The Ice Ship

There are legends whispered among sailors. Some involve gigantic beasts that dwell deep in the heart of the ocean, others mystical maidens who tempt the unwary to watery graves. One thing they all seem to have in common is their allure. Great riches wait those who can claim the prize of these myths.

I had never heard the story of the Lost Ice Ship of Nascia before first trading stories with a minstrel in North Bay. Then again, I had never heard of the Great Nation of Nascia outside of ancient history books either. On that chilly summer night, however, I began to wonder. After all, the Johnny Peacock I knew was never one to back down from a challenge. Nor one to walk away from the promise of reward…

It was a desire to put the Black Irony through her paces, perhaps. Or maybe a spur of the moment pleasure cruise. In truth, no one knows why Captain Johnny Peacock decided to chart his course through the northernmost reaches of the reefs. Everyone knew there was nothing beyond the reef. Yet beyond the reef he was, and cinching his coat a little tighter against the wind, waiting. Searching.

He stood upon the deck, watching the dark waters churn beneath the hull. A pensive look stole across his face that caused fear in some and curiosity in others. Having much on his mind was nothing new, but the growing fog around them was. The early evening light was quickly giving way to twilight, and the incoming shroud would only limit their visibility all the more.

“Reef sails and button up for the night, Kait,” he said to his first mate. “I don’t think we’ll be making much headway until this clears.”

She spun on her heel, ready to spring the crew into action.

“Wait!” he suddenly shouted. She quickly returned to his side, a calm, but questioning look on her face. “There.”

He pointed into the mist. A pale shape faded in and out, just at the edge of their vision.

“A whale, sir?” Kait asked.

He shook his head. “No, it was too tall for that. I think it was a ship.”

For several long, still minutes, they watched, waiting for the shape to either solidify into something or vanish completely.

Someone handed him a spyglass, which he used to scan the banks of dense fog.

“Port beam!” someone called. John ran to the sailor, watching where the young man pointed. “I think it’s a…a ship, Captain. Though there should be no ship this far north.”

“Nonsense, lad. We’re here, aren’t we?”

Captain Peacock watched. Slowly a lighter gray mass became darker, denser, more solid. More clear. The outline of a hull. The square and unmistakable shape of sails.

It was a ship.

A white ship.

They called to the Eagle atop the mast, looking for confirmation of the sighting. And waited.

It was as if the entire company held its breath. Soon the call came, and indeed it was, a ship on the horizon.

A white ship.

Had sailor living ever seen a white ship before? Such a thing was surely unnatural, no tree or grass grew in such a pale hue–so white and tinged with blue as to look almost… frozen.

Murmurs spread through the nearby crew as the ship drew nearer. The sails fluttered unnaturally in the wind, luffing in an unseen and unfelt breeze. Icicles clung to masts and dangled from the yards. Every rope was coated in silvery rime. The very hull itself seemed to be carved from ice. There was no mistake.

“Nasci…” he whispered.

“No!” someone nearby breathed out in disbelief. “It couldn’t be.”

A slow smile crept across his face and he raised a hand to rake slowly through his beard. This was fate. The god truly smiling on his journey today. “Belay that order, Kait. We’re going hunting.”

“Sir?” she asked, a tinge of uncertainty in her naturally implacable voice. “Are you… sure?”

As if sensing his determination, a wave of terrified certainty washed over the crew.

“Do you know the legend of Nasci Everlost?” Johnny Peacock asked conversationally. He turned with a flair and stood straighter. “It is said that long before the world cooled, and the North was sealed away behind it’s wall of ice, the great nation of Nascia ruled these waters. In fact, all the waters of the Mervast, and the lands of Arret, too. They controlled great ships. Fleets of ships powered by magics never seen in the world since. Ships that passed through the reefs as is they were sea foam, parting the very land to make way for their passing.

“The riches they amassed were far beyond any comprehension. What need they of wealth when they controlled the land, sea, and the air, too? When the fledgling Empire of Epirsa began to arise in the south, Nascia built more ships. Massive ships for war. Sleek and fast ships for spying. And merchant ships to move their riches.

