A shimmering curtain of late-afternoon sunlight, thick and golden as honey, hung heavy over the wide, slow-moving river. The Nightshatter, a silent, obsidian titan, eased forward at a cautious, almost reverent pace. Roy stood on the bridge, his eyes, usually darting with a familiar undercurrent of anxiety, now narrowed in watchful concentration as he scanned the unfamiliar banks. Though the warship dwarfed the rustic, almost forgotten structures that occasionally peeked through the dense riverside foliage, it moved with a preternatural quietness, its advanced engines a mere whisper against the land's ancient, palpable hush. Eryndra and Zehrina, a study in contrasting power. One radiating fierce, barely contained energy, the other exuding a cool, enigmatic grace. They flanked him like silent sentinels, their gazes sweeping the horizon for any sign of the settlement they'd been told lay nestled just around the next lazy bend.
"Are you absolutely, positively certain this is the correct celestial alignment, Captain?" Warrex rumbled from his customary post near the tactical display, his voice a low, gravelly growl of barely concealed impatience. A sturdy, expertly crafted splint, courtesy of Wills' surprisingly deft, if somewhat alarmingly enthusiastic, ministrations after their last pirate skirmish, still wrapped his forearm. "My internal compass is screaming at me that we're about to navigate directly into a primordial swamp of eternal despair. Or, more distressingly, directly into lunchtime for something with far too many teeth."
Roy offered a faint, weary sigh, not even bothering to glance at the hulking, perpetually grumpy beastman. "The coordinates match the last vaguely coherent, and frankly terrified, message we managed to extract from that sniveling merchant before he fainted, Warrex. So, yes. Unless he was hallucinating, this is it. And look."
He pointed a decisive, if slightly trembling, finger towards a crooked, weather-beaten wooden sign, half-hidden by a thick curtain of whispering reeds that lined the muddy shore. Scrawled on it, in faded, peeling paint that had seen better centuries, were the barely legible words: ERIDIAN. WELCOME. (ISH. TRESPASSERS WILL BE POLITELY IGNORING THEIR SCREAMS AS THEY ARE EATEN BY THE SWAMP GHOULS).
Roy blinked. "Okay, that last part is probably new. And worrying."
As the Nightshatter drifted closer, its immense shadow falling like a creeping eclipse over the sun-dappled water, they caught their first proper glimpse of the land beyond the embankment. A puzzling, almost schizophrenic patchwork of farmland stretched before them. One section, a vibrant, defiant green, burst with what appeared to be healthy, flourishing crops, their leaves rustling hopefully in the gentle breeze. Yet, the adjoining row, separated by no discernible boundary or fence, lay withered, brown, and utterly desiccated, as if touched by some creeping, invisible blight. The skeletal stalks of failed harvests rattled like dry bones in the wind, a grim memento mori.
In between these starkly contrasting fields, solitary villagers appeared in ones and twos, clutching crude farming tools or woven reed baskets, their movements slow, listless, almost mechanical. Many wore guarded, almost haunted expressions, their eyes flicking with a mixture of deep-seated fear and wary, reluctant curiosity towards the looming, impossible iron vessel that had materialized silently in their quiet, forgotten river.
"Not exactly rolling out the welcome wagon and showering us with flower petals, are they?" Zehrina noted, her voice a low, melodic murmur, her dark eyes narrowed in thoughtful assessment. The ever-present black dust around her wrists remained still, mirroring her quiet contemplation.
"It's not that they appear actively hostile," Eryndra added, her own gaze sweeping with a keen, analytical intensity over the scene, "more… profoundly tired. Utterly worn down by something unseen, something relentless."
At last, Roy gave the silent, almost imperceptible signal to moor. The Nightshatter, with its usual unsettling, almost sentient grace, glided towards a simple, somewhat rickety-looking wooden dock. A handful of base-model Presidroids, their movements smooth, practiced, and unnervingly silent, hopped nimbly onto the weathered planks, thick mooring ropes already in hand, and began to secure the colossal ship with practiced efficiency.
There, waiting patiently at the end of the pier, his silhouette framed by the dying sun, stood a lone figure. He was tall, remarkably lean, clad in a neatly buttoned, if slightly worn and outdated, vest. His posture was ramrod straight, radiating an air of quiet, almost unnerving confidence that seemed oddly out of place in this dilapidated setting. As Roy and his crew began to disembark, the young man lifted a hand, not in a wave, but in a calm, measured greeting, so genuinely genial that Roy found himself stepping forward from the gangplank to return it, his usual ingrained caution momentarily, and perhaps foolishly, disarmed.
"Welcome to Eridian," the young man said, his voice carrying a subdued, gentle warmth that resonated surprisingly in the heavy, quiet air. "I am Val Zaks Eridian. It is indeed an honor to receive such… distinguished and… formidable visitors." His eyes, a clear, intelligent hazel, held a flicker of something Roy couldn't quite decipher – relief? Hope? Or was it a carefully concealed, deeply buried desperation?
