2. Mystery on the Misty Sea, Part 2

The great Lighthouse continued to spin, and with each turn Rosalyn could see just a bit more of the city. Dense with vertical, angular buildings made from ghost-coloured stone and dark wood warped by the humidity, the city of Fogport bulged against the rocky edges of the island it sat on. Ahead of the city itself, a network of wooden docks and ports splayed out across the dark water, barely visible above the mist that hovered above the sea.

It was as though the city was constrained by the magick fog that surrounded it, boxed in and squeezed by the gloom into an area one-eighth the size it should have been, especially against the endless expanse of spectral vapour. But still, Rosalyn’s jaw dropped as the ocean liner slowly ground to a halt, dropping anchor in the rickety port and lowering its ramp with a dull thud.

“ATTENTION PASSENGERS. WE HAVE ARRIVED IN FOGPORT. PLEASE, IF THIS IS YOUR DESTINATION, DISEMBARK IMMEDIATELY.”

Hurriedly, Rosalyn scurried down the egress, nearly slipping on the condensation, and landed on a stretch of dock beside the enormous silver ship. Around her, she could hear the hustle and bustle of the city - a roaring orchestra compared to the eerie silence of the ship ride. The stomping of steel-toes across the docks, and the thud of cargo followed by the barking orders of a foreman. The faint whistle of wind through the streets. The pained wailing of a dockworker after dropping a heavy barrel on his foot, paired with a splash as he cartoonishly stumbled into the nearby ocean. Followed by laughter from the others, as they hoisted him from the black sea.

Even in just the few moments Rosalyn stood there, a gaggle of burly men and women had marched past her, ready to unload the rest of the cargo from the ship she had just left, like ants hauling crumbs. “Wow. I had never imagined Fogport being so… developed.” Rosalyn mumbled as she stared up in awe at the skyline of skyscrapers beneath the Lighthouse Tower.

Suddenly, she felt something bump into her, nearly knocking her over the side of the dock. “WATCH IT LADY! WE’RE WORKING HERE!” a surly voice - grating, high-pitched, and no doubt damaged from inhalation of dock smoke and years of stressful shouting - screeched as another troop of dockworkers careened past her. She heard something splash into the water.

“AH!” Rosalyn shouted as she cartoonishly teetered over the edge of the wooden planks, staring down at the fog beneath her. She sighed once she regained her balance, but quickly felt something was wrong. She touched her shoulder, only to feel just her cloak. No handbag strap. Eyes wide, she looked back into the sea, where she saw her handbag glowing a bright, magickal green through the mist. It was sinking… along with her heart.

“DAMMIT!” Rosalyn called as she held out her right hand. All of a sudden a small, dark wormhole appeared in front of her outstretched palm, and an inky black tendril rocketed out and into the water. Rosalyn gritted her teeth as she felt the magick limb splash blindly in the vapour. Then, she felt its suction cups grip the strap, and pulled like a drain snake until the bag was out of the water and back in Rosalyn’s hands.

Black Tendril

Spell Class: Inkantation (Basic)

The caster summons an inky black tendril from a small portal in front of them, which they have telepathic control over. This tendril functions as an extension of the caster’s own body - they have great control over it and can feel what it feels, but damage to it can cause the caster great psychic pain. And if it sustains too much, then the tentacle is destroyed.

Much of the Ink Wizards spells, humourlessly called ‘Inkantations’, focus on the manipulation of ink and information. But the origins of their craft are far older, dating back to ancient civilizations and eldritch Gods of secrets and squidfolk. Some Inkantations seem to call upon these ancestors, the first Ink Wizards, to aid the modern order.

“Asshole…” Rosalyn muttered as the Black Tendril vanished. “He’s lucky this bag is magickally waterproof.”

After nearly getting pushed off the dock herself by the dockworkers and their cargo, Rosalyn made her way off the wooden port onto solid ground, on the rocky edge of the island itself. Even at nighttime, the city was abuzz with activity, with Rosalyn having to weave through crowds of onlookers clad in black raingear just to get onto a cobblestone road at the city’s outskirts. “Catherine had said the Southern Docks were a bit hectic…” Rosalyn said.