“When the Empire invaded, seeking these treasures for themselves, the hubris of Nascia proved their undoing. Their warships fell and their merchantmen were taken. Knowing the Epirsans had no way to cross the vast expanse of the Uncharted, the only thing left for them was to flee into the west, where they could start anew.

“And so they built great treasure ships, the largest fleet ever seen, filled to the brim with every kind of wealth imaginable. And the greatest of all these, was Nasci herself. The Great Treasure Ship of the Northern Reaches.”

He paused and took a drink from his flask, slowly scanning the enraptured crew.

“When the fleet left the bay, Eprisa was waiting. And although the Nascian’s had greater power, the Empire out numbered them. Every ship was lost to the waves or taken by the worshippers of the Sun. All that is, except for Nasci. One by one the other ships were destroyed until finally only Nasci was left, and as the armada closed in, the treasure ship took flight, parting the waters and land in its path. The greatest of all ships disappeared even as Epirsa looked on, unable to follow.

“The ages past, and the world grew colder. Epirsa rose up to claim the world. Yet the North, and all it’s riches were lost to the world. And somewhere, out there in the mist, Nasci remained. Frozen by ice, and frozen in time, endlessly searching for a port to call home.”

His words floated in the breathless still air, and he turned, slowly, looking back out toward the horizon, where an icy husk of a once great treasure ship drew nearer. And as she drew nearer, a change came over the crew.

Fear gave way to wonder. Wonder, to excitement.

“To arms!” the captain called, met by a riotous cheer from his crew. They sprang into action, each man well-trained in his post. As the long moments stretched, Captain Peacock waited, watching in anticipation, as the Black Irony turned and was off in pursuit of Nasci Everlost.

The Irony was no small ship, quick to turn and fast to leap ahead. No, the flagship of the Pirate Fleet was a 120-ton war galleon, rigged and ready to run along the wind. She may have been slow to get moving, but under these favorable conditions, nothing could outrun her.

Nothing natural, that is.

The crew watched with alarm as the smaller ship ahead of them picked up speed as if the winds of hell itself propelled them forward.

“Loose the mainsails and trim the topgallants!” Captain Peacock shouted. “They won’t get away that easily!” The crew scrambled to follow his command and soon the Irony was picking up more speed.

With every breath and ever heartbeat, the well-trained crew proved their worth. The King’s Men were known as the best of the best for a reason. The way the heavy, lumbering ship sped through the water, following the wake of the fabled Ice Ship, no one would question why.

Nearer they drew, and nearer still until the vague, shrouded forms aboard the other ship came into view. Large, pale beasts of men crewed the Ice Ship. Each was taller and wider than even the most well-worked laborer, with thick ropes of muscle bulging against their ancient-style tunics of matted, fading wool.

Shouts and calls drifted across the expanse. Deep, guttural noises that knew no place in our world. Peacock watched as several of his crew made signs against evil, in response to the demonic sounds from the ghost ship. He might have be tempted to give in to the superstition as well, but that he recognized the natural rise and fall of native speech patterns. It may not be a language he knew, but these were simply men. Men from another time and place perhaps, but just men like him and his crew.

A lone figure stood out among the rest. At the prow of the ship, pointing straight ahead, was a woman–slim and lithe, with long blonde hair so fine it floated like silk on the wind.

Before they could gain a better look, the hull beneath their feet shuddered. A loud scraping knock echoed up along the hull and through the bowels of the ship to where Captain Peacock stood.

“What was that!” someone shouted.

“Iceberg! Off the port beam,” someone else replied.

Soon reports of minimal damage came from all quarters, and the crew released a collective sigh of relief. No matter how legendary the prey, even Johnny Peacock wouldn’t risk taking on water this far north. But that wouldn’t stop him in his pursuit.

