Edge of The Mist

Sitting in her cabin, Captain Naoki sighs as she reviews her latest journal entry.

Cycle 94 - Picked up six swimmers, ran out of apples. Two overboard, one suicide. Did some fishing with Liz, made a good joke about sharks. Morale: not fantastic.

It’s been somewhere in the realm of 94 days, or at least sleep cycles, since this cursed voyage began. Nobody was able to keep track after about a week since they entered The Mists.

Isra flooded — the whole world flooded. It was earthquakes, terrible, unrelenting earthquakes, and then the flooding. In those frantic moments, all anyone was concerned with was getting to the boats. But given hindsight, all agree: it was another cataclysm.

Many were crushed in the rubble. Millions drowned. Some could swim, and we picked them up. In the first few weeks, the crew rescued hundreds of people from all walks of life. The Depravity was built to be larger than she would ever reasonably need, with bunks not only for her, her esteemed guests, and the crew, but also a few Legions worth of invading army. She never expected to fill the entire thing, but it won’t be but so long at this rate.

Because you would have expected the swimmers, the survivors, to have stopped, see. You’d expect, after a month or so, that there wouldn’t be any more, that they would have all starved, at least. But even now, after she’s slept ninety-some times, the crew continues to spot and haul up survivors. At first, they were all from Isra, and many of them still are, but a lot of them aren’t -- a lot of them aren’t even from The Overworld at all, as near as she can tell. Some of them speak common, some of them don’t, but it seems like they all have the same sort of story: their home flooded.

There’s also some degree of strangeness regarding time. The days blend together, yes, but different people have different memories. Naoki, she remembers thirty-some years of relatively peaceful rule, as do most of those who originally made it to the ship with her. But some of those that have been hauled up, they remember only ten, fifteen, forty, or even more, in one case. One pageboy insists that he’s the sixth generation of his family to serve “The Imperial Family” and has all sorts of stories about all these children and grandchildren she never had, and bloody conquests of places she’s never heard of. He’s interesting to talk to, but that ‘version’ of Naoki also apparently committed lots of war crimes, so it’s a bit awkward. And then at the same time, there’s another page boy who she remembers as one of the first she trained, but he doesn’t remember finishing training and insists that the flood came on a date that she remembers as having been a perfectly fine and sunny day she spent doing the city’s taxes. The two pages aren’t related, but it’s all very strange, every bit of it.

It’s a cruel twist of fate, she thinks. To end her Empire but not end her, and instead consign her to being the captain of this boat of the dead, floating through The Mist for time immemorial. It’s no way to live. She had a good thing lined up for the afterlife, too, but no! Stuck here on this damn boat, without the sound of the waves, without the sea breeze, and without many of the people, she cared for most.

It’s a raw deal, Naoki thinks. She tried to do her best, and where did she end up? In damn purgatory, floating aimlessly until such a point as she’s forced to eat fish. You’d think it a mercy that fish are attracted to the ship the same way people are, but Naoki hates fish! Fishing is a fine social activity because you just sit there chatting for a few hours and then at the end you say “oh I forgot to bait my hook again” but to actually eat fish —

Naoki’s mental rant is interrupted by something strange happening. The world outside, through the porthole, goes dark.

Naoki blinks. Rubs her eyes, blinks again. The dim, pallid, half-light of The Mists is all that’s ever been outside, for months now. You mean to say… Dropping her journal, Naoki goes over to the porthole, opens it, and sure enough, it’s dark outside. And that’s… Waves against the hull?

It’s a crowd on the stairs, but a sharp word cuts a path. Captain Naoki emerges up onto the deck, and sure enough, there are stars up there, and -- wait. No, what the hell stars are those? She stops in place at the top of the stairs and cranes her neck upward, trying to decipher just what the hell stars are these and where exactly in The Overworld they could possibly be.

Someone behind her is bold enough to pipe up “excuse me.” This earns them a glare, but she moves, off toward the prow.

It smells different, too. The sea breeze, it’s not like she remembers. Fresh, in a way that’s somehow reminiscent of youth in a way she doesn’t quite understand. Looking up at the stars again, this is definitely not The Overworld as she knows it. They’ve traversed The Mists to end up in another world entirely, as some vagrants claim to have done prior to arriving in Isra.

Unfortunately, it’s awfully damn dark, so it’s hard to see much of anything in this new world. Naoki’s spyglass, unused for so long, comes out, and she trains it out across the horizon. … There’s water here, definitely. That’s good, considering they’re on a ship. But what she’s really looking for is “... Land?” Quietly at first, under her breath. The way the starlight tapers off in that shape, like a mountain ridge… It almost looks like...

“Land.”

Of all the people aboard The Depravity Alden had handled life aboard the ship the best. Considering the content of his early years this was not surprising. It was not the first time he'd been confined for months on end in an enclosed space and while he had grown used to freedom, he'd never lost the skill of coping with boredom. Honestly, in some ways, it had almost been like a vacation for him.

