In the end, they came looking for me, because of course, they did. You did not lose that many warriors on patrol and just let it slide. I saw the Wyldlings march over the Needle, ready to start a war. The human slaves had been recalled from the Broken Lands and distributed to the other camps that worked closer to their base of operations. They were just looking for me.

And impressive they were. Dozens of colorful and wildly changed individuals with stolen weaponry, that meant good quality, and grim determination in their eyes. A menagerie of mutants and beastmen