“We should see them by now.”

  Hyzen and Martha stood atop the town’s port. Waves and chunks of ice flowed underneath them.

  The waves crashed against pires of rock resulting in plumes of mist bursting into the air. The mist, meanwhile, smelled of seaweed and salt, of the sea's decay and of the mysteries that plagued it.

  Hyzen felt his skin crack underneath the ocean’s cold scrutiny.

  As he waited, he tapped his heel against the planks. He was nervous; stressed; anxious; all of the above.

  He wiped the mist’s residue from off of his face then rolled up his sleeve. He checked his watch.

  “They should have turned the bend —”

  “There!” Martha yelped.

  She pointed towards the distance. There, still a few miles away, a magnificent galleon rounded the mountainside and appeared upon the horizon.

  Its sails were pristine white — near blinding — with golden weaves laced intricately throughout its texture. The galleon’s golden threads glistened underneath the rising sun as it rocked to and fro’ in accordance with the sea’s waves.

  The galleon stood tall. Three levels worth of cannons protruded from its sides and, atop the ship’s center mast, a beam of white light severed the fog and cut through the sea like a hot knife through butter.

  Immediately upon recognizing the ship, Hyzen’s breath hitched — a physical response more than a mental one.

  Stood to the side, Martha gawked at the luxurious vessel. It consisted of three sails, had four floors, and a glass dome rested upon its main deck. Its mere presence exuded luxury, a dream Martha hoped to capture on her own one day.

  As the white vessel rounded the mountainside and grew closer, Hyzen noticed something amiss, however.

  He scrutinized the approaching ship. Something felt off.

  The sails were pulled down correctly. The cannons were lowered accordingly. Even the glass dome — the ship’s centerpiece and arena — appeared flawless underneath the sun’s beating light.

  Then, he saw it.

  Upon the ship’s crows nest, where the beam of white light erupted from, a rough silhouette stood in front of the light. They waved their arms frantically, casting shadows along the shore line.

  It looked as though they were swatting something — a fly, a mosquito, a bug — but nothing was there. Hyzen could see only a single silhouette.

  Then —

  *BOOM!!*

  The side of the galleon erupted into a torrent of wooden chips that rained down unto the sea. Shortly thereafter, the galleon buckled underneath the sea’s weight as water flooded its inner holds.

  Then, from the mountainside, an onslaught of spears pierced the mist. The spears — like stars — pierced the veil that dampened the sky and soared above the sea; their tips were lit aflame; their reflections glistened against the water’s cold surface.

  The spears of flame struck true. They slammed into the galleon’s hull and bow, tore through its sails, and ravaged the glass dome that sat upon its surface.

  Within moments, the sails caught fire. Then, from the sails, the fire spread from the mast to the deck, and before he knew it, Hyzen watched as the Lucent Guild’s number one warship was dragged to greater depths.

  “Master!”

  After the flaming spears, hooks soared across the narrow gap between ship and mountain. There, hundreds of men with intricate markings covering their skin worked in tandem.

  They moved as one, and as their hooks sank into the galleon’s brittle flesh, they began to yank and reign the wooden beast in.

  The galleon tipped over. Its center mast snapped against the rocky shores and its sails — what remained of them, at least — submerged beneath the sea.

  “Master!!!” Martha’s voice pulled Hyzen from his stupor.

  The young girl tugged at his sleeves. She had tears in her eyes and as he looked around, Hyzen noticed the deck was bustling with activity.

  Adventurer’s crammed into fishing boats one after another. Some dove directly into the sea, and with the help of a little magic, took off underneath the waves and torpedoed themselves towards the sinking galleon.

  Hyzen looked back at the burning ship.

  Then, to the mountain range next to it. It was the southern mountain range; a natural divider between the cold and arctic north and the tropical, rainy south.

  He could see men and boys of various ages running around the rocks. Most held spears — crude, wooden abominations — while others relied upon slingshots and bows.

  As the galleon continued to sink, they razed into the water’s with a look of pure ecstasy. Smiles, grins, and bright eyes smothered their faces as they plunged their sharpened sticks into barbequed flesh and ruptured bones.

  For a moment, Hyzen saw nothing but wild animals.

  “I’m sorry, Master!! I can’t stand here any longer!”

  Martha bolted across the deck. She squeezed into one of the ready-to-leave boat’s and didn’t look back. Before she left, however, she dropped the collection of scrolls she had held prior.

  The scrolls unfurled along the planks.