The last thirty years he had been working nearly non-stop for The Empress. By most metrics, he'd been the most powerful man in the empire and his duties had been expansive. Naoki's right hand keeping the peace through any means necessary. He'd not developed much in the way of a social life during that time. He had a few friends, of course, but mostly he'd had his work and very little else in his life beyond that. In some ways, being on the ship was actually good for him.

He'd been named First Mate and being forced to spend time nearly always in close proximity to others had cracked through his intimidating facade somewhat. Of course, people still respected and perhaps feared the dangerous man a bit. But he'd gotten a bit more relaxed without the weight of an entire intelligence organization to handle. Combined with the social skills he had learned over the years he was... well not quite normal but certainly better than he had been.

The cry of land reaches his ears. He was below deck helping the quartermaster and cook do an inventory of their supplies. They were low on pretty much everything and only just catching enough fish to fill in the gaps. He was getting sick of fish and without land, they were struggling to produce enough fresh water for everyone. So that particular cry was welcome for more reasons than one as he comes up above deck.

Spotting his Captain he comes up next to her folding his arms across his chest. He was bare-chested at present, his twin blades hung loosely on his belt as he stares out in the direction she is looking. He didn't need a spyglass to see what she did. "Your orders Captain?" He asks her, though he suspects he knows what they will be. They would need to send out a launch to act as their pilot in order to find a safe place to bring The Depravity to shore.

Nightmares. An Endless sea. An Endless nothing.

Keph woke up in some odd, wood cabin. Thank the Leviathan, it was all a nightmare. Only the barest of light shimmered through cracks in the window shutters.

He had no clue where he was. This wasn’t exactly unusual for him. He often just showed up in places, getting lost then found. But he couldn’t remember anything, that was unusual.

Feet touched the ground and immediately retreated, floorboards stealing the heat from his feet. He was barefoot. Right. Why wouldn’t he be barefoot? Boots on—attempt #2. Soles clacked against the wooden floor, springing up onto his heels, then energetically bouncing forward onto the tips of his toes. He winced. Something felt wrong… everything felt… wobbly. Heels pained, legs cramped and gave in. CRASH. His soft face kissing dust.

The floor beneath his body continued to shake. He must’ve been drinking. Yet, that didn’t explain why his legs felt… unused. All his muscles were fatigued, his movements imprecise and rubbery. Eyes squinted, jumping about the unsteady room, ideas tangled up in his head.

The room looked crappy, worse than most inns he’d been to. He wasn’t one to complain, but he’d taken a tree over this place any day. At least a tree wouldn’t smell so stuffy.

Another oddity: he was in his undergarments. He always slept fully clothed or unclothed. Speaking of which, his clothes sat at the bottom of his bed, neatly, squarely folded—despite Keph folding them in a triangle! Nothing was adding up.

He had to open a window. He was trying to avoid doing so, as sunlight could kill the hungover more quickly than it did vampires. He rose back to his feet, then step-by-step, made his way to the window. A length of rope hung to its side, tied to the shutter. An odd design… but it was familiar—where had he seen this before?

With one, sudden tug, the shutter flew open, while eyes shut tight. Blindly, he tied the rope to a hook at the window’s side. After a few tries, the damned shutter was dealt with, now to check where he was—

—it was all blue, a deep, dark blue as far as the eye could see. Suddenly, he was feeling queasy. Blood left his face, skin paling, before nausea replaced it with a subtle green. Oh, Leviathan, where’s a bucket?!

The room’s corner had been left a disgrace; semi-solid green stained it, slimy chunks slid down. Only now had he begun noticing the discernable lack of alcohol in the air. At least the bobbing was explained.

He sat down on the floor, far from the pool of disgust. Joints stung as they folded, legs criss-crossing. He winced, but carried on. Eyes closed, hands sat atop the knees, lips mouthed unspoken words.

“Where are we, dearest Rara?” he mentally asked, whilst his mouth continued its mute chant.

…

. . . .

. . . . .

.̴͇̬̀͑ ̵̨͇͌.̵͖͕̞̀̇͘ ̴̧̱̰̓.̵̖̔̇ ̸͔͕̼̓̌͂.̶̧̝̙̅͘ ̶̘͉̩͒́.̸̫͇͝ͅ

Static. It always spoke in static, but some kind of cosmic, decipherable static. This—this was static-static. Keph winced. The harder he tried, the harder the static pushed back. Static filled his lungs, he couldn’t breathe, he was drowning on words. He couldn’t stop chanting. Eyelids twitched. Open… open… open! Muscles ceased to rebel, the crappy cabin coming back into view. Lungs ceased to choke on nothing, greedily taking in delicious air. Whatever it was that was blocking out his patron, it was fading, but something—call it intuition, if you like—was telling him that no matter how far they got from that Whatever, it wasn’t going to completely fade.

