The Ocean waters roared and struck the six carracks that had so bravely left their invaded home to search the unknown Roaring Sea for a new haven.

Some thought their passengers were heroes—others, cowards. However, the three leaders of this expedition would not let minor words of discouragement stop them, for that was no way a queen, a count, or a bard should act.

The three carracks that led the blind charge into that unforgiving ocean had an imperial charm to them. And they should, for they were led by none other than Queen Miria Roseport, Queen of Haven-Harbor.

Her wavy, rose-colored hair, enchanting teal eyes, and cotton-white skin served as a guiding light for her subjects aboard the rickety ship.

Raindrops barraged the queen as she made her way toward the first captain of the kingdom, Gilbert, who was trying his best to keep the wooden vessel afloat.

Gilbert's war feats had earned him the title of first captain of Haven-Harbor, and although a few gray hairs had sprouted on his head, his men still feared his infamous blue stare.

Gilbert adjusted his longcoat as the queen did the same with hers.

As the queen tried to hold onto the ship, she raised her voice so the first captain could hear her. “Captain Gilbert, status! How long until the storm passes? The settlers down in the hold are getting restless, and the clerics are starting to lose faith.”

The captain searched the sky for stars as droplets of rain fell into his eyes, but he could not find any of them. So instead, he looked at the broken double moon of Thalon and its many floating pieces and chunks of lunar rubble and answered the queen.

“We entered the Ring of Storms a while ago, Queen. No ship has ever come back to say how far it goes, so we will have to find out for ourselves.” The captain struggled to turn the helm of the ship but laughed as he did. “Have no fear, we are the proud sons and daughters of Haven-Harbor. If there is anyone in Vaelia capable of crossing this gods-forsaken ring, it's us and our ships.”

The queen smiled at the captain's hopefulness. “That's the spirit. Show the gods what the sons and daughters of fishermen are made of. I will try to remind our settlers of that.”

The captain nodded. “Aye aye, Your Highness. So, are we to keep the plan we agreed upon?”

Miria looked back and answered the soaking and salted captain. “Yes. Tell Garret to send a message to Jameston's and Rorrick's ships to stick to the plan we agreed on before the storm.”

“Aye, Queen.”

As the queen returned to the cargo hold, she saw Captain Gilbert give the order to his younger brother, First Mate Garret, who sent several white doves flying toward the ships following behind.

The queen entered the well-lit cargo hold below deck. It had been rebuilt and repurposed to hold both the sailors’ sleeping quarters and the common folk’s.

The hold held the best forms of comfort and hygiene that could be arranged for with the time the builders had, but they were still not enough. The smell was unbearable and trash littered the hold; still, the queen dried her hair, took one last deep breath of fresh air and—after she got used to the smell again—stepped down to comfort her subjects. It was no place for a queen, but Miria knew that if there was ever a time her subjects needed her soft words, it was now.

The carrack rocked along the waves as Miria entered the damp cargo hold filled with the common folk of Haven-Harbor. The settlers were startled by the storm, Miria beckoned to them. Doubt and anxiety filled their hearts, and many of the young among the settlers cried over their uncertain fate.

“What is a storm to the ships of the sons and daughters of Haven-Harbor? We are the people that danced and dueled against the masters of both the frozen north waters and the boiling south seas. Do you really think a mere storm will stop us? No! We are brave traders and explorers. We will not fall to the fate of sweet water sailors. We will reach a new land and find a new haven!”

Everyone looked at the young queen,her confidence and assuredness calmed them. It had even been able to stop the young ones crying. As they looked at Miria, smiling, with a newfound sense of hope. Miria's scarlet hair and royal blue dress further stated her authority and cemented the people's trust in her. But there were still some who doubted her. Some of the older and more seasoned subjects began to scoff and murmured with one another, about “Empty royal words”.

A second thunder clapped over the ocean waters, echoing through the ship. The people once more cowered in fear.

An anxious soul sprang up from the mob of the humble peasants and asked his queen for guidance. “What guarantee do you have that we'll find new land, Your Highness? How do you know that the gods have not forsaken us?”