The water around them was littered with chucks of ice and flotsam frozen in place by endless winters at sea. A wiser man would have slowed, or turned away rather than risk his ship, but once the Peacock had set his sights on something, he would not look away.

“I want more speed!” he called again. “Coax as much of it from those sails as you can. A little ice won’t stop us.”

The crew only hesitated a moment before following their captain’s orders, and soon they were off again, hot in the wake of the smaller ship. Only the crunch of ice breaking away beneath their hull reminded them of the rocks below.

“Come on, lads! Let’s not give up yet.” Captain Peacock bounded up the steps to the forecastle as if it were a stage. “The treasure of Nasci Everlost is like nothing the world has ever seen. Take this ship with me and you will all be very rich men!”

“You,” he pointed to a sailor who had paused to stare at him in wide-eyed awe. “Do you have family back home?”

The sailor sputtered and nodded before speaking, “Y-yes, Captain! M’folk’s farmers mostly. Back in Waveport.”

The Peacock grinned. “With even your tiny portion of this haul, you, your parents, your kin, and all their children for the next six generations won’t have to work a day in their lives. How does that sound?”

Cheers erupted from all over the deck, upon the masts, and even on the gun decks where they could barely hear him.

“Then let’s go claim it!” he shouted one last time.

As if spurred on by flames, the crew jumped into action, finding every way they could to close the gap with the ship in front of them.

More mist clouded their way. Every league further forward was another wall to their sight lines. Soon, they wouldn’t be able to see anything at all, save for the glowing, crystalline ship dead ahead of them.

“Man the forward guns!” Peacock called.

Crewmen in teams of four ran to each of the six swivel guns along the forward rails and began loading them.

“Fire!”

The first shot rang out, sailing clean across the tail of the fleeing ship, but she didn’t slow. In fact, no one aboard seemed to mind the warning at all. They simply pressed forward.

“Again!” Peacock shouted.

A second time, the warning rang out and shot across their flank, and a second time, the warning was ignored.

“If that’s the way it will be then, let’s stop with the pleasantries,” he muttered to himself. “A full volley, if you please gunners. Then let’s see if we can’t get close enough to leave a mark.”

The gunners hurried to reload, and soon, four sets of shots echoed across the storm-dark sea. Three cannons firing together, then the next, then the next.

The first missed, landing as the warning shots had, off their stern flank. The second and third collided with the flat side of their hull, with a cracking, shattering sound as large chunks of ice broke away and fell into the water below.

The final shot flew high, and with a satisfied shout, Peacock watched it make tear through the pristine sails.

“Again!” he ordered. It would only be a matter of time now. With more shots like that the sails would torn to shreds, and the ship would be forced to slow.

The next volley was loosed, and with smug satisfaction, he waited for his prize.

He waited. He waited far longer than he should have. The Ice Ship should be slowing under it’s own weight. Yet as he watched, nothing changed. The crew continued to man their ship and speak in their dead language, unaffected by the Black Irony or Captain Peacock’s attacks.

He waited, and watched. Surely some telltale sign of the damage they’d done would be apparent by now. But as he watched, the image before him grew more shrouded, more blurry, more faded, and smaller. They were picking up speed.

“It’s not possible,” he muttered. He calculated everything he knew, trying to come up with the answer. Momentum, tides, something must be pushing them along. But the answer would not come to him. Nor would the ship.

“Shoals, dead ahead!” someone called from aloft.

“Hard to port!” Peacock shouted. “Kait! Try to pull us back, I don’t want to take a second hit if we can avoid it.” He walked to the front of the ship, watching for the rocks. They still had time to turn. This would not be their watery grave. Not today.

The Black Irony slowed as it turned. From the broadside beam they had a perfect view of the Ice Ship. Everyone stilled. Three-hundred sailors–men and women of the sea–watched as the great ship of ice sailed directly into the waiting rocks.

“She’s not going to make it!” Kait said, excitement coloring her voice. “We’ll have our prize after all!”

Peacock pursed his lips and shook his head. “I don’t think so, love.” He nodded to their prey.

