Lord of Nature

"Neither do I," Arven said, stopping before a desk fastened to the center of the floor. The fetid corpse of a man slumped in the seat behind it, a shard of stone protruding from his sunken chest. "I fear we may have stumbled across something we shouldn't have. Elwen, bring me the lantern."

As Elwen trudged over, the light caught on a charcoal map, stuck to the wood. Arven frowned, and peeled it off, avoiding the dried blotches staining the edges. His wrinkles deepened as he flipped it over, and held it closer to the lantern. The map outlined a foreign continent, vastly different from the one he knew, including its own sea routes, and kingdoms.

"Say, do you recognize any of these lands?"

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. Still, at least now we know that 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, clawing at its own neck. Upon seeing this, a few of the other crew members broke into nervous laughter, but a sharp glance quieted them down. 

"Get back to work, all of you," Arven said. He waited until they had, then made his way down to the fallen man. "Are you alright?"

"I-I'm alright, Captain." The crew member climbed to his feet, and dusted 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 twenties, 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 said. 

Arven shivered 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 back over, 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 sails draped over the deck, and stumbled over the fallen masts. Ahead, 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 his jacket hung loosely from his shoulders, flapping in the wind. 

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! It was a massacre!' 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 off the gangplank. He whirled around, and grabbed the board, pulling it across. "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. Others would call me 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 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. He glanced past the man at his crew, all of which were now petrified in stone, their expressions one of shock and horror.

The man's lips thinned. "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 in the 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, embedding itself in his chest. He blinked, uncertain, and let his head drop to his chest. A shard of black stone embedded itself between his ribs, pulsing with veins of amethyst. 

"What- what did you do?" Arven asked. He staggered back, falling against the railing as he grasped at the stone. His fingers slipped off the slick shard, staining his skin 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."