1. Mystery on the Misty Sea, Part 1

Once again, I have found myself somewhere few choose to travel.

In the Southwest of Blackwater, on the edge of the Tempestian Isles, sits the Misty Sea. A small patch of foggy ocean, too dense with haze for ships to dare to cross. At least, these were the legends of the Misty Sea in my youth… a mysterious, alien place deep in the Abyssal Ocean, where apparitions in the fog make men go mad, and titanic beasts of eldritch size hide in the smoke.

A mist so thick and disorienting that a ship could sail in a straight line and be shot back out from where it entered. If the ship even came out at all.

Now though, it seems things have changed. Trade routes have flourished under the stewardship of the Goldpearl Shipping Co., industry and culture thrive, and a small city even stands atop one of the misted islands. Fogport. The dangers from madness and monsters are minimal now… or so I am told.

An old friend of mine, Fogport Chief of Police Catherine Ahab, has requested I sail to the Misty City with haste. She’s told me it’s safe, and while she has good reason to lie to me about the conditions of my journey, I would make the trek regardless of the danger.

Her younger brother, Elliott, has disappeared under mysterious circumstances. None have been able to locate him, as if he had vanished into thin air one night without a trace. Catherine had been hoping to investigate herself, but political tensions in Fogport have limited her authority… and so she’s called in a favour with me.

Rosalyn Darc snapped her journal shut and placed it in a small, ebony handbag that hung from her cloak. Folding her arms over the silver railing, she leaned out over the bow of the ship, gazing out at the Misty Sea in all its pallid presence. Endless plumes of white smoke, so heavy and compact that they obscured the dark waves below.

Although, as the night above her was as pitch black as her bag and cloak, she would have been able to see little even without the mist. It was like sailing over the clouds on an overcast night, with the only light on the sea coming from the ship’s own industrial lanterns, which brightened the way ahead.

Maybe I’ll get to see a Ghost Whale. Rosalyn thought to herself as her eyes enthusiastically panned across the vapor, hoping to catch a glimpse of some motion in the clouds. I hear they’re beautiful… I’d love to get a drawing.

Suddenly, a foghorn blared from overhead, nearly startling Rosalyn off the rails of the ocean liner. “AH!” she shouted as she firmly clutched her bag, trying not to slip on the damp metal floor. A mechanical voice rang out, magickally piped through the corridors of the ship. “ATTENTION PASSENGERS. OUR DESTINATION, FOGPORT, IS NEAR. PLEASE, GATHER YOUR BELONGINGS AND PREPARE TO DISEMBARK IF THIS IS YOUR STOP. THANK YOU FOR SAILING WITH GOLDPEARL.”

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I know Goldpearl ships everything through the Misty Sea, but if they want to start shipping people then I’d appreciate them not scaring the shit out of me… Rosalyn sighed as she tightened her cloak and made her way to the front of the ship.

The deck was sparsely populated, with only a few seedy dockworkers and elderly tourists (who didn’t fear the Misty Sea’s reputation) waiting near the exit ramp. As Rosalyn waited, tapping her foot, she stared out ahead of the ship, and tried to make out any glimmer of civilization in the distance. But through the fog, which had now begun to spill onto the ship itself, it was impossible. And so as she waited, Rosalyn pulled her scalebound journal from her bag, and flipped through it.

“Elliott Ahab. Male, 23 years old. Works the night shift at Fogport’s Southern Docks, loading and unloading cargo for the Goldpearl Co. Lives with his sister, Catherine Ahab, 33 years old. The two have lived in Fogport for 10 years… yeah yeah yeah… orphaned at age 3… yeah yeah yeah… reportedly last seen three days ago, by his coworker Deerin Azary.” Rosalyn muttered as the journal autonomously flipped through pages and pages of neatly scrawled notes and timelines.

Then on a blank page, Rosalyn pressed her index finger to the unsullied parchment and a new note appeared in an instant, as if by magick. Rumours of Ghost Whale decline have not been proven false. Something to investigate?

Inkchanted Journal

Item Class: Enchanted Book

A small diary bound in a black, scaley material. Enchanted by Ink Wizards to gain a number of useful traits. Writing is always neat, and words can be written and erased with only a thought from the journal’s owner. Pages flip by magick to wherever the owner desires, and the reams of pale paper never seem to run out. Even if this tome is destroyed, it can be magickally recovered by the owner in pristine condition.

A journal such as this one is a more important tool to a prosperous Ink Wizard than any spell or ritual. Knowledge is power after all, not just to an Ink Wizard but to any vocation in Blackwater. And while most can agree that the pen is mightier than the sword, a pen is useless without something to write on.

The foghorn blared again, but this time Rosalyn barely flinched, only groaned and rubbed her ears. Then, as she turned her gaze back out to the empty expanse before the bow of the ship, she saw something begin to pierce the mist.

At first Rosalyn thought it was the moon, until it began to flicker. A spinning glow, high above the ocean of fog, rotating on its axis with rhythmic fluorescence. Then, spots of lights like stars on the midnight sky had begun to appear beneath it. While at first the light was blinding, slowly she began to make out silhouettes. A skyline of a great city, with tall, gothic buildings that towered over the mist, standing alone against an expanse of ocean.

Fogport was near.