Nearer and nearer the ice ship drew to the rocks, her fate written in every breath they drew closer to the hard death awaiting them. Yet with every breath, the fog great more and more dense. Waves seemed to come up out of nowhere, great swells washing over the rocks.

Then, as if the land itself were an illusion, the ship sailed through the shoals. No sounds of damage, no shouts, or calls of distress came from out the fog. It was still, quiet, and calm. And as quickly as they appeared, Nasci Everlost, faded once more into the mist, lost again to time.

Just as fast as it had appeared, the fog lifted. The ocean around them was still and cold, the night calm and empty just as it had been before. For long, barren moments no one dared move.

“I do believe,” Captain Peacock said quietly into the still evening, “that you have all been witness to something amazing tonight.”

He turned inward to face his awestruck crew. “No matter what else happens, remember this night. We have seen something beyond understanding. A ship from legend sailed along side us, and we were lucky enough to get a taste of it. Nasci Everlost may be nothing more than a ghost ship, cursed to wander the seas forever, but we, we were the few lucky enough to see it for ourselves.”

Slowly, so slowly, amazed silence turned into murmured excitement, and then into cheers. Captain Peacock smiled to himself, proud of his crew.

It must have been the adrenaline rushing through him from the chase, but he found he was quite warm. He draped his heavy blue-wool coat on the inside handrail and looked around. When he finally paused to get his bearings, he found no familiar landmarks. He glanced at the sky, mentally charting the stars.

His eye twitched, but he wouldn’t show his alarm to the crew.

“Kait” he said placidly to his first mate at his side. “Can you verify our location?”

She fetched a sextant, took a moment to chart their degrees, then paused, and did it a second time. Then a third. “Sir,” she said eventually, he voice carefully controlled. “I believe we are somewhere west of Meket. Over two hundred leagues off our charted course.”

He nodded. A slow grin spread across his face. “It seems there are more than a few mysteries in the world. And a price to pay for chasing down a legend.”

Aurora’s Sundering

Late one autumn evening, before the first blush of winter wound its way across the ocean, I found myself relaxing over a hot cup of tea as an old man regaled the room with a fable. He spoke of a place where magic still lives; where lightning touches the land, and strange fires dance across the skies.

Should you seek to find them, know there stand two islands, their backs together separated only by a narrow strait. Great cliffs rise on either side, allowing no passage to ships or curious travellers. The only thing passing these rocky shores is an icy wind that whips out of the North and across the Mervast. It is clear to any who look upon it that they were once one island. An island, they say, that was once ruled by two wizards who had the great misfortune of meeting Johnny Peacock.

It was surely Fate who first brought Captain Peacock to the shores of Aurora. With no deliberate purpose, nor clear reason for landing there save the minor repairs that a ship in use will need from time to time, he settled into an evening of carousing with the local populous.

The small port town of Aurora was the only city or village of note dotting the landscape of the tiny island, and its people were generally known to be a quiet sort of folk who kept to their own during the day and sought no real relations with the outside world. It was here that Peacock first heard of the Wizard Haelvich.

Haelvich was a mighty wizard who ruled over the town. His keep was a high-walled villa designed more for intimidation than security. But security was never an issue on Aurora – The wizard held all the power. For in his possession was the famed Ardorstaff, a weapon of virile power and appetent strength such as would drive a simple mortal insane. There were few who could wield its power, and fewer still who could claim the enormous pleasure such power contained. Johnny Peacock craved it for himself.

Stealing this staff would be no simple feat, and the Pirate knew he would need all his wits about him as he made his way into the keep at the top of the hill. Lights and music spilled from the open doors as he approached, marking a celebration of some gaiety.

The great hall was awash with carnal pleasures as men and women in all states of undress undulated in time to music. Some feasted on elaborate dishes while others partook of drink and exotic herbs. Still more enjoyed themselves and each other on pillows and couches scattered about the room. Under normal circumstances he would be more than happy to partake of the enjoyments offered, but tonight he had a greater desire to satiate.

