" The cursed walk the thin edge of sanity, their nights consumed by the abyss's whispers. In their dreams, their minds open to the abyss, often leaving the weight of alien truths and a hollow longing for the god's light"
— Excerpt from "Studies of the Cursed Mind", by Codex Judiciar Erios Azitoli
Alric awoke to the creaking of taut rope and the splashing of waves against wet wood. The rhythmic sound accompanying the swaying of the floor dragged him from his restless sleep. "Where the hell am I?". That was the first thought that pierced through the fog clouding his mind. A pounding headache was assaulting him, making him damn near wish he hadn't woken up. As if that wasn't enough, his body felt like it had fallen off a cliff, hitting every rock along the way.
Trying to shake the horrible feeling of emptiness that was haunting his head, accompanied by the vice grip of his headache, Alric groggily pushed himself up from what looked like a bed of dirty rags in the dim light of his cabin. The effort made his throat feel blocked, and he half vomited out a cough, feeling a warm liquid drop onto his hands. The taste of Iron filled his mouth and he realized he had just spit out a mouthful of blood that was now slowly forming a puddle on the wooden boards. At least his breathing had returned to normal, and he took the first real breath since his awakening. And regretted it instantly. The stench of fish, sweat and piss filled his nostrils in a nosehair-curling mixture, and he almost vomited out a second puddle, this time not of blood.
Covering his nose with one of the surprisingly better-smelling rags than the shiphold he was in, he calmed his breathing down. His mind was still foggy and he was having trouble hearing his own thoughts, but at least the headache had lessened. He sat up and began inspecting his surroundings, hoping to find a jug of water or anything of the sort to clean the horrible aftertaste out of his mouth and clear his mind. He was in a dark room, a small glowing stone in what looked like a hallway with his only source of illumination. But this small amount of light revealed a significant predicament that instantly took his mind off the thought of finding water. Separating him from the hallway with the light were bars of metal, and a rusty, locked door. First, confusion, and then fright pierced through the fog clouding his mind, as he tried to remember what in the abyss had happened for him to end up in a jail cell on a ship. But the fog clouding his mind refused to budge. The deeper he pushed into it, the more lost he became, his own thoughts and emotions becoming lesser and lesser replaced by hollow apathy. And so he stopped grasping for what he couldn't find and tried to focus on what memories freely came to him. And what he found was very little. A disordered mess of recollections, fleeting vague images and half-formed thoughts flitted through his consciousness like the scattered pages of a torn, forgotten book.
He could recall vague impressions of a tranquil village, the gentle swaying of a small sailboat, and the distant echoes of laughter— Yet these memories slipped through his mental grasp, like sand slipping through fingers, leaving behind only an emptiness like he had never known. Alric almost could see it, the shredded remnants of his mind floating through his foggy head, floating around the nothingness he had found, like flotsam around a whirlpool. A whirlpool he was standing in.
But then, a thought lit up the void like a flickering flame.
If his mind was a whirlpool, what would lie at its center? Would it really be empty?
And as this thought passed through him, he felt his consciousness dragged deeper and deeper into the recesses of the fog clouding his mind, drawn to the void his scraps of memory revolved around. He tried to open his eyes, to wake up, to do anything, but it was of no use, his body didn't respond as his mind slowly sank into the depths of his own subconscious.
He was being dragged toward the eye of the storm, the center of the whirlpool, and the closer he got to it, the more his mind began to shake with fear, began to struggle, to try to flee. It started slowly, faint echoes of waves slapping against a hull, the screaming of wind, growing louder and stronger, more insistent. He felt his senses begin to betray him, as suddenly, harsh, salt-laden air filled his lungs and he gasped for breath, fighting against the panic that raged in his mind. His breathing was ragged and intense, searing his lungs with every desperate grasp, as his body began to feel exhaustion. His palms were bleeding from rowing at a breakneck pace. His arms burned with pain between each panicked stroke, matching the frantic pounding of his heart. Why was he rowing? He didn't know. But he knew that if he stopped, something terrible would happen. His eyes shot open between strokes, yet they were still blind—save for a tiny tallow lamp attached to the mast of a small Skiff, flickering wildly and threatening to extinguish under the heavy rain and wind.