  The handwriting was neat and precise with a gentle flair of femininity; it was writing Hyzen easily recognized.

  “Sylvara…” The words drooled from Hyzen’s lips.

  “Sylvara?!!” He looked back at the galleon.

  Then, he stopped an adventurer mid-run across the deck.

  “You!” Hyzen grabbed his shoulder with rapt venomosity.

  “Return to the Guild at once!! Enter my office and open the second drawer on the left-hand side! It houses a communication crystal! Find it and send a message to Central!” Hyzen demanded.

  With that, he sprinted across the deck and leaped over the edge.

  “Origami Arts: Paper Trail!”

  Hyzen tossed his whole notebook towards the water beneath him. Before it hit the sea, however, all of its pages erupted simultaneously; they tore themselves from the notebook’s spine and spurred together.

  Then, as Hyzen’s boot was about to sink beneath the water, a piece of white paper caught his fall.

  He strided forwards and another piece caught him. Like this, Hyzen ran across the sea, his boot’s galloping upon thin pieces of white paper layered over the ocean.

  When he arrived, there was little left of the prestigious galleon. All that there was, was war.

  Spells and sparks whistled through the air. Voices cried out. Blood splattered across the sea.

  Meanwhile, men and women fought along the galleon’s carcass — its hull still visible above the sealine.

  Blood spilled into the water. Red plumes littered the battlefield as flames faded and heartbeats ceased to drum.

  Among the wreckage, Hyzen searched desperately.

  He summoned his rocky friend.

  “Rocky! Lift the mast!”

  The giant being made of earth obeyed. With thick, cracked fingers the giant sifted through the debri in search of survivors.

  At the same time, those that belonged to the southern tribes retreated — not without great cost, of course.

  Bodies and mangled appendages clung to the reef. Some were run through — with coral and spires of earth penetrated deep within them; others, meanwhile, floated among the wreckage mere carcasses; bobbing apples.

  Soon they’d sink. Once the air within their lungs extinguished and their corpse excreted the rest of their waste.

  The sea now smelled of salt and blood. Of burnt hair and cooked meat. It clung to the nose like a newborn and refused to part. The stench was more than mere sickly.

  Off to the side, some puked out their lunch; bronze’s — men and women unaccustomed to the vile nature their occupation readily dealt with.

  “We’ve got survivors!!” A woman shouted.

  Instantly, all heads turned and a crowd formed around the area. Hyzen pushed his way through.

  They stood upon the right side of the galleon; its hull, to be more precise. The ship was now sideways, its mast’s crashed onto the surface — splintered and ravaged.

  If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  The sea’s waves gently pushed and pulled over the galleon’s white wood. A strange calm to the metaphorical storm they had just endured.

  A time for repentance. Perhaps.

  By the time Hyzen reached the center of the crowd, three bodies laid still across the hull. They wore white and gold uniforms and had miniature capes buttoned to the backs of their shoulders.

  From the left, a bald white man with a red beard and enough scars to cause his own mother to not recognize him. Then, beside him, a petite Asian woman with black braided hair and a line tattoo that spanned from the bottom of her ankle up to the collarbone of her neck.

  Lastly, a woman with platinum blonde hair with accommodating streaks of silver. Her eyes were closed and her complexion was pale, but as Hyzen kneeled beside her, he felt the gentle push of her breath against his palm and caught the subtle rise of her chest as she breathed.

  “Sylvara…” Hyzen cradled her head.

  “I’ve got another survivor over here!” A voice echoed.

  Shortly after the chaos, more ships from the port departed and thus arrived. Among the string of ships, the Viscount’s private galleon led the effort.

  When the man arrived, he offered temporary refuge to the survivors. Following Sylvara, Hyzen and his apprentice, alongside the survivors and many of the adventurers, boarded the Viscount’s galleon and settled amongst its deck.

  Meanwhile, Hyzen was invited by the Viscount to a more private location. They sat in a small room adorned with a single table. The room was painted red, as was the velvet carpet they stepped upon.

  Candles lined the walls around them while a beautiful chandelier hung above them. Within moments, a handful of servants entered the room all carrying plates of various sizes and proportions

  Once the food was laid out, a man approached with a bottle of red wine. He carefully poured each guest a glass before readily retreating — without saying as much as a word.

  As the door clicked behind them, the Viscount noticeably settled. He undid the top button of his vest and rolled back his sleeves.

  Across the table, meanwhile, Hyzen merely glared at the robust man.