Keph donned his clothes and tested the door. Unlocked. Good. He twisted the knob, storming out.

Alden inclines his head at the orders. "As you say Captain," He salutes her and begins to call out orders. He was, and was not, the Alden she had always known. The most surprising revelation had come when she'd brought up the subject of children to him.

He had been a swimmer, one of those that hadn't started on The Depravity instead appearing in the mists shortly after they'd arrived. At first, he had seemed exactly as the former Empress had remembered him. He had certainly seemed to recognize her immediately bowing and asking for her orders when he'd clambered aboard of his own accord. However, the Alden she'd known would have asked about his children above all else. When she inquired about his lack of concern, he had been confused.

"What children? I never married or sired any."

Interrogating him revealed the differences. He was not her Alden, not the one she'd known for years... and she wasn't his Naoki. Many, many of the events seemed to be similar. Some small differences here and there, certain things hadn't happened or had happened at different times. The biggest change was certainly that he'd not met and saved a catgirl on the road one day. Which raised many more questions about just what these mists were.

Alden starts organizing, executing her will as she had requested. Getting a part prepared to make landfall ahead of the ship, which he'd anticipated. A ship the size of the Depravity couldn't approach the coast without due caution. The chances of running aground on unseens rocks, a coral reef, or a sand bar were too high. The scouting party would find a bay that they could safely guide the massive ship into and secure their landing spot.

The north, which the Varan called Asgeir, had always been cold. Heavy snowstorms blanketed mountaintops and valleys alike. Freezing temperatures culled the rivers and created icy highways throughout the wintry forests and tundra. The nordic folk huddled around great hearths, spinning tales of their adventures. When the solstice came there would be time for celebration - feasts were held to commemorate the arrival of the spring, when the snow would met away and the ice unthawed.

But spring never came.

An impenetrable fog fell across the land, blotting the sun out entirely and casting Asgeir into perpetual darkness. The nights grew colder and howling winds cut to the bone. Was this the work of the Old Gods, the Varan wondered? Had the end times come? They confined themselves to their fate, and prepared to meet their gods. But all that came was the Flood.

For as long as they could remember the Varan had ruled the oceans and rivers - their vessels carried the seafaring warriors far and wide. But now it seemed the sea would have its revenge. The Varan could do naught but watch their world sink before them. Survivors clambered into their longships and drifted through the bleak and miserable mists, only to be capsized by great tidal waves. Freezing temperatures trapped them all in icy prisons.

That was what Ralf could remember. Unthawed, he awoke in the middle of a great ocean, carried by relentless waves throughout the mist. There was naught he could do but let the sea thrash him about for what seemed like an eternity. But there came a day when the mist finally cleared, and a placid calm followed. The exhausted Varan adventurer caught sight of land and did not hesitate to swim closer. And there were other swimmers among him - had they been there all along? Had the mist concealed them? At first a handful, then dozens, then countless others began to converge on the coasts.

His feet kicked at the watery depths, carrying him closer and closer, until finally he could feel the sand beneath him. The relieved and weary Varan trudged through the salt water until he came upon the beach and fell to his knees. Land, at last.

Three small vessels... that was all that remained of her party. When they went through the mist, it was all they could see for a very long time. It was depressing; her people, who she could barely see through the vaporous cloud, mostly sat slumped and hungry, weary to the bone as they continued to row the best they could. There were times where she wanted to tell the small group just to stop rowing, but there had to be an end to the fog.

When the day finally came that the fog parted, they all perked up and shielded their face from the sudden brightness of the sun. The sounds of gulls screaming overhead meant that land was close! She gestured to one of her people, "L-l-l... land. Soon!"

There was a cry of joy from those who heard, and soon the others joined in when they realized what that meant!

Tana gestured toward the east where she could barely make out the thatch of trees in the distance. They still had a long way to go in their small longboats. There were approximately twenty or so people, mostly women, who rowed their way toward Land.

The longboat had simply been adrift. Faisine didn't seem to care as she stared up into the abyss that was the mist. She was too tired and she was ready to die. Had she imagined ghosts in the mist or was it even real? The sorrow was swallowing her whole as the waves pushed her vessel gently out of the fog. Light suddenly blinded her, and she sat up with a start, the boat rocking a little violently.

Images flitted through her mind, haunting ones of Cairex when she saw him for the last time. He had died holding her, she had begged for him not to close his eyes but he had. She'd cried for several hours against his chest, having lost the one person who ever loved her enough to say it out loud. And he'd slipped away into the mist with the rest of those she knew, or so she thought. Burying him at sea was the hardest thing she had ever done, almost capsizing the boat and going with him into the abyss.

The sun beating down on her face was enough to bring her back to the present. Whatever the reason, she was alive. She let the boat guide itself toward whatever her next destination would be...

Once she was near land, that was when she reached with her tired arms and began to row toward what looked to be some semblance of civilization.