Amidst the chaos, a voice pierced through the darkness of the storm, a familiar voice, but his damn fogged mind didn't let him identify it. "Faster Alric! Don't let it catch up! Just a bit more!" The voice, laced with panic, yelled over the storm. " Row damn it! And don't look back! Never look back! Your mind will break!"
For a moment, only the splash of water and his own breathing broke the noise of the storm, as Alric heeded the voice he implicitly felt he could trust as he rowed for his life. But then the voice spoke again, as it screamed in fear. "No! Get away! You're not real! You're dead!" he faintly heard the pain-filled sobs, even through the roar of the storm "It's not my fault. Forgive me. Please forgive m.."
The voice disappeared in the roar of the storm, before returning, this time sounding much closer to his ear, but behind the familiarity lurked something else. "You know Alric. There's no escape. Everyone else is already with them. Why are we running? Why would we run from what's inside us? Join me. join us." A hand lay upon his shoulder. "There's no point in resisting, Alric" The hand's grip grew stronger, painful. "You're already one of us. join us. And be free."
The fear was too much. Before his mind shattered under the threat, Alric fought and punched the hand away, and turned towards his assailant. He had looked back.
An intense, burning pain around his neck spreading into his body, jolted him awake from his nightmare. He felt like his entire body was on fire, burning with pain like he had never known before. but anything was better than that nightmare. Alric shuddered with fear. He had almost gotten lost in his own damn mind. What the hell was going on? Why was his memory so scattered, save for the one in the center of the void? His hands were shaking uncontrollably, and though he could see only faint scars from time past on them, he almost expected them to rip open and bleed like they had in the nightmare.
Alric tried to calm his breathing, calm his heart that hammered in his chest. Too afraid to close his eyes, he instead began to take deep breaths—Ignoring the stench of the cabin, for even it was a welcome distraction—The pain was slowly dying down from a flame to a tingle, and retreating towards his neck. Almost out of instinct, Alric lifted his hands towards his neck. To his surprise, what he felt on it was not his own skin, but a metallic material, still warm to the touch. Using the sparse light in the cabin, Alric peered into the puddle of blood in front of him, trying to take his mind off the nightmare and investigate this strange phenomenon. Looking back at him was a youthful face, foreign yet familiar. His own face. His features weren't very distinctive. He had soft features, no angular manly jaw like one would expect from a prisoner. his unkempt brown hair was in short locks, knotted and dirty. He had freckles and a tan, olive complexion that came with working in the harsh sun. The dirty scruff on his chin marked him as young, though certainly on the cusp of adulthood. If there was one thing that stood out about his face, it would be his eyes. They were an empty gray, bordering on white, with hardly any color, quite the contrast to his complexion and hair.
Around his neck, he found the culprit for his pain, and the savior from his nightmare. There was a collar made from a silvery metal, filled with beautiful symbols etched into its surface. The symbols were mesmerizingly beautiful and symmetrical, as if they hid some hidden rule or meaning. The collar was softly glowing in the dim light, though that glow was dimming by the minute, along with his tingling. As he felt his mind slipping back into fear, worried about what would happen when the tingling disappeared, he shook his head, trying to shake the fear off with it. "It's just a nightmare of a storm. You're not on that small ship. You're safe" he whispered into the dark cell. His voice sounded raspy from disuse. He needed to keep his mind occupied, off the horrid memory. And as the last vestiges of light darkened from the collar, he noticed a lingering soreness throughout his body, as the ache he felt at awakening came back. His muscles hurt from exertion he didn't remember, his skin felt tender and painful. He dragged himself closer to the bars of the cell, using the light of the glowing rock to inspect his body.