The queen stumbled for a few moments as she tried to think of a good lie or an argument. Then, with the inflection of an eager and unprepared princess at her first public speech, Miria answered him with her learned, but often ineffective diplomatic skills. “How do I know? Ho-how do I know, you say? Well, because I am sure we have the gods’ blessings. I know this because we are all still here, aren't we?”

The mob of poor farmers and fishermen then started to whisper among each other. The bright fire of hope and certainty that once radiated from the queen and her flame-like hair now changed to fragile embers that were easily put out by the raging seawater again.

The calm spirits of the settlers started to revert to their panicked state, but before the fear of the common folk could undo the work of the brave mariners above Miria shouted at her subjects. They all looked to her and saw a wildfire in her gaze.

“If the gods wanted us dead, they wouldn't have let us escape from the wrath of the Blacksmith and his conquered armies at all now, would they?

It would be useless to waste a soul's vitality like that, so that means the gods must have some use for us; maybe this Ring of Storms isn't meant to be an obstacle for us—maybe it's here because the gods know that only we can find a way to cross it, and it will stay here to protect us from any ship of the Blacksmith’s that tries to come after us.

I full-heartedly believe this. So, as I said before, have no fear, my friends.”

As Miria finished her speech, her fiery gaze sizzled and all were comforted by the queen's explanation. Some still had doubts, but they kept quiet and did not dare to anger the queen. Instead, many talked about the riches of this new land that Miria and the gods promised to them, the deserved reward of the common people, or so they called it.

A new land far away from the war and pestilence of old Vaelia. And it would be their queen, Miria Roseport, who would take them to this new land of wealth and peace.

Miria decided to stay with her subjects until the storm subsided. She prayed silently to herself and hoped that the other two expedition leaders, Count Jameston and Rorrick, would be safe. But she especially hoped that her longtime friend, the bard Rorrick, was in good hands.

Two dim lights of madness and hope shone against the colossal waves, that rocked the carracks: Count Jameston's ships, Heads and Tails. On this voyage alone, they'd nearly been sunk so often that sailors whispered they were held afloat only by the grace of the Gods. But the count paid no attention to his skim with the god of death, Mort.

Jameston jumped with glee, laughing maniacally as he held to the helm of the carrack Heads. His messy black hair and goatee were dripping with saltwater, and his subjects and guard looked at him in fright, as he did not seem to care about the storm, the ship, his subjects, or even his soaked black and white uniform.

As water sprayed the count, he screamed at the storm and his subjects. “Ah, the joys of the world! Guide me to your promised land, my beloved lady and goddess! Fortuna! Aid me to reach your mortal home! Immortal and powerful goddess of luck and chance, aid me yet again, bring my ships to safety!”

A single voice of reason still dared to question the faith-driven count: Stein, the head scribe of count Jameston. Stein had grown with Jameston since they were kids and through his years had always tried to bring the count to reason and logic, always unsuccessfully.

The young scribe tried once more to bring his lord and rival to reason. “Lord! Let me take the helm before you sink the ship!”

The count cackled. “Afraid of some water, Stein? Have no fear, my goddess has promised me safe passage!”

“You annoying son of a bi-” Before the scribe could finish his curse, a large wave forcefully invaded the deck and doused him.

Jameston laughed maniacally as Stein coughed out seawater. “Such is the pay for those that doubt the great Lady of Luck and Chaos and her chosen protege, me!”

The scribe adjusted his gray longcoat and brown hair, walking towards the count. “You pompous, self-entitled street urchin!” He made to pry him from the helm. “You think just because Count Marl adopted you and made you his heir you can mock his rule with your blind trust on those coin tosses? You are an embarrassment and I'm ashamed to have been born in the same social caste as you. Give me that helm! If you're just looking for directions in a coin, we might as well have no one at the wheel!”

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Jameston tried to push Stein away with his body, and as the Scribe tried to pull the helm to his side, the ship rocked left and right. “Stop, you simpleton! Trust me Stein, my luck never fails--you know that. Just leave this one to me!”

