Beware the Fog!
The following messages, found in a bottle wrapped in palm leaves and sealed with leather cord, were discovered floating in the Hurron by a fisherman on the southeastern shore of the Salavas Islands.
S.O.S. — THE BLOODY COWARD HAS SUNK. SIX SURVIVORS. MAROONED ON SMALL UNINHABITED ISLAND SOUTHEAST OF SPICE ISLANDS. BOUNTY LOST. BRING BLANKETS, BANDAGES, FIRE WHISKEY.
– Captain Eliza Tide
A WARNING: My Captain didn’t want to tell you, kind rescuer, but you must know.
All’s not well in the Hurron. Something lurks here — more than just sharks and tentacles. With a few well-placed spears and prayers, we can deal with those. Our journey was supposed to be calm. And until the last leg of our trip, it was. Just after dinner, with bellies full and faces flushed from wine, we were ambushed.
The fog came out of nowhere, descending upon us in minutes and shrouding the decks with a mist thick as smoke and heavy as iron. The wind stopped blowing. The waves fell silent, the water stilled into a sheet of black glass. The stench of rotting fish settled itself into our bones; men launched themselves to the sides of the ship to wretch. And then the whispers began.
Each of us heard something different. With the fog turning to cotton in our ears, the voices wormed their way into our heads, luring us to the ship’s edges. Just look over, they said. Take to the water, save them to save yourself.
Captain Tide heard the weak voice of a child calling to her from the water below, begging for rescue. I heard my mother screaming in agony, voice hoarse and throat choking on my name.
All of us went over, and too many died before they hit the water. My Captain thinks their necks snapped on impact. I think the fear is what killed them. Fear, and maybe something else.
Fighting to stay afloat in the returning waves, I watched our once-mighty ship sink — and saw two monstrous figures in the retreating mist. The massive nets slung over their shoulders revealed the bodies of our shipmates, some still struggling weakly. I don’t know why they left us.
If this message makes it, beware: Something rivals the Slickerman, and it is nothing to be trifled with. Refrain from traveling with anything valuable. But please, save us! Before the fog returns to claim us, too.
– First Mate Atherol Solace