He wore a rough-spun linen tunic and breeches, worn, but still mostly intact. His body was in surprisingly good shape, not exactly muscular, but definitely well-toned. Well, in good shape aside from the veritable collection of cuts and bruises that littered his skin. Maybe his first impression wasn't entirely wrong when he felt he had fallen down a cliffside. He looked like someone who had done exactly that. On the plus side, he was not restrained by shackles or rope save for the collar around his neck, but it didn't hinder his mobility in any way and didn't even feel uncomfortable. Alric touched his various bruises, and while they stung, it didn't seem like anything was broken or not working like it should. But there was only one way to make sure.
With a quiet groan to not stir anyone who might be in the vicinity, Alric got up from the floor. His steps were a bit unsteady, his muscles ached with pain and his bruises protested, but other than that he was fine. He gave a grim smile. It was the small victories one had to count when stuck in a shiphold heading for gods know where. After doing a few stretches to make sure there were no hidden problems, he took his first unsteady steps away from the bars, towards the rest of his cell.
With surprise, he noted that the sway of the ship did not affect his balance in the slightest, muscle memory kicking in and remembering how to balance in such a situation. Alric took note of this clue to his shattered past and turned to more important matters. Namely, exploring his cell. It was rather spacious and made from an amber-colored wood that felt somewhat familiar. But like with everything else, the sense of familiarity was vague and fading quickly. he looked around. The cell had no windows to speak of, and the wood was almost as rigid and solid as the metal bars on his cell. His so-called mattress, a collection of rags, was in one corner of the cell. He stepped away from the wooden wall and was about to walk to the other, yet unexplored corner of the cell, when he heard the quiet rustling of fabric coming from the corner shrouded in darkness. Alric froze. Violent, terrifying thoughts flitted across his mind. He may not remember much about his past, but he knew what a prison was, and he knew exactly what kind of people were inside it. Once again mentally cursing his mind for not remembering how the hell he had ended up in this situation, he took a few quiet steps backward. Only after not noticing any reaction for a moment, did he return to his corner of the cell, not taking his eyes off the opposite corner, shrouded in darkness.
If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.
His senses now honed on detecting anything wrong with the corner, he picked up quite a few similar sounds from the hallway. Faint coughing and shuffling could be heard from what he now noticed were many more cells down in this hold. Making sure nothing would spring at him from the corner, Alric tried to peer into the faintly lit hallway. he could make up a large set of stairs going upward in the middle of the hallway, and from the curvature of the wall of his cell, he was pretty sure this was at the very bottom of some ship. As far as he could see into the dark, there were cells in this hold. There had to be at least 20 cells of similar size to his own. The ease this knowledge came to him surprised him, as did the sheer size of this vessel. That wasn't good. He sat down in his corner, letting the quiet noises of activity and regular splashing of water calm him down. He had to do something. He dreaded trying to push into his mind again, but he needed answers. He needed to know what was going on, preferably before the sun rose. And right now, his situation was bleak enough to risk a few nightmares. At least he was prepared this time. And he had the collar to save him if anything went wrong. Well hopefully. If it did it once it could do it again right? Happy thoughts Alric. Happy thoughts. He steeled himself, and leaning against the warm wood, closed his eyes. His fragmented mind, a sea of vague impressions and half-formed memories drowned in fog appeared before his mind's eye. Grasping at what came close, making sure to avoid getting pulled into the fog, he tried to piece together what he could.
"How did I end up here?" he wondered, the question echoing in the fog endlessly. "Who was I?"
Shreds of memory once against surfaced. A peaceful village, the smell of the sea, the rocking of a boat. Laughter and fun. Vague figures flitting through his mind. He couldn't remember the look of the village, but he knew it was by the sea. He could remember trees, at least thousands of handsbreadths tall looming nearby. He remembered the feeling of coarse rope and the burns it can cause. He remembered the satisfying sting of saltwater into an open wound. He remembered the awe he felt, as a group of people with blue robes and rope tied around their arms lifted their arms to the sky, and a drizzle of rain followed. He remembered vague and hazy faces of maybe friends, acquaintances, or even lovers. he had no way of knowing. He remembered the joy and safety he felt, living in simpler times. These scraps of memory brought him a fleeting sense of peace, but they were overshadowed by the haunting void within the fog, subtly calling him, luring him in. He resisted as best he could, making sure to stay as far away from the fog as possible, only grasping for memories that surfaced from its depths.
