Summer, 1335

It was a cold, wretched journey through the worst of waters off the coast of Nalbin and Logan huddled miserably in his woolen cloak soaked with the spray of waves. The Forester of Stanton sat silently at the helm of the holk ship Due West as it bobbed its way through 20-foot waves. Beside him stood De Trobliand, clad in a resplendent hunter’s tunic and looking every inch of the lord he was while eating a late lunch of kipper, and behind them sat the commanding officers of the Normad Army-some two dozen crowded aboard the vessel, supported by an elite unit of marines below decks. Finally, in the center of everything lay Meratezatgh the Dragon head draping down from the aft deck.

If Logan thought he was miserable, his wyrm companion looked downright sick. Mera was shrouded in a large blanket and lay with his head against the deck, eyes unfocused and tongue flat out like a dying snake. De Troblaind had turned down a request from Logan to simply fly to Eroland with the dragon, stating that the army needed to remain together, and Mera must be utilized carefully for the campaign, both as a living symbol for the army and as a closely protected secret weapon.

The hunter sighed and leaned back on the gunwale of the ship next to his dragon, rubbing Mera’s neck in reassurance while he watched the rest of the Normad fleet. All around the flagship followed a further twenty vessels, a powerful assembly of galleys and cogs holding an army of some 3000 troops, the largest force to sail up the Great North Sea since the Mercian Wars a generation back.

It had been a long, covert voyage. Concerned about secrecy, De Trobliand had his force assembled via small parties in the great port Phalerum on the outskirts of Alba, boarding his troops only in the depth of the night. Provisioned for weeks, they had then proceeded to sail directly across the Betatakin Sound towards Eroland. What followed was a rough ten days crossing open water, with waves the size of mountains, a chill wind cutting to the bone, and strange creatures of the water staring from below. Finally, on the tenth day, the captain had stated that they should be approaching the island, and the sailors and troops on the Due West began preparing for the landing.

All of a sudden, the Due West shook as if it had been struck by a giant.

Logan looked up. “What was that?”

“A rogue wave.” De Trobliand responded without looking out from his telescope. Meratezatgh remained motionless but groaned pathetically.

A Normad officer stormed up onto the deck, apparently annoyed at the rough journey, with that last wave being a final straw. He stopped in front of the dragon.

“What is that miserable creature?” The captain barked, apparently unfazed by the wyrm’s strange presence aboard the vessel, or the inherent danger that came with being so close to such a strong and powerful passenger. “Move it out of my way!” Behind him the soldiers of his company moved up from the hull of the ship and began assembling, struggling to find room among the small space of the deck. “Stupid thing, does it know how to move?” The officer continued cursing.

Lord De Trobliand ignored the response. But immensely piqued, Logan began to get up.

“Do you know who that is?” The actual captain of the ship suddenly turned around from the wheel, interrupting the soldier. “That is the Stanton Dragon! The creature that turned back King John’s attack on the Southern Wilds! The creature that broke the Alliance’s line at Mier’s Forest, then turned on the Tassurians and destroyed them in the Great Dragon Rebellion! And it’s here to help us take Eroland! As far as I’m concerned, it can take as much of this boat as it wants!” The commander of the vessel glared down at the military officer. “Understand?”

The military captain frowned but nodded. “Alright men, take up the best positions you can, and be ready for anything.”

The vessel fell silent again as everyone went about their tasks. That continued until ten minutes later when suddenly the lookout atop the mast called out: “Land!”

De Trobliand was up like a thunderbolt.

“Where?!” The Normad lord grabbed a Visby Lens and stared into the distance. Logan squinted towards the direction as well. He could just barely make out a low shape in the horizon.

“You see that Logan? Eroland.” De Trobliand laughed, “Pillars of the North, key to the Frozen Sea, and just there for our taking.”

“Great.” Logan realized with a start that this was the first time he had ever heard the Normad laugh.

Before he could ask what was so funny, the lookout interrupted the conversation.

“Commander!”

Logan and Lord De Trobliand looked toward the direction the sentry was pointing at. A vessel was approaching. The Normad turned his eyepiece over to the new ship. Immediately the remaining crew and passengers of the Due West busied themselves grabbing weapons and donning armor: any errant vessel, even civilian ones, were to be seized-the invasion was too close for anything that could risk an advance warning, and ship-to-ship fighting tended to be short, brutal and bloody.

“A Erolander vessel?” Lord De Trobliand called up at the lookout. The islander ships were small, narrow and had a distinct crescent shape.

“Doesn’t look like it.” The lookout replied back down. “It…actually looks like an Auxian cog.”

“Strange.”

The mystery ship bobbled closer and closer, but slightly erratically.

Meanwhile, everyone aboard the Due West had armed and armored themselves, awaiting the fight-at least, everyone but the seasick dragon still trying to stay as close down on the deck as possible. Logan’s awlpike was ready to pin down any potential boarders, and Lord De Trobliand’s repeating crossbow had been loaded and cocked for firing.

All around, the other ships of the Normad fleet maneuvered themselves to counter any attack from the unknown ship. However the opposing vessel kept moving without slowing, without changing course, without angling itself for attack, indeed without any apparent effect at all upon encountering the fleet of Normad ships.

Lord De Trobliand had picked up his speaking horn and was just about to hail the strange vessel when the lookout gave another cry: “Heavens! Look!”

Now clearly visible, the mystery ship was in terrible condition, with ragged sails and its deck thick with ice. The vessel however blazed with a pale blue fire. There did not seem to be anyone manning the cog. Immediately all the Normad ships began taking evasive maneuvers, scrambling to get out of the way of the burning ship. After several tense minutes, having successfully avoided any collisions, the entire fleet stopped their activities to stare at the alien craft in silence. Slowly the ship drifted by, its unearthly glow trailing it as the vessel passed without comment. Logan thought he could make out the hints of skeletal figures piloting the ship, but he couldn’t be certain with the dancing flames.

After what seemed like ages, the unknown watercraft drifted past, eventually disappearing over the horizon.

“What the hell was that?” Logan finally asked.

“A ghost ship.” The captain replied. “Bad omen.”

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Gordon Lightfoot - Wreck Of The Edmund Fitzgerald

Beautiful work from  Axelon!

Original: https://www.furaffinity.net/view/47783225/