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?
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.