He organized what he could remember, and tried to make sense of all his scattered impressions. The person from his nightmare at the center of the fog had called him Alric, so that was the name he decided to use for himself as well, at least until he knew more. His body seemed to remember how to act and move on a boat, and his memories of a coastal settlement and swaying decks reinforced his certainty that he had been some form of seafarer, be it sailor or fisherman. The trees were also a clue to his scattered past, trees that tall couldn't be common. The figures with their cordage wraps were strange, but Alric felt somehow that they were an important part of the puzzle of his memory, but they remained a mystery to him. Unfortunately, his memory of all the familiar yet unknown faces blurred by the fog remained lost to him.
From this information, Alric managed to draw a few conclusions: The ship he was on was much too large to be from a village as small as his. He must have left shore from a different port. The village he was from was surrounded by massively tall trees, and it contained people who could alter the weather. And finally, the best news he had so far, while he was trying to organize his thoughts he noticed one very significant detail. The fog only obscured the memories of his past. But his common sense, the things he knew about the world unrelated to his past, and his skills remained untouched. He remembered that the currency of the place he was from was crowns and shards, he remembered how to count, and he knew how to talk to people without looking like a mindless fool. He knew how to read facial expressions, hell he even remembered how to read and write in his native language, even though he couldn't recall its name. And it was exactly this common sense of his that spurred him into action.
While he had no idea how he got here, he had to face the fact that he was now on a prison ship. And being in prison without anything to defend oneself was not inductive to survival. And so Alric began a careful inspection of the corner of his cell, not daring to approach the dark corner where his cellmate still presumably slept. But of course, aside from the rags, there was nothing. But that didn't mean the rags were useless. He remembered from his inspection of the cell just how hard the wood this ship was made of was. If he could only find some sort of splinter, perhaps it would serve as a makeshift shank. He ran his hands along the smooth wood, occasionally throwing glances at the corner. The wood definitely had been treated well with some sort of material, making it very smooth and without many gaps. To make things worse, in the darkness of the cell, he could only search for any gaps by touch which made his task all the more tedious. But he persisted. After an unknown amount of time, finally, his finger snagged on a sharp spike of wood. Despite almost cursing at the sudden pain, elation filled his mind. A few silent victory gestures later, he had taken a rag from his pile, twisted it so it would be both thinner and harder to tear, and stuck it between the splinter and the rest of the plank. Using it as leverage, he pulled against the blasted splinter with all his might, but while the damnable thing bent, it didn't break off. Only when he used his legs to push off from the wall, cursing the blasted thing, it came free. Alric fell to the floor with a thud, that in the silence of the hold sounded like a thunderclap to Alrics ears. Immediately immobilizing and being quiet, he heard some rustling from the dark corner, but no further movement. Releasing the breath he had held till now, Alric wiped his brow and began searching the floor for his prize. It wasn't very large, about one and a half fingers in length, and not much thicker than his thumb. But it had a sharp, jagged point, and while slightly pliable, Alric's very recent experience with it taught him that it was not easy to break at all.
"Take that you misbegotten feck," he thought, grinning victoriously at the miscreant in his hand. Taking the rag with which he had won his spoils, he wrapped it around the bottom half of the splinter in a makeshift handle, before concealing it in his waistband. It wasn't really a weapon, but it could give someone a nasty surprise that was sure. And most importantly it gave Alric some of his swagger back. Something about being armed made this unknown situation much more bearable. He sank to the floor in his corner, savoring his victory, absentmindedly fingering his new weapon and listening to the splashing of waves.
The exhaustion from his battle with the splinter and lack of sleep was catching up to him. The creaking of the hull the splashing of the waves and the subdued whispers were as good as any lullaby. Wait. Whispers? Alric shot up, his ears twitching. If there was one thing he hadn't lost to the fog, it was his thirst for gossip and drama. Especially now that said gossip could clear many things about his situation up. he shuffled closer towards the hallway, before straining to listen to the conversation of his neighbours. From the cell to his left, the piss-laden air carried a whispered conversation to his ears.
