Murmurs arise as the air thickens. Their ships had finally reached the coast of the land of creatures, which for some was the cause of much anxiety. No one would say it, but it’s clear that they lack something that the Velish people have in excess.

Magic.

From what the king’s scholars could learn of this place, magic would be a strong and very valuable weapon. Yet they have none. For some reason, all that the smaze seems to do to Trindians is kill them.

“Sir… What is that?” The ship’s captain nudges the king, and in any other situation, that would be enough to sentence him to a lifetime of agony, but this is not the time for such silly formalities. The king’s attention swings out to where the captain has pointed.

He squints, shading his eyes. “General!” He calls out, but the woman is already at his side. Her carefully guarded expression tell him all that he needs to know. He nods at her and she yells, grabbing the attention of everyone on board. “Soldiers!” Mist, thick and blue, plumes up not more than half a mile from where they sway aboard their ships.

It seems that the king had not made it to the land of the unknown before the empress of Velshlind.

“Stand at attention, soldiers!” General Deiter commands. Her voice can hardly be heard over the rising sounds of the sea. Everyone’s eyes turn away from the colored fog, and they’re horrified to see a nasty storm brewing in the waves rumbling behind them.

Ocean water surges, knocking the ships and its inhabitants on their sides. Crates full of supplies and weapons fly overboard as men and women scramble to grab hold of a post or a line or anything that will keep them from being tossed into the rapidly darkening sea.

The king wraps his arms tightly around the mizzenmast, disbelief and horror clouding his expression. No more than a hundred feet from his ship, a wave the size of his entire castle forms. He’s so focused on the speedy obstacle that he misses the sight of his captain sailing into the ocean beneath him.

It’s clear to him that he and his men would not make it off of his ships alive. Bringing his pendant to his lips, his screams, “Saint Littious, give me your strength!” Then he lets go of his anchor and meets the murky abyss with open arms.