Roy studied him, taking in the wiry build, the precise, almost economical movements that hinted at a hidden, perhaps surprising, strength. Val was hardly the hulking warrior type, yet there was an undeniable resilience in his stance, an undercurrent of quiet determination. Warrex, never one for prolonged, polite formalities, ambled forward from behind Roy, his massive arms outstretched in a good-natured, if slightly over-enthusiastic and potentially bone-crushing, welcome. He extended one colossal, scarred hand for a handshake.
"Warrex Arcturus," Warrex introduced himself, his voice a rumbling, gravelly bass that seemed to vibrate the very planks of the dock. "Good to finally meet a friendly face in this gods-forsaken, mosquito-infested, and frankly rather depressing, corner of the world. One of the last village we visited tried to sacrifice my ears to a particularly judgmental-looking demon. Long story."
Val inclined his head with a polite, almost serene smile that didn't quite reach his eyes and gripped Warrex's extended hand. At first, the handshake was entirely cordial, a simple, perfunctory gesture of greeting between strangers. But Warrex, ever the instigator, always driven by an insatiable need to test boundaries and assert his dominance, applied just a fraction more pressure than was strictly necessary, his already formidable knuckles whitening slightly. Val, to Warrex's surprise, responded in kind, his own grip intensifying, though his pleasant, almost placid smile never wavered. Their eyes locked, a silent, almost playful dare passing between them. Roy, Eryndra, and Zehrina exchanged thoroughly puzzled, slightly exasperated glances. This was not standard diplomatic procedure.
Then, with a sharp, sudden intake of breath that was almost a gasp, Warrex withdrew his hand quickly, his usual gruff bravado faltering as he flexed his fingers, a grimace of obvious, if quickly suppressed, pain flickering across his rugged features.
"Strong grip you've got there, friend," Warrex muttered, forcing a half-laugh that sounded more like a strangled cough. He subtly tried to shake the feeling back into his numb, throbbing fingers. Val merely shrugged, an apologetic, almost sheepish twist to his lips. He looked as though he hadn't exerted himself in the slightest. Later, once out of Val's earshot, Warrex would sidle up to Roy, hissing under his breath, his eyes wide with a mixture of pain and grudging respect, "Captain, I am fairly certain he shattered at least three, possibly four, of my bones. Didn't feel malicious, though. More like… accidentally crushing a particularly fragile, and deserving, teacup. Still, unsettling. Very unsettling."
"Stop getting your bones broken, you have no good arms left!" Roy yelled.
Before Roy could fully process Warrex's pained, and slightly confusing, assessment of Val's handshake etiquette, Val glanced over at him, his hazel eyes bright with an almost childlike, and entirely too innocent, curiosity. "So, tell me, honored guest, are you truly the one they whisper tales of in the dimly lit taverns and bustling marketplaces? The infamous, the terrifying, the legendary 'Slave Beater of the Three Kingdoms'?"
Roy stiffened as if he'd been tasered, his jaw clenching so hard a muscle ticked erratically just beneath his eye. "Excuse me? Slave Beater?! Where in the blighted, plague-ridden, gods-damned hells do people keep hearing these ridiculous, slanderous, and deeply offensive names!?" he demanded, his voice, amplified by sheer, unadulterated indignation, echoing across the quiet dock like an unexpected thunderclap. A couple of nearby villagers, who had been nervously observing the exchange from a safe distance, yelped in unison and dropped their baskets of presumably precious, and now probably bruised, produce, sending shriveled vegetables and questionable-looking tubers scattering across the dusty planks.
Val immediately lifted his palms in a calming, placating gesture, his earlier composure momentarily faltering. "My deepest apologies! It is merely a rumor, a bit of folklore, that I chanced to overhear in passing. I intended no offense, I assure you, none whatsoever. People, as you are undoubtedly aware, do so love to spin tall, and often wildly, ludicrously inaccurate, tales. Especially about a certain… Thunder Rider who commands a ship of iron and shadow."
Muttering angrily under his breath about the abysmal state of inter-village gossip networks and the general lack of reliable fact-checking in this particular dimension, Roy forced himself to take a deep, centering breath. "For the record," he stated, his voice still tight with a lingering edge of annoyance, "I have never beaten a slave in my entire, admittedly chaotic, but morally upright, life. I buy them out of their indentured contracts and then, this is the important part, I grant them their freedom. There's a rather significant and obvious, difference."
Val nodded, a look of genuine, almost palpable relief washing over his intelligent, well-defined features. "I thought as much. The rumors… they never quite rang true. There was a certain… lack of verifiable detail." He gestured gracefully up the gently sloping, packed-earth path that led from the riverbank towards the unseen heart of the village. "Please, come up to the archduke's estate. We have a modest, but I trust, comfortable guest building prepared for your use. You and your esteemed, and clearly very capable, crew are most welcome to stay. And… there is a rather pressing, and deeply troubling, matter I was hoping you might consent to help us with, if you are so inclined and your schedule permits."