In the middle of it all, standing still and erect in the midst of the whirling luxuria, was a large stone altar. An amethyst-coloured cloth draped over the surface and down both sides, its silk pooling on the wooden floor. On its hard surface, resting between two large pillar candles, was a long, knotted-wood staff.

Any man who looked upon it would have been entranced. It’s long shaft was a kind of hardwood never before seen anywhere in Denisi, and the jagged crystal affixed to the top pulsated with a purple-and-blue light. He had to have it for his own, even not knowing what power it possessed. Such a keepsake was surely worthy of his collection.

The Wizard Haelvich was found at the center of it all. He wore the energy of the party around him like a clock, gathering its seeking tendrils to him and channelling them into the staff. As Peacock watched the power ebb and flow with the movements of the crowd, the wizard reached out and grabbed hold of the exquisitely pale, blonde woman be his side and led her onto the dance floor, fully enraptured by her perfect beauty.

The Siren Vixia was famed for her seductive powers, even among others of her kind. Looking at her sultry figure, hugged tightly by her green silken dress, Peacock willing conceded how someone could be lost to her charms. Although he had never seen a Siren in person before, he knew the stories of their ways well enough. He watched, enjoying the moment as her weave her faerie magic around Haelvich.

As Haelvich lost himself in the power of the room, Peacock took hold of the Ardorstaff, grasping it firmly in his right hand. It fit easily in his grip, settling into a steady rhythm with his own power. Scepter in hand, he made a casual turn around the edges of the room, before slipping silently out the door.

He paused on the far side of the room, looking back at Haelvich for any sign of pursuit. There was none. Haelvich’s arms were wrapped around the temptress’s waist, his face buried in her neck and hair. The nymph looked over Haelvich’s shoulder, straight at Peacock. She smiled knowingly at him, and grabbed Haelvich’s face, kissing him deeply.

Peacock laughed, and stepped back into the night air with his prize.

Captain Peacock was not a man who would count on luck alone to see him through, and so he took up the staff and made his escape to the far side of the island, far outside of town, and the easy reach of the wizard Haelvich.

Grinning at his good fortune, Peacock held the staff in both hands and began channelling its power up through his arms. Nothing happened. He gripped the staff tighter, rooting its base in the soft earth. Nothing. He gently stroked the knots and whorls with his fingertips. There was no reaction from the staff. No matter what he tried, he was impotent to release the secrets held within.

He shouted in frustration. The answer should be simple, yet it remained outside his reach. He settled himself in the dirt, cradling the staff across his lap. No matter how long it took, he was determined in his quest.

The night wore on, the shadows growing deeper, the hours growing longer, and still he made no progress. He had all but resigned himself to keeping it as an ornament on his bulkhead, when a light, glimmering in the distance, caught his eye.

At first it was a faint light, possibly a trick of tired eyes, but the more he watched, the more it bore the resemblance of firelight. Green firelight. Peacock carefully approached the source of the glow, following its faint trail to a crack in the mountainside.

Peacock cautiously entered the cave, not knowing what could be within, but having his suspicions. As he crossed the threshold, the light suddenly flared, busting into a cacophony of light and sound, and a voice boomed out from all directions, “Who enters here?”

“I am Captain Johnny Peacock,” he returned in a commanding voice. “King of the Pirate Isles; diplomat, engineer, and magician! I come in search of the secrets of the Ardorstaff!”

“The Ardorstaff?” The echo subsided as a man very much Haelvich equal emerged from a darkened hallway. “The Ardorstaff, you say? What is it to you?”

Peacock presented the staff, holding it at shoulder height so the other man could clearly see.

The other man laughed long and loud. A genuine laugh with some unhidden malice to it. “I am Urlan, friend. Come.” He waved for the pirate to join him at his altar.

The details of what progressed in the following negotiation have been sadly lost to history. Yet we can guess that Captain Peacock offered very little initially, seeking only answers for himself, and was countered by a wise and witty wizard. In the end, I presume both sides were happy enough with simply unlocking the power and diminishing Haelvich’s hold on the island, for an accord was struck, and the began the rituals to unleash the Ardorstaff.