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Finally on solid ground, her eyes weaved through the crowds, looking for any sign of the woman who beckoned her here. Between the dockworkers decked in luminescent safety vests and civilians in their raingear, each in heavy galoshes to avoid being soaked by the knee-high mist, Rosalyn caught the odd glimpse of a third kind of Fogport dweller, standing authoritatively among the herds. They were decorated in thick, bulbous Knight’s armour that had the gray polish and steel curves of a cannon, emblazoned with the Fogport crest on their breastplate.

Rosalyn flitted out her journal from her bag again, the pages automatically rifling to a note scrawled in purple ink: Meet Catherine at Brumehold Prison once you disembark. From the Southern Docks travel North for six streets, hang a right at the General Store, and travel eight more blocks before reaching a bridge.

Rosalyn followed her directions, while occasionally stopping to indulge in the scenery. In her black, waterproof Wizard’s cloak and sphynxskin cap, her outfit looked hardly out of place amongst Fogport’s weary townspeople, but her enthusiasm for all the details of this new place made her stick out like a sore thumb. “Wow! A ‘Fogflamer’... is it magick?” Rosalyn mused as she stared through the window of a nearby blacksmith’s at a clunky and indsutrial flamethrower-like implement, that a nearby sign claimed to be able to dispel even the densest fog.

Feverishly, she scribbled page after page in her Inkchanted Journal… until she caught a nearby couple looking at her as if she were insane, prompting her to feign nonchalance while she slipped her book back in her bag. Everyone here seems miserable. Rosalyn thought, as she occasionally locked eyes with civilians out for a midnight stroll, seeing their sunken faces and pale complexions. I guess I don’t blame them… once you get over the novelty, this place is pretty gloomy. Rosalyn thought before wiping some beads of sweat off her brow. And humid.

Rosalyn had heard that Fogport was not exactly a pleasant place, and the dreary loneliness of the city was already starting to get to her. Based on the hustle and bustle at the docks, it seemed like a town for work, not play. I guess it makes sense, considering Goldpearl Co. practically built this place on its own so it could have a new shipping hub.

Brumehold Prison did not dispel this notion. As Rosalyn made the final turn on her journal page, the walls and walls of gothic towers suddenly parted to reveal another rocky beach - but rather than a network of docks and ports, instead a single ominous bridge stretched across the gray crags and phantasmal mist, towards an island shrouded in mist with a black tower hidden behind the vapourous cloak.

“Huh. I guess I’ve made my way to the East side of the city already…” Rosalyn shrugged as she pulled out her journal yet again, and began to scribble a crude map on one of the pages.

But as her finger danced across the parchment, filling in streets and labels, the rapid clanking of armoured footsteps made her look up - only to be slammed into with a clamourous thud.

“ROZ!” she heard a voice shout, covering the sound of her journal hitting the floor as she felt her ribs squeeze and her feet lift off the cobblestone.

“AH!” Rosalyn screamed as the figure shook her around like a teddy bear, before setting her back down on the edge of the bridge. Rosalyn panted as the Knight stepped back, revealing a towering behemoth of a woman kitted in armour made from hulking black steel. Only her helmet was missing, allowing Rosalyn to see the freckled complexion and flowing blond hair of Catherine Ahab.

“YOU’RE HERE!” Catherine exclaimed as she threw her arms up in the air excitedly. “I can’t believe it! Until I saw you on the bridge, I was thinking you’d bailed on me.” she explained as she looked around the desolate mist and foreboding architecture. “I mean… I knew it was a longshot to get you to take the trip out here. Nobody really comes to Fogport unless they have to.”

“Are you kidding?” Rosalyn wheezed as she picked up her journal. “If someone needs my help you know I answer the call. No matter where in Blackwater it takes me.” she laughed. “Especially for an old friend in a situation like this.”

At those words, Catherine’s jovial demeanor became drab and defeated, like the scenery around her. “Yeah. Yeah I appreciate it.” the Knight said, before trying to perk herself back up again. “Hey, while we talk about that let’s walk back to my apartment. You’re probably exhausted and I’m not letting a friend come all this way just to be hungry and tired.”

Catherine started to walk back down the street, leaving the imposing shroud of Brumehold Prison behind her, and Rosalyn was glad to follow. “I appreciate that. I wouldn’t mind something to eat while we discuss the case…” she answered as she tried to stay close to Catherine, despite the Knight being maybe two-to-three times her size. “And maybe something for my fingers too… I might have overdone it with the journaling.