  “Well?” Hyzen spoke, his voice stern. “You’ve got me here. Now what exactly do you want? I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but now’s not exactly a good time.”

  “Ahh yes. I am well aware; and for that, I do apologize.” The Viscount tucked his bib underneath his dress shirt. He picked up his wine glass and swirled the red liquid; then brought it up to his nose.

  “This wine is from the East, you know? I had it imported when I received word that you would take up mantle of Guild Master for the Oakroot Catacombs; although now, the gesture seems moot.”

  Hyzen remained rigid.

  “And?”

  *gulp*

  The Viscount finished his glass of wine.

  “I suppose you’re a man of action then, Guild Master Hyzen? Very well. The Empire has reason to suspect that the attack on the Lucent Guild stemmed from Dark-Elf origin.”

  “What?!” Hyzen burst from his seat. “It wasn’t the Dark-Elves! It was the tribes! I saw them with my own eyes, damnit!”

  “Yes. The southern tribes were the main brunt of the attack, no doubt, but their mobilization? Their readiness? Their coordinated retreat? I hailed from the south, Guild Master — this is no secret — and although it’s been a long time even I could tell you that what we witnessed today was not the norm for those tribes.”

  Before Hyzen could counter, the door behind them burst open again and three more servants entered one after another; each alongside a gurney with a white cloth laid overtop them.

  “What are you —”

  “Unveil them.” The Viscount ordered.

  Simultaneously, the servants pulled back the cloths and three dead men revealed themselves: one old, one young, and one in between.

  “Look.” The Viscount picked up the young boy’s arm.

  “These markings here reflect the stars on the day of their birth — an ancient practice passed down only in the tribes that occupy the swamp. And here —”

  The Viscount pointed towards the older man.

  “Four rings around his bicep. Tell me, Guild Master, are you familiar with the markings of the tribes?”

  “I — No. No I am not.”

  “Four rings around the bicep signifies his position amongst his tribe; he’s an Elder, a retired warrior. This man is what? Sixty years old? Perhaps even seventy? He is clearly unfit for combat — it is as so in his markings — and yet he fought and died in battle. That should not have been the case.”

  “What if they didn’t have enough —”

  “Look here.” The Viscount moved onto the third man who appeared to be in his mid twenties.

  “His markings do not match any of the others found on these two. Now why would that be the case?”

  “Because —”

  “Because he is not from their tribe, Guild Master Hyzen. This man, and many others — about half of those we’ve already inspected — are not from the same tribe. Unprecedented in all the history of the south; at least from what I know — which is more than most as I myself was born there.”

  “Now tell me, Guild Master Hyzen, did you notice anything strange about these men prior to their demise? Were they, perhaps, acting erratic? Crazed? Let me ask you this, Guild Master — did it appear as though they felt any pain at all?”

  Hyzen opened his mouth to refute, but then he remembered.

  Their eyes were glossed over. Their expressions were wild and euphoric; and they fought relentlessly, till their last breath, and then some.

  The Viscount considered Hyzen’s contemplation as affirmation.

  “It’s a curse.” He then added. “And the very reason for this war in the first place.”

  “A curse?” Hyzen was perplexed.

  Curses were from the days of old. A type of magic forgotten throughout history, dependent upon negative emotions themselves. In practice, the curse user succumbs to the negative emotions they themselves wield.

  In other words, they go crazy. Every. Last. One.

  “The Dark-Elves are using curses??!” Hyzen asked. “Does the Guild know of this? If not, we must —”

  “I can assure you, the Guild is adequately informed.” The Viscount interrupted him. “Though it was decided, not by myself, naturally, that the information be restricted. What plagues the West need not concern the East, in other words.”

  “Why wasn’t I informed?”

  At that, the Viscount shrugged his broad shoulders.

  “I am not privy to the inner workings of the Guild, Guild Master Hyzen. I am telling you this now because, well, it seems as though our home has been designated a target and you are now, unfortunately, involved in a war that has spanned the last two decades; and for that, I do again sincerely apologize.”

  Hyzen did not speak for some time. He looked down at the array of food laid out before him; lost in thought, he contemplated what the implication of curses meant.

  “I still don’t understand.” He said. “If the Guild knew of all this the whole time, why not publicize it? The Lords of the East would be more than happy to provide support. We could have —”

  “I take it you are not familiar with curses then, Guild Master?”

  “Me? I — uh. Well, I’ve read about them in some books.”