Time stretched on as Captain Peacock invoked and incanted with the wizard Urlan. Energy and magic swirled around the cave as the two men engaged in their mystical saltation, power leaping from one to the other, growing and pulsating with a need for release. Late was the hour when Urlan finally turned his focus to the Ardorstaff, and began to channel the energy into its rigid form.

The release was coming. Peacock felt the magic preparing itself to loose the power contained within the staff, but just before satisfaction could be his, Haelvich and Vixia charged into the cave.

“Thief!” Haelvich cried, breaking their focus. “You dare to enter my home and take what is rightfully mine?”

Peacock smiled that knowing smile of his and stepped between Haelvich and the staff. “I merely picked up an unused stick that was lying around,” he said. “How was I to know it was yours?”

Urlan chanted, continuing his spell as Haelvich and Vixia barged in.

Seeing the other wizard across the cave, Haelvich shouted, “Urlan!? I should have known you were behind this!”

Urlan said nothing, only continued to work his magics as Peacock engaged Haelvich.

“Perhaps we can come to an agreement of sorts?” Peacock said.

“I will not fall for your tricks, fool,” Haelvich said. “Give me the staff!”

Peacock shook his head. “I think not.”

“Haelvich’s staff will respond to no other man, I assure you.” Vixia purred as she stepped further into the room.

“I see you came well armed, at least.” Peacock laughed.

Vixia slinked over to where Urlan stood, focusing his energy into the staff’s crystalline head.

“You know where his power truly lies, don’t you Urlan?”

Urlan continued his spell, ignoring the temptress’s allure.

She sauntered closer, playing sensually with the fabric of his robes. “Why not set aside your work and come play with me instead?”

Urlan continued chanting.

She draped herself across the altar, staring into his eyes. “Wouldn’t you rather have your hands on me, instead of that silly staff?”

Urlan reached out carefully and placed a single fingertip on the siren’s chest, pushing her backward away from where he was working.

Vixia gave a frustrated screech, still Urlan refused.

“Poor thing,” Peacock said. “It seems Urlan is only interested in Haelvich’s staff. Luckily for you, I am more easily swayed by your considerable… charms.”

Vixia turned to him, ignoring Urlan. “A plaything like you could never harness the power of Haelvich’s staff,” she told him. “Still, I think it’d like to see you try.”

“I am more than strong enough to take whatever power comes from within that old wand.” Peacock smiled at the seductress, “Would you like to see?”

“Ha! You fool,” Haelvich cried. “The power of the staff comes from me, not the other way around.” He raised his hand, uttering a short incantation, summoning the staff to himself. The staff surged from the altar, flying across the cavern to Haelvich.

Urlan threw up his hands, uttering a counter spell. The Ardorstaff stopped, unable to move as the two wizards battled for control of it.

Back and forth, the staff was pulled between them. Stroke after stroke pulled along the hard shaft of the Ardorstaff as they fought for control. The energy in the room mounted, growing, and rising as the tension came to a head.

Unsure how much more it could take before spilling its magic onto everything, Vixia reached out, throwing herself onto the staff.

A blinding flash let out, exploding all over the cave. Vixia let out a soft moan as her body dropped to the ground, and Peacock’s vision went black.

When he awoke, Captain Johnny Peacock was on a cliff, overlooking the ocean. Feet from where he lay was a sheer drop-off that was not there before. The island had sundered, split in two from the power released by the broken Ardorstaff.

The wizards were nowhere to be seen.

Some who look upon this island now speculate how it came to be split to perfectly in twain. Upon hearing this tale, I had to see it for myself, and sure as I am telling you this now, the island stands. Perhaps the Gods realized that such power was too much for mortal hands, or the staff itself reordered the land, all I am sure of is that at times the night sky still lights up with purple and green flames that dance across the shattered island of Aurora.