Horizon of Glory
"The Annals of Exploration and Empires," Book III, Chapter XVII, Page 211 In the annals of history, few epochs have been as rife with the promise of adventure and the peril of the unknown as the Age of Discovery. It was a time when the very fabric of the world was being stretched, its edges frayed by the bold hands of explorers and conquerors. Among these intrepid souls, one name, has been etched into the annals of legends. The Wars of the Roses, a conflagration that had consumed the heart of empires and forged kings from the crucible of blood and fire, had at last given way to an uneasy peace. It was in this aftermath, amidst the smoldering ruins of a world reshaped by conflict, that Byron's journey began. Armed with a relic of untold power, the "Navigation Logbook," he set forth into the uncharted waters of the world, where the mundane and the magical intertwined in an intricate dance. The high seas, a vast and uncharted canvas, stretched before him, a horizon that whispered of untold riches and the promise of peril. Great ships, their sails billowing like the wings of colossal birds, traversed these waters, their cannons thundering a challenge to the very gods of the deep. It was an age of ambition, a testament to the unyielding spirit of mankind's quest for dominion over the unknown. Beneath the waves, ancient beings from epochs long past slumbered, their legends carried on the creaking timbers of ships and the roar of cannons. Byron, undaunted by the shadows that lurked beneath the waves or the tempests that raged above, carved out a kingdom from the chaos that enveloped the world. His fleet, a specter of doom, became a symbol of his indomitable will, a force that would not be challenged lightly. This is a saga, a tale woven from the threads of history and magic, adventure and power, and the eternal quest for glory. It is a narrative that compels the heart and captures the imagination, a story that resonates through the ages, a reminder of the heights to which humanity can aspire when driven by the winds of ambition and the tides of destiny. Let this account, penned by the hands of the most esteemed historians and literature masters, serve as a beacon for those who seek to embark upon their own voyages of discovery. For within the pages of this epic tale lies the essence of the human spirit, a spirit that seeks, that conquers, and that endures.
HoG - Chapter 48
Chapter 48: The Wild Hunt
As the calendar flipped to the beginning of November, the days in Iron Anchor Bay grew perceptibly shorter, a harbinger of the long nights that would soon envelop Scandinavia. The sun, a reluctant riser, made its appearance at ten in the morning, only to hastily retreat by three in the afternoon, leaving the bay shrouded in darkness for all but five or six hours of the day.
Yet, the approaching elections for the North Sea Pirate Marshal, held by the Pirate Captain Council, lent an air of festivity to Iron Anchor Bay. This year, for reasons unknown, the number of pirate ships participating in the elections had swelled by at least a fifth compared to previous years. The docks within the port were festooned with a dizzying array of pirate flags, while the anchorage, with its rudimentary facilities and lack of paved gangways, was crammed with every conceivable type of pirate vessel.
The influx of pirates brought with it a surge in wealth. These were customers who lived for the moment, spending their plunder with abandon. As a result, every industry in Iron Anchor Bay flourished like never before.
"Welcome to the Night Casino!"
"Gentlemen, our Tulip's Love offers the most alluring ladies and the finest rum, guaranteed to satisfy! Step inside!"
"At our Pink Theatre, we've gathered beauties from every corner of the world. Ballet dancers from the East Coast, belly dancers from the West Coast, and tribal war dancers from the Bantaan Islands—we have it all!"
"While I can't speak for others, the girls at our Succubus Cottage wear... the least by far!!!"
As the sun dipped below the horizon, barely signaling the end of the afternoon, throngs of pirates plunged into the street of courtesans. Most wouldn't emerge until their purses were as empty as their promises.
Amidst the boom in business, however, the law and order in Iron Anchor Bay took a nosedive. At the end of the street of courtesans, an aging sheriff, his gray hair a stark contrast to the vibrant chaos around him, clenched a worn walnut pipe between his teeth. He inhaled deeply, the smoke from the burning, low-quality tobacco momentarily obscuring his weathered face.
"In just three days, on this very street under my watch, there have been twenty-one reported missing persons cases, some involving supernatural individuals. Pirates accumulate mortal enemies over disputes about prey, routes, and resources. Vendettas are a way of life here. With the unprecedented gathering of pirates, the conditions for creating 'Legendary Status' have never been better. Titles like 'Gunpowder Artist,' 'The Ripper,' 'The Faceless,' and 'The Wild Hunt' have emerged seemingly overnight.
"Though we've downgraded the alert levels, we won't intervene unless there's open murder or bodies left in the streets. But this year, the number of pirates is staggering, and by the middle of the month when the elections commence, who knows how far law and order will deteriorate."
The sheriff's concern was not for the pirates, who lived by the sword and died by it, but for the residents of North Bay. Unlike their mainland counterparts, these people had never converted to the church. They remained faithful to the Old Gods, considering themselves the children of the 'God of Prophecy, Sovereignty, and the Wild Hunt,' and clung to the most primitive lifestyle of North Bay residents.
Rumors whispered that in other districts, ordinary civilians had already been caught in the crossfire of these disputes, though the culprits remained elusive. 'The Ripper' and 'The Faceless' were the prime suspects, but their whereabouts were as mysterious as their motives, and the law enforcement teams were stepping up their pursuit.
"Despite preparations by the Pirate Captain Council, the Navigators guarding the harbor entrance, and the sheriff's office, the unexpectedly large number of pirates has overwhelmed us. There's an unsettling shift in the winds within the Pirate Captain Council. If only Lord 'Whale Hunter' were here. With his 'Iron Law of Sovereignty' and the Royal Guard to keep Iron Anchor Bay in check, such chaos would never have arisen. The young lady, a prodigy in the supernatural realm and already a mid-sequence supernatural individual, is a beacon of hope. But with our current Marshal, who is ailing and set to retire, she alone cannot quell the restlessness of the big pirates."
The North Sea Pirate King 'Whale Hunter,' the Navigators guarding the harbor entrance, and the sheriff were all natives of the island, their fates inextricably linked to the last pirate port in the North Sea. They had witnessed its glory days and its decline, their lives mirroring the fortunes of the port.
"Uncle Weber, why the heavy sighs? Here, I've brought you a fine bottle of rum; the chill is setting in. Care for a taste?"
A nondescript young man, with features so ordinary they were almost forgettable, settled beside the sheriff on the bench and offered him a bottle of Bacardi rum. The sheriff accepted it with the ease of familiarity and took a hearty swig. As he exhaled the potent fumes of alcohol, he cast a sidelong glance at the young man.
"You, a notorious miser, bringing gifts? This isn't like you. Let me guess, a few days ago, you asked for a favor, wanting information on all the privateers entering the port. What brings you here now?"
Far from being embarrassed, Guss seized the opportunity, rubbing his hands together ingratiatingly. "No other business, it's just that the 'Whale Bone Amulet·Silence' you gave me last time has lost its potency. I was wondering..."
The sheriff tossed him another whale bone amulet, impatiently shooing him away. "My supply isn't endless. Save it for your sneaking around. Now, off with you."
As Guss was about to vanish, the sheriff couldn't resist a final warning. "If you stir up trouble, run fast. Don't expect me to clean up after you. Understood?"
The advice, typical of the Bay's pragmatic nature, was more about evading consequences than avoiding trouble.
"Got it, Uncle!"
Guss waved casually and, after three steps, disappeared from sight. Sheriff Weber hadn't noticed, but he had almost completely forgotten about Guss. Yet, he sensed that the boy he had watched grow up seemed somehow changed.
As night descended, in another corner of the town's bustling bar street, a man with a curved saber at his waist and an eyepatch covering one eye—the very picture of a pirate—stumbled into an alley with a burp. Two of his crewmen trailed behind, their eyes scanning the surroundings warily.
"Why the captain's order to return to the ship at night? I was just getting into the drinking spirit. You're such a killjoy!"
The two men grimaced, trying to reason with the inebriated first mate. "You know as well as we do about the 'Wild Hunt' and their relentless attacks. Both ordinary pirates and supernatural individuals have fallen victim. The captains have gathered intelligence confirming that they're targeting our privateering alliance. All the victims are our people. Even though you're a formidable first-tier 'Pirate,' caution is always wise."
The 'Wild Hunt' was a legend that had long haunted Scandinavia. A spectral band of hunters, either ghostly or supernaturally powerful, pursued their quarry without mercy, and none who crossed their path ever escaped. They vanished without a trace, and the appearance of the 'Wild Hunt' often foretold calamities like war or plague. Their true nature was a mystery, with theories ranging from undead to beasts, even primitive deities. The 'King of the Wild Hunt' was often considered an aspect of Odin, the 'God of Prophecy, Sovereignty, and the Wild Hunt,' revered by the Bay's residents.
In this spate of murders, the assailant remained unseen, and the victims disappeared without a trace, their bodies never found. Even high-level divination spells failed to uncover any clues, suggesting the perpetrator was not of this world. The name 'Wild Hunt' had spread fear among the crews of the privateering ships.
The pirate first mate fell silent at his men's words, focusing on the path ahead. Who wasn't afraid of death? But as they walked, his expression shifted abruptly. The footsteps behind him had inexplicably... increased by one!