"Hey brother, didja hear any new tings about where we're goin'?" one voice asked. "I 'eard from de Saltbloods on guard that de emperor sanctioned all cursed in de pillar of penit.. petine.. de prison to be sent after our batch lands. At least we'll be in good company aye?"
Saltbloods? That word sounded vaguely familiar, and if they were on guard they must be the ones behind his imprisonment.
"Yeah, I 'eard. And its pillar of penitence ya brainless drunk" came another voice. "Weird dat. Tings are getting more tense in Calindor, dey say there's another war brewin' with Orinthia. Usually, dey send us off to de front to get splattered by some Stonehides when that happens, like dey did to ole Gregor"
"Dont dey always say dat?" Asked the first voice. "I swear, everytime there's a skirmish near Vorlund all de town criers cant stop 'arping about a comin' war."
A quiet laugh wracked with coughs came from the other, quickly quieted by what sounded like a smack to a dense skull. "if dat ain't de truth. By de Codex, ma always used to say she'll sell me to the nearest military cohort if I misbe'ave. But look at us, going on vacation instead. What do ye think dey need us for O'er dere?"
"Not for yer brains Sandor, that's fer sure. Yer skull sounded just as hollow as de mug I emptied tonight when I gave it a knockin'. Even if you'n wasn't a Cursed, all you was good for was diggin' ditrches."
"Oi! I resent dat. I passed school just like ee'ryone else"
"Sure ya did brother, by copying my answers. Now go to sleep, Merric had an awful mean mug yesterday, and I don't want to get whipped if ye slack off again."
Alric stayed in his position, ear pressed against the wall for more, but aside from some more muttering about smarts, the hold returned to quiet. "a Cursed? Was that why those two here here?" The word sounded familiar, but the memory behind it slipped from his grasp. Calindor also rang some bells for Alric, and he was sure it was the name of some Big important city. If those two came from there, he could safely assume he did as well. It would explain the size of the ship. Alric ached to know more but asking would only put him in a vulnerable position. Instead, he decided to do what he knew best. More snooping.
And so as the night wore on, Alric stayed awake, collecting more and more whispers and rumors as the ship began to slowly wake up. But he did not learn much more beyond what his neighbors were discussing. It seemed this looming war was the juiciest and most actual gossip around, but it wasn't all for naught. He was able to confirm that Calindor was indeed a city, the Capital of the Thalorin Empire in fact. Orinthia was a neighboring country, and was not well-loved by his fellows it seemed. The name sounded quite familiar as well, and he even felt a sense of revulsion thinking about it. He chuckled to himself. Not even a mysterious memory fog could stop humanity's hatred for their different-looking neighbors. The strangest part of his findings, however, was that all of the prisoners referred to themselves as the cursed. Who willingly calls themselves the cursed? How weird.
One more thing he found out, that was both concerning and reassuring, was that according to one of the prisoners, it had been 3 weeks since they left port in Calindor. Three weeks. The good part of this news was, that besides his bruises and cuts, his cellmate hadn't murdered him yet. The bad part was, what the hell had he been doing these past 3 weeks? Did he hit his head and loose his memory somehow? No, the fog couldn't be a simple concussion. The whole thing stank more than a bilge-gargling pirate. From what intact memories he had, he didn't think he was a criminal deserving of this kind of treatment. And the cursed? The Saltbloods? Did he fall into the hands of some cultists?
His mind churned with questions. He wanted to know what happened, why everyone thought they were cursed, why he was missing most of his blasted memories, why his head was filled with scary fog, why he had a strange glowing collar, and most importantly, how he was going to get out of this mess.
But despite his worries, exhaustion was beginning to catch up with him. Who would have thought staying awake to listen to gossip while bone tired would make the exhaustion worse? His mind began to drift, teetering on the edge of sleep. The ship's gentle rocking and waves began lulling him into a restless slumber.
"Tomorrow," he thought, his eyes growing heavy "Tomorrow I'll make sense of this mess".
