ruined village as its base camp. They’d done what they could to make it livable once again, cleared the debris and the mudcrabs out, replaced a few of the roofs, and made sure the tavern was in working order.

Besides the little village though there wasn’t a single inhabited place on the entire island. Unless you counted the dungeon, and if the reports he’d seen were to be believed, the entire island was the dungeon. This of course left the adventurers dependent on merchant houses like House Dennavar to supply them with whatever couldn’t be summoned. It might not be as lucrative as dungeon diving, but at least it was safer.

Now that the ship was sailing through calmer waters Cornell seemed a bit more at ease. Looking down at the fox he asked, “What did you say the name of this place was again?”

Azalon looked up at him with some confusion, “Rhysh?”

Cornell sighed and shook his head, “No, obviously this is Rhysh,” pointing towards the village off in the distance he added, “That shit stain of a place.”

“Ahh, that’s Wolgur.”

“Vulgar?”

Given that the two words were pronounced exactly the same Azalon nodded while Cornell frowned at the place. The fox watched with interest as the ship drew closer and he was able to make out a few more details. Reaching into his coat pocket he withdrew a long spyglass, far larger than it would appear his coat could accommodate. Although he wasn’t an adventurer the vulpine had still spent a considerable percentage of his first year’s salary on an adventurer’s grade Akasha. The enchanted gemstone was surgically implanted, embedded directly onto his sternum. Now that his fur had grown over the small scar on his chest it wasn’t something that anyone could see, and more importantly it couldn’t be taken from him. Well, not without causing significant injury at least.

He had initially bought it because it worked well with his two Arcanum, Secrets and Delirium, giving him better understanding and control of his magical skills. The other powers the Akasha provided were a little less useful to someone in his profession. He could view his “status,” a general purpose diagnosis showing his health and any diseases that might be afflicting him, though that view was really designed for someone who was likely to go into battle, which Azalon decidedly was not. Now that he was traveling for his house though he was getting far more use out of his Akasha’s ability to store and retrieve his traveling equipment from an extra dimensional “inventory” space.

Now that the ship was sailing steady enough for him to use it he focused the spyglass on the town and decided that “shit stain” wasn’t entirely inaccurate. Though the buildings were made of stone the place looked weathered and beaten down. The cracked stone walls slumped drunkenly, bent over the muddy alleyways like nauseous inebriates. Only a few of the buildings looked remotely inhabitable, the mud scraped off the walls and their roofs rebuilt. It wasn’t exactly what Azalon had been expecting of the so called “Lost Empire of Rhysh”

There was a time that the last human empire was feared across the globe. Their black sailed ships would appear like phantoms out of the fog, raiding, pillaging, taking whole cities captive before disappearing back to wherever they had come from. What little is known about the empire came from the few ships that defenders had managed to sink, and even then actual useful information was scant. Despite calling itself an empire Rhysh was apparently just a small island, divided and ruled over by its mage kings.

What Rhysh lacked in size though it made up for in magical might. The enchantments placed on the ships of the black fleet made them nearly indestructible. They would attack without warning with scores of fearsome raiders, who despite being nearly naked, fought with both skill and shocking brutality. Back then, even the world’s greatest warriors were hard pressed in combat against a single raider and mages to this day are still unable to reproduce some of the magical arms and artifacts recovered from the black fleet’s few sunken ships.

It’s been long suspected that these Mage Kings used some kind of illusion magic to hide the location of their island. When compared to transporting a fleet of ships across the world such a working would be child’s play. How the island had remained hidden for so long was still an open question though. Azalon himself bought into the grand illusion theory, suspecting also that such a large illusion would need maintenance and would fail eventually without it.

Rhysh fell close to a thousand years ago though the details behind that calamitous event are completely unknown. The only thing agreed upon was that one day there was a great pulse of dark magic felt across the globe and after that day the black fleet never appeared again. Whatever had happened though was deadly enough that it blighted the entire human species, driving them to extinction less than a century later.

Cornell finally pulled himself away from the railing he’d been gripping tightly for the last several hours. “As vulgar as that place may be, I imagine I’ll find it better than getting tossed about by these waves.”

Azalon tucked his spyglass back into his coat, his Akasha making his breast pocket appear bottomless as the bronze instrument was deposited back into his inventory. “Looks like we have a bit more work cut out for us than we were expecting though.” House Dennavar had organized this expedition to establish a trade hub here at Wolgur, though if this town lacked a functional warehouse their ship wouldn’t be able to drop her cargo and return for more, slowing the rate they could replenish their goods considerably.

The elf nodded, his thoughts no doubt echoing those of the vulpin. “Nothing for it. We might be able to loan a few burly fellows from the guild for heavy lifting, but if the rest of the town is any indication there isn’t a stone mason among them.”

Azalon sighed. After the discovery of the dungeon here the Adventurer’s Guild had stepped in and quickly assumed control. If this had only been an archaeological expedition then the Explorer’s League might have been overseeing the town. Azalon had worked with the league before and while they tended to take things at a slower pace than the Adventurer’s Guild at least they make sure their base camps provided everything needed to be a fully functional village. With adventurers, getting a tavern built seemed to be the only concern.

Given the look of the town though Azalon thought that perhaps having his side of the operation remain aboard the ship for now would be for the best anyway. The lack of a warehouse was really more Cornell’s concern than his own. While the elven merchant’s focus was on selling their goods Azalon was more concerned with acquiring them.

The guild had been here at Wolgur for less than a year now, taking over these ruins and shells of former buildings and establishing a meager outpost for the adventurers here. As far as the exploration of the dungeon though, progress had been unusually slow, at least according to the limited information that their house had been able to purchase. According to their sources this dungeon was unusual in many ways, making the guild’s normal methods of exploration ineffective, though how exactly it differed from the norm wasn’t clear to them.

Azalon though was sure that growing over the bones of the old Rhysh empire had effected the dungeon, influencing, shaping, and guiding it towards something that might be a reflection of that ancient human empire. And if there was one universal constant when it came to dungeons it’s that the adventurers who survive delving into them will be bringing back its treasures, and will be looking to sell.

True relics of the ancient Rhysh Empire have long been considered some of this world’s greatest treasures, owned almost exclusively by the nobility or even royalty. While there wasn’t much trade to be had because of their rarity, his house was one of the few that could both afford to buy relics that made their way onto the market, and could provide the security needed to keep them safe before they were sold again. Scholars like Azalon were needed to confirm the authenticity of both old and newly discovered artifacts, though more often than not he was rooting out forgeries.

To this end Azalon had spent half his life learning about the empire, studying its language, its artifacts. While he had never expected that the lost empire would be rediscovered in his lifetime, both he and his superiors in the merchant house saw how well suited his particular set of skills would be for this mission. He’d still be working with Cornell and the others of course, but his skills at apprising the value of whatever the adventurers happened to bring back with them were fairly critical to the success of their endeavors here.

The fox was still musing about how they might establish themselves in a poorly appointed dungeon town such as this as their vessel slowly began to pull alongside of one of Wolgur’s old stone docks, marking the end of their long and treacherous journey at sea.