“I know it does! That's what upsets me the most. You can't judge everything on luck! I’d rather be eaten by the sea than see you crossing the most dangerous natural phenomenon in the known world on sheer luck!” Again, the scribe was too focused on rebuking Jameston to notice as a wave attacked the deck, washing a handful of retinues into the ocean. Jameston held on to his prized helm, but Stein lost his grip on the ship and plummeted into the Roaring Ocean below.

Jameston let out a cry for his childhood friend and rival and threw his royal coin in the air. Its checkered and arrow sides flashed in the ship’s dim light.

“Well goddess, am I going in for them?”

In his hand, the coin’s black arrow pointed down. Jameston's look changed, and he continued to hold on to the helm and laugh as he sailed with his ships into the storm.

The party hit the water with a thump that was deafened by the surrounding storm and thunder. The guards struggled to float but lost the fight against the weight of their breastplates and sank to the bottom, pulled by their metal defenses.

Stein did not struggle or tried to stay afloat. Instead, he tried to remain calm. And as he slowly sank below the cold ocean water, he reminisced about his life. Stein remembered how his peasant parents sent him away to study as one of the count’s scribes, and especially remembered the death of the count's wife and only heir.

They’d called them a curse of bad luck, those tragic accidents. No wonder Count Marl adopted an orphan with such an unnatural surge of good luck. Stein remembered the day the count met Jameston on the side of the street, and after the urchin had beat him at various games, adopted him as his new heir.

Then before Stein surrendered his last breath to the water, he thought of his years growing up with Jameston, and of his profound hate and rage for his good luck.

With a last sigh, the air escaped his lungs and the cold water filled him as he slowly sank into the unknown void where no human could live.

Stein felt cold, lonely and angry as he prepared to be taken to the Outerplanes. But before Mort could collect another soul—just before the scribe closed his eyes—he saw something strange: an odd collection of glowing lights, far, far on the bottom of the Ocean. And swimming toward him, a strange creature.

Its figure was human, but its skin was covered in glowing, multicolored scales, and its hands and feet had strange, fin-like membranes. Furthermore, as the figure got closer, Stein noticed its beautiful long hair that, like its scales, changed color every second. But the hair seemed to resemble more like the arms of jellyfish, or that of seaweed and kelp.

As the creature floated inches away from Stein, he noticed its feminine figure, her uncovered features and her curious look.

Just my luck—I’ll die without being able to catalog the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen, he thought. Then, as he started to close his eyes and let the ocean engulf him, Stein did not feel the cold and harsh embrace of the Roaring Sea. Instead, he felt a warm hug surrounding him, and his vitality returning.

Stein sensed the water drain from his lungs, and in its stead, life-giving air returned. He mustered a newfound force to open his eyes, and as the cold water blurred his vision and awoke him, he saw the sea-bound woman wrapped around him, draining water from his body and replacing it with air as she kissed him.

When the woman saw that Stein’s eyes open, she quickly started swimming with him to the surface, while still hugging and kissing him.

Stein did not resist or struggle. He let the sea-bound woman carry him to wherever she wanted—he did not have many other options.

When they broke the surface, the aquatic woman jumped out of the roaring sea and over the waves. Her scales turning a dark blue that meshed with the raging blue and black sky. For a second, Stein saw Jameston’s ship on the horizon, sailing away from the corpses of those who had fallen from Heads and Tails.

Strangely enough, Stein did not feel angry—at least not yet. For now, he was relieved that out of all of those that fell overboard he had survived. He could not tell if it was due to luck or not, but he decided not to question it yet.

After Stein had his fill of the fresh, salted air, the sea-bound girl returned with him to the calm, blue world underneath the Roaring Sea.

She swam with her arms wrapped tight around him, and when they were deep enough that the white foam of the waves and the sparkling stars disappeared, the girl swam through the black deep faster than any ship.

The force of the water assaulted the scribe's face like a thousand consecutive punches from drunken tavern brawlers. He sensed his conscience fading, so he held on tightly to his savior and hoped she would bring him somewhere safe before he passed out in her arms.

One last carrack stumbled through the raging ocean. It was a mercenary ship, hired by the bard Rorrick.