  “Curses are not difficult to perform. In fact, I’d say it is of the easiest of all magic to perform. It requires no incantations. No prior study. No sacrifice to facilitate its power. It can be performed in lieu of a lack of mana training. It responds solely to intent.”

  “Intent?” Hyzen asked. “Like what? I wish you were dead and then… voila?”

  “To a degree. Yes.” The Viscount picked up Hyzen’s glass of wine.

  “You hadn’t planned on finishing this after our talk, had you?” He tipped the glass forward.

  “What? No! I need to —”

  “Excellent.” The Viscount finished it.

  “May I have a strand of your hair, Guild Master Hyzen?” He asked.

  “A strand of my —”

  *clap* *clap*

  The Viscount clapped and the door behind Hyzen opened once more. Another servant entered. This one with an old doll in his hand.

  He presented the doll to the Viscount.

  “Your hair, if I may, Guild Master?”

  The Viscount reached his thick hand across the table.

  Hyzen watched. Utterly baffled, yet curious nonetheless.

  He plucked a hair from behind his ear.

  “You see, Guild Master Hyzen.” The Viscount grabbed the thin strand of hair. Then, he wrapped it around the doll’s neck and pinned it in place.

  “Curses are a volatile energy. Born of wrath, envy, greed — curses are a plague — not biological, but spiritual. As resentment fosters and rage builds — unknowingly — the mana within begins to act on its own; given enough time to let grow, and the hate becomes real; the scorn, the disdain, the putrid disgust that clouds the heart — it manifests in truly dark and crude ways. For example.”

  With the doll between his fingers, the Viscount pushed down on its chest. Opposite him, Hyzen’s slim-fitted vest sank deeper into his chest. His ribs creaked. A loud pop and Hyzen grunted.

  Veins protruded from his neck and forehead and his face turned red. Hyzen reached forward. He tried to grab the edge of the table, but his back was smushed against the chair. He was stuck there; held by some supernatural force.

  Then, the Viscount eased his thumb’s pressure.

  “KUGH! KAHK!” Hyzen coughed. His body drooped forward as he crazily inhaled oxygen.

  “What the hell was that?!” He wiped the drool from his cheek.

  “A curse.” The Viscount replied dryly. “A simple one, at that.”

  Hyzen glared at him.

  “Are you mad?”

  “Mad? Me? Please, Guild Master. My knowledge of the dark arts is in of itself a curse I must bear.”

  “How do you know!” Hyzen seethed.

  Yet the Viscount remained collected.

  “Tell me, Guild Master Hyzen, could you name any other prominent necromancer of our time?”

  “What?”

  “Another necromancer. Are you familiar with any?”

  He paused.

  “As far as I am aware, I am the only necromancer in service of the Empire? Why is that?”

  “Be-Because in order to practice necromancy, one requires the sacrifice of human lives.” Hyzen answered.

  “Precisely. It is an act that goes against our very purposes in our continued pursuit of the higher realms of magic mastery. And yet — I triumph — Viscount of the Empire — uncondemned for the atrocities I must have committed to achieve as much as I have. I ask you, Guild Master, how that is the case?”

  “I-I don’t —”

  “Prior to my ascendance to the nobility, I had spent seven years in service to the Empire as the Head of the Interrogation Department. I was not merely granted access to our Empire’s prisoners — I was encouraged to thin the herd; to extract every last detail they knew of their own sad, pathetic lives — regardless of whether or not their brains turned to mush afterwards.”

  “This doll, here, bore the brunt of the curse for me. It acted as the medium, much like talismans for Priests or even gems for enchantments. This demonstration required some level of prerequisite knowledge; as it required both the doll and some part of you, and as such the burden upon myself was reduced.”

  “What I just did to you could be done without the bells and whistles. It would first be required that my negative feelings be genuine; that I wholeheartedly scorn and wish ill upon you, and granted enough time to fester, the curse would enact; and whichever drive produced such vile energy would crown itself executioner.”

  “Nevertheless, Guild Master, I appreciate you spending lunch with me today and I’m glad we were able to have such a conducive talk. I thank you, again, for watching over our town and for managing the dungeon; and I apologize, again, for the Guild has now been thrust into a conflict it had no desire to participate in.”

  The Viscount stood from their table of abundance. As he did so, the door opened once more and a servant entered. He bowed towards the Viscount, then to Hyzen.

  “Sylvara wakes, sir. She asks for you.” He said to Hyzen.

  Relax. Breathe. And enjoy your temporary refuge.