Elwen tore his eyes away from the corpse just long enough to scan the map, before shaking his head. "I'm sorry, Captain. They're all unfamiliar to me.
"I thought as much. At least now we know the ship belonged to our kind," Arven said. He folded the map, and slipped it into his coat. Stepping past the desk, he spotted a cot pressed against the wall, with a journal half covered by the velvet blankets.
As he reached for it, a cry rang out from the deck outside. Arven drew his sword and rushed outside, grabbing onto the railing. One of his men laid sprawled out on the deck, his face as pale as the frost in his beard.
A gust swept over the ship, snapping back the torn sails, and revealing a twisted statue, kneeling in the snow. Upon seeing this, a few of the other crew members broke into nervous laughter, but a sharp glance quieted them.
"Get back to work, all of you," Arven said. He waited until they had, then made his way to the fallen man. "Are you alright?"
"I-I'm fine, Captain." The crew member climbed to his feet, and brushed the snow off his trousers. "It just gave me a bit of a fright, that's all."
"I can see why," Arven said, examining the statue.
It resembled a man, perhaps in his late forties, and dressed in the attire of a sailor. An impossible amount of detail went into the man's features, though the face itself was contorted, with his mouth split open in a soundless scream, while the veins in his eyes bulged. Even the fingers clawing at his neck were carefully formed, with the nails appearing as though they were dug into the skin itself.
"Whoever chiseled this had a twisted mind." The crew mate stepped back, shivering.
Arven's eyes widened as he recalled the rat. 'Petrification. The people on this ship were all petrified!'
"Everyone, back to the ship!" Arven roared, whirling around. "Leave everything behind, and go!"
His cry sparked a frenzy in the men as they dropped the items they held, and scrambled back towards the gangplank. Arven watched from behind, counting each one as they bolted over the fog covered gangplank, down to the last stumbling one. Scowling, he grabbed the man's shoulder.
"Wait, where's Elwen. I never saw him cross!"
"I- I think I saw him over there." The man gestured wildly towards the prow. "He was mumbling beneath his breath, but I couldn't hear what he was saying."
"Alright. When you get across, tell the crew to prepare to set sail. If we're not over within the next three minutes, I want you to leave without us, you understand."
The man furrowed his brow, but nodded. "Yes, Captain."
Arven released his shoulder, and the man clamored across the gangplank. Spinning on his heel, he raced across the deck.
"Elwen? Where did you go?" Arven called out. He tore through the flapping sails, and stumbled over the fallen masts. Through the heavy fog, he spotted the shadow of his first mate, staring blankly into a dark doorway. "Elwen! What are you doing? We need to get off-"
Arven froze as he grabbed Elwen's shoulder, only to find it as hard as stone. For a moment, he thought the boat was trembling, before realizing it was his legs. Gritting his teeth, he stepped forward, and gazed upon the face of his first mate.
Elwen's haunted eyes stared past him, wide, and into the depths beyond the doorway. His skin was as dark as obsidian, and colder than ice, while the lantern laid broken at his feet, the flame snuffed out.
Arven threw his fist over his mouth and reeled away, fighting back the rising bile. With a deep breath, he peered into the darkness beyond the doorway. His blood chilled to the bone as an array of petrified men stared back at him, their faces warped, while bits and pieces of their bodies appeared missing.
'Gods above! The ship has been cursed!' Arven thought. Cursing beneath his breath, he took one last look at Elwen, then muttered his apologies, and hurried back to the gangplank.
"Men! Cast off! We need to leave, now," Arven said, leaping across the gangplank. He whirled around, and kicked the board, sending it spiraling into the waves. "I fear there's dark magic on that ship. It took Elwen."
An unnatural silence clung to the air as Arven paused, and lowered his hand to the hilt of his sword. "Who are you?"
"One may consider me a traveler. To others, a plague," The answer was cold, but clear.
Arven turned. A young man stood behind him, his ice blue eyes watching him from beneath a mop of tousled black hair. A black fur cloak hung from his shoulders, matching the dark leather armor he wore, which was adorned by a scaled bear, similar to the ship's figurehead. At his hip, he carried a cracked sword, seemingly made from stone, with an amethyst set in the pommel.
"What do you want?" Arven asked, his gaze flicking across the deck. His crew stood behind the man, unmoving as the wind tore at their loose clothes. The sky cracked with lightning, revealing the men's twisted stone expressions.
The man's lips thinned. "I hope you can give me some answers. Where are we? What land is this?"
Arven straightened his back, and stared the man straight in the eye. "The nearest land is Telmuth, in the Ereth desert. We were headed there when we stumbled across your ship. We only boarded to search for survivors."
The stranger scratched his chin. "A noble effort, for which I am grateful. Without you, I might have been stranded here for quite some time. One last question. Have you witnessed a ship possessed by plants recently, steered by a man with amber hair and emerald eyes? He wears a bronze pendant around his neck, bearing the form of a tree."
Arven scowled. "No, I have seen no such man, nor ship of that description."
"I feared as much." The man sighed. "A shame. At least then your death would have had meaning."
Arven flinched as the man flicked his wrist, and a shadow sprung from his cloak. A blur was all he saw before it struck his chest, embedding itself. He blinked, uncertain, and let his head drop. A shard of black stone had pierced his skin, and lodged itself between his ribs, pulsing with veins of amethyst.
"What- what did you do?" Arven asked. He staggered back, falling against the railing. He grasped at the stone, but his fingers slipped off the slick shard, and stained his coat with crimson blood.
With his strength waning, Arven fought to keep his senses, but the lull of sleep weighed heavily against him, stronger than any drink ever had. Taking a deep breath, he picked his head up, and glared at the man who stood before him.
"You won't get away with this, warlock," Arven said. He shifted his body with a grunt, and tilted back his head. "By the Halls of Osyras, your sins today will not be forgotten."
Then, as the last of his strength dwindled, and his final breath mixed with the falling snow, Arven caught the man muttering beneath his breath.
"If the gods deem it my fate, then so be it. But I will not rest until I've taken my revenge."