The ship's design was old and frail. It was an old merchant ship commanded by an experienced team of mercenary sailors, and although the ship was damaged and molded, it remained afloat thanks to the expertise of the sailors on board.

The ship had no settlers or common folk aboard. Only the hired sailors and the bard himself.

Rorrick tried his best to hold on to a rope as the ship rocked back and forth. His knees wavered when a rogue wave sprayed his face, drenching his old, road-weary brown jacket and dirt-blond tunic.

He closed his eyes, mustering strength. Rorrick fixed his blond hair, a sign of his noble origin, took out his battle-worn lute, and focused on the only thing that still gave him courage in times of need: Queen Miria.

He thought of his old friend and their love—remembered adventures they had before she was married off to be a queen. And with the raging storm above, and the thunder as his light, Rorrick stepped forth to the mast of the ship and serenaded his sailors.

Bastard was I born

With no mother to mourn

Evicted from home

and cursed to roam

Oh poor, poor bard

always on guard

never barred

n' your eyes, always starred

A bard they called me

n' through taverns I traveled

until I saw her in the night

bright like a light

perfect like a goddess

honest n' flawless

Oh poor, poor bard

always on guard

never barred

n' your eyes, always starred

And through lands we hauled

and dungeons we crawled

against evil kings

and dragon twins

For adventure was calling

and love was dawning

but on that day of summer

she kissed me and said

“I must go, but I trust

I'll see you again.”

Oh poor, poor bard

always on guard

never barred

n' your eyes, always starred

She left for the Seven-Towers

And I stood near the flowers

Holding her pendant

Hoping to see her again.

Now I dream and hope

for all I do is mope 'n try to cope

for my lost love

to return from her throne above

to one more time, hold me in her arms

n' I'll rest happy, knowing she holds me in her charms.

As Rorrick finished his song, he felt newfound courage surging from the depths of his soul. The love he felt toward his old companion drove him forward and no matter what lay in front of him, it was not enough to keep him apart from his love. No waves, no storms, no god-sent fury or mutinies could drown him.

Rorrick held onto the edge of the ship and painstakingly looked back and forth, searching for any sign of Miria's ships. He saw none.

So for a few seconds, he relaxed his grip and delivered himself to the rocking ship, the waves, and the wind, as he prayed for the gods to keep Miria safe.

Rorrick was so focused on the storm that he did not hear the sailors above and behind him, atop the masts and on the deck, yelling for him to give instructions. Considering Rorrick hired them and was the captain, they at least expected him to do something.

The sailors tried to get close to Rorrick, but the waves had gotten higher, and if something didn’t change soon, there was a good chance the ship would tip.

From the top of a mast, a single sailor leapt down. It was the first mate, Ivar. With various hand commands and with the full strength of his voice, Ivar set his mates to work maneuvering out of the Ring of Storms.

“Billy! Rile! Take to starboard. Henrik! Set down the latter sail. Awen, Loe, keep her to yer side and follow Luna's half chunk! I'm puttin’ the fronters up!” The sailors did not contest Ivar; as quickly as they heard him, they set themselves to work. Ivar did the same.

Ivar brushed water from his beard as he ran through the bouncing ship deck, trying his best not to trip.

He arrived where Rorrick still stood, looking out into the distance. Then, right before a wave could strike them both, Ivar pulled Rorrick backward and saved him from the wave. He did not say anything to him. Instead, Ivar quickly set himself to work and repair and tried his best to command the rest of the sailors from his front post and drive the ship to safety.

Rorrick was still somewhat stunned, so he limited himself to letting the sailors do their work and not getting in their way.

After several grueling minutes on the sea, being pushed off by the ocean, assaulted by the water, the rain, and the piercing noise of thunder, the last human ship crossed through the Ring of Storms.

Finally, the Roaring Sea silenced. In a few hours, the sun would wake. But for now, the darkness and mystery of what lay past the edge of the world, past Land's End, still remained, and all the sailors, common folk and noblemen looked in awe at the calm ocean and dreamed of what wonders they would find in the new lands.