Somewhere off the shore of Aldergard.
The Day of Landing.
It was the creaking of the old timber hull of the ship that first gave away a change in circumstance. After three days sailing, the 'Hand of Hope' had finally broke into the swallower waters that surrounded Aldergard and was on a direct course towards the island nation. Rapid footsteps and shifting weight signalled that the crew sailing the last remaining vessel of the Order of Witch Hunters were bringing her into the final stretch of their journey.
The ship cut swiftly through the calm waves as the amber lights of sunrise reflected from the clear surface below: a practically ancient vessel, it had been the only one remaining under command of the Order which seemed capable of making the journey intact. While the wood was splintered and the once extravagant decorations faded with age, its crew were the best that could be mustered at short notice and had proven reliable enough to make the journey. Eight days sailing was hardly a terrific distance to travel by ship, but heading into long forgotten waters made it an unnerving trip nonetheless.
Below deck in what had been converted into the initiates quarters for the journey, a blinding light cut into the otherwise dim glow given off by the hanging lanters as the hatch above was pulled open to reveal a silhouette of a man - lyth and wirey and sporting a rag of some kind of cloth around his head.
"Be dockin' in 'bout an hour." A male voice called down - gravelly in tone but clear enough to be made out with ease. "We'll be stickin' around for a day, then headin' back - come pick ya up in six days time. Don't be late - we're not gettin paid to stick around waitin' for ya."
There was a brief pause as one of the other deckhands evidently shouted to attract the attention of the speaker. Glancing around, he quickly turned his attention back below dduring"Luck be with ya Hunters. I'll shout again when we're fully docked."
With his mesage relayed, the hatch was dropped abruptly. The voices up above sounded jovial and of good spirits though they were muffled and impossible to discern over each others noise. Beneath deck, the Initiates waited.
While the ship was old, it had been renovated for its purpose at great cost - albeit in rather a hurry. Several bunks lined one side of the large cabin, while a large open area used to continue training routines took up the majority of the space. Simple tapestries depicting scenes from the Witch Hunters history lined the walls and reinforced oil lamps designed specifically for use at sea hung from the ceiling casting their dull yellow glow over the room. Small piles of large cushions coloured in royal blues and purples and reds were scattered about as an attempt to add a little additional comfort and while it was far from luxury, it was more comfortable than the quarters at the Stronghold where the initiates had spent the vast majority their lives.
The Witch Hunter - Reinham, he had introduced himself as - had said little during the trip. Keeping to himself with a scowl fixed on his face in the space between the high collar of the coat and the wide brim of his hat, he had done little during the trip. He had said little more than a handful of words to anyone until now - had barely even moved and not once even removed his coat, never mind wash or change clothing, even though the facilities to do so had been provided.
"You'd better get yourselves prepared." He grunted from his seat beside the steps leading up to the deck. He looked over the initiates with little regard: what they were now didn't interest him. No, it was what they were to become that was important.
Clearing his throat with a slightly strained cough, the Hunter stood.
"We'll be arriving in Aldergard soon. Nobody knows for certain what we will find, but if there's one piece of advice I can give you it's this..." He glared across the cabin at each initiate in turn. "Don't let your guard down, not even for a moment. This island was lost - when we last set foot here even a thousand Witch Hunters could not have saved it. To have risen against those odds is impossible: something powerful and unnatural is behind this, I'm certain."
Stepping aside, he nodded once to the group.
"I know that your studies and training might have meant you have had little chance to talk to one another. Much as a Hunter should learn to rely only on themselves, you should probably get to know your companions a little more before we land. You're going to be watching each others backs for the next few days after all." He made an expression that might have been a sneer or a look of disdain for the idea of trusting ones life to another - it was hard to tell whether it was supposed to be condersending or whether the Witch Hunters naturally sour expression simply made it appear that way. "Also, if you have any questions, now is the time to ask them."
The Day of Landing.
It was the creaking of the old timber hull of the ship that first gave away a change in circumstance. After three days sailing, the 'Hand of Hope' had finally broke into the swallower waters that surrounded Aldergard and was on a direct course towards the island nation. Rapid footsteps and shifting weight signalled that the crew sailing the last remaining vessel of the Order of Witch Hunters were bringing her into the final stretch of their journey.
The ship cut swiftly through the calm waves as the amber lights of sunrise reflected from the clear surface below: a practically ancient vessel, it had been the only one remaining under command of the Order which seemed capable of making the journey intact. While the wood was splintered and the once extravagant decorations faded with age, its crew were the best that could be mustered at short notice and had proven reliable enough to make the journey. Eight days sailing was hardly a terrific distance to travel by ship, but heading into long forgotten waters made it an unnerving trip nonetheless.
Below deck in what had been converted into the initiates quarters for the journey, a blinding light cut into the otherwise dim glow given off by the hanging lanters as the hatch above was pulled open to reveal a silhouette of a man - lyth and wirey and sporting a rag of some kind of cloth around his head.
"Be dockin' in 'bout an hour." A male voice called down - gravelly in tone but clear enough to be made out with ease. "We'll be stickin' around for a day, then headin' back - come pick ya up in six days time. Don't be late - we're not gettin paid to stick around waitin' for ya."
There was a brief pause as one of the other deckhands evidently shouted to attract the attention of the speaker. Glancing around, he quickly turned his attention back below dduring"Luck be with ya Hunters. I'll shout again when we're fully docked."
With his mesage relayed, the hatch was dropped abruptly. The voices up above sounded jovial and of good spirits though they were muffled and impossible to discern over each others noise. Beneath deck, the Initiates waited.
While the ship was old, it had been renovated for its purpose at great cost - albeit in rather a hurry. Several bunks lined one side of the large cabin, while a large open area used to continue training routines took up the majority of the space. Simple tapestries depicting scenes from the Witch Hunters history lined the walls and reinforced oil lamps designed specifically for use at sea hung from the ceiling casting their dull yellow glow over the room. Small piles of large cushions coloured in royal blues and purples and reds were scattered about as an attempt to add a little additional comfort and while it was far from luxury, it was more comfortable than the quarters at the Stronghold where the initiates had spent the vast majority their lives.
The Witch Hunter - Reinham, he had introduced himself as - had said little during the trip. Keeping to himself with a scowl fixed on his face in the space between the high collar of the coat and the wide brim of his hat, he had done little during the trip. He had said little more than a handful of words to anyone until now - had barely even moved and not once even removed his coat, never mind wash or change clothing, even though the facilities to do so had been provided.
"You'd better get yourselves prepared." He grunted from his seat beside the steps leading up to the deck. He looked over the initiates with little regard: what they were now didn't interest him. No, it was what they were to become that was important.
Clearing his throat with a slightly strained cough, the Hunter stood.
"We'll be arriving in Aldergard soon. Nobody knows for certain what we will find, but if there's one piece of advice I can give you it's this..." He glared across the cabin at each initiate in turn. "Don't let your guard down, not even for a moment. This island was lost - when we last set foot here even a thousand Witch Hunters could not have saved it. To have risen against those odds is impossible: something powerful and unnatural is behind this, I'm certain."
Stepping aside, he nodded once to the group.
"I know that your studies and training might have meant you have had little chance to talk to one another. Much as a Hunter should learn to rely only on themselves, you should probably get to know your companions a little more before we land. You're going to be watching each others backs for the next few days after all." He made an expression that might have been a sneer or a look of disdain for the idea of trusting ones life to another - it was hard to tell whether it was supposed to be condersending or whether the Witch Hunters naturally sour expression simply made it appear that way. "Also, if you have any questions, now is the time to ask them."