Days On Hold

Arrival

The Flying Mouse, a ship built for tough voyages, moved with a creak through the pre-dawn mist. The aroma of sea salt mingled with the scent of tar as it sliced the fog. Aboard, sailors donned uniform-type attire in dark dresses. Brown leather jerkins won over shirts.

Shirts are loose-fitting to the body, featuring full-length sleeves gathered at the cuffs. Their eyes fixed on the looming silhouette ahead. Ikomzil. The name alone carried the weight of dread, a dark island on the otherwise vibrant kingdom of Urgatto.

"The great island where evil is 'good' and good..." Kelan paused, lifting a pitcher.

Weana turned to Kelan with a smirk, her eyes reflecting a mix of cynicism and anticipation. "Here, where virtue is replaced by wickedness , and a wicked deed might earn you a hero's welcome, Ifuna and I don’t blend in posing as sailors’ wives," she mused. Kelan met Weana comment with a wry smile. "Our purpose here is good," he affirmed, an echo of defiance and hope in his voice. " Can already tell from the misty air that the guards of this island will be glad to see us," he said, as though challenging the island’s twisted moral compass

As the Flying Mouse got closer to the island, the horizon started to glow with a soft light, yet what was revealed wasn't inviting. Ikomzil loomed, a forbidding landmass not of dreams, but of dread. Towering cliffs ink-black as spilt midnight plunged into the churning sea. No beaches offered solace; only perilous, jagged rocks calling for heels wishing to bleed. The prison complex, a sprawling labyrinth deemed inescapable, housed the kingdom's most dangerous criminals: murderers, revolutionaries, and those who dared defy the iron fist of the Urgatto throne.

Even from afar, an oppressive aura emanated from the isle, but not a palpable sense of despair settled on the heart of the ship's captain.

"I have sailed many years to places where men feast and where swords dance. Today, here we sailed to Odder, where we all must be of our most humble selves and invisible to fear," Kelan said as he stood facing his crew. All of them gave a nod, and some clapped faintly.

Ikomzil's reputation preceded it. It was more than just an island; it was Urgatto's ultimate deterrent, its inescapable cage.

"Legends spoke of bewildering tunnels carved into the heart of the island," Trognol disposed.

With his hand on the silk rope attached to a straight pole, his eyes fixated upon Trognol, Ursti, the second in command amongst the crew, calmly remarked, "Yes, and the unspeakable things there be. It all feels a bit solemn now to find ourselves within reach of the island. You and I have studied this place. We shall have a good time here. Nothing is more satisfying than seeing people happy and knowing you played a part in that".

The Flying Mouse navigated the perfidious currents, guided by a lone, grim-faced navigator, Pikoll, who seemed immune to the island's oppressive influence. The air grew thick with anticipation as they approached the only visible landing point: a narrow, fortified cove guarded by draped stone towers. Banners bearing the sigil of Urgatto – a bent arrow crossing a straight spear – snapped in the wind, a stark reminder of the kingdom's unwavering power.

The ship slowed, its heavy anchor plunging into the murky depths. The journey was over. The Flying Mouse had arrived at the shores of Ikomzil, a destination from which few ever returned.

The guard's order sliced through the salty air, sharp as a stray dog's tooth. "No! You are f*******n to land. Ikomzil is off-limits to privateers and foreign sails. Keep heading on!"

The crew, weathered and worn from weeks battling the tempestuous Urgatto Sea, groaned in remonstration. The fumes that drew the attention of the other three guards who rose from their sleep all at once, "Just when we decided to have a little sleep after a night of riots. What in all that be, gave you folks the audacity to choose this shore for your anchor hold?" Asked Plarutin. The most superior amongst the four guards at the mark.

"My good masters, we are sailors from the distant Canaptoca realm, from the kingdom of Jawgiaw . For months, we have been on this voyage, with little moments on land. We have not ventured on land in over three weeks due to the storms that blew us far from our initial sail. Kindly pity us. We are gentle fellows who seek the good for all people. I beg you," pleaded Kelan, his voice rasped from exhaustion and laced with a fleeting internal tremor. As the words slipped past his lips, a hidden thought flickered in his mind—of a fighter burdened with a name he himself bore, tethering his plea to an unspoken mission beneath the desperate request. "Just a moment. A single, blessed moment on solid ground. We won't linger. Just to share bread on land again."

Ifuna rushed forward, chimed in, "Aye, Great masters. Our bodies are breaking, our spirits fading. We pose no threat. Only a brief respite, I swear on my father's grave."

The air hung heavy with their desperate pleas, mingling with the creak of the ship and the distant, mournful cry of gulls. Plarutin, a man hardened by years of command, hesitated. He knew the law. Knew the grim purpose of Ikomzil, the island prison that held Urgatto’s most dangerous criminals. Yet, he also saw the desperation brewing in the weary eyes of the crew.

"A moment," he conceded, his voice laced with warning. "One moment to stretch your legs and taste solid sand. No wandering. No exploring. Back on your ship before the last sliver of sun dips below the horizon. Is that understood?"

A ragged cheer erupted. "We are thankful," Kelan said, still looking at the men overhead. There is a surge of life in the otherwise desolate atmosphere. "Make sure it holds, it's all rocky and scandalous out here," cried Ursti as the men waved their arms all over the shore.

"You both," Kelan pointed to the two women, walking quickly past the men loosening the ropes of a boat. "Stay here and observe first. When we get to the top of that wall, be swift about it," he instructed them.

"Surely Captain. Make sure my father makes it out alive. That's if we are not too late already," demanded Ifuna.

"Hopefully," he replied to her with a bow. And returned to his men.

The anchor plunged into the dark sand with a resounding thud. A white boat was lowered, and the men scrambled aboard, their faces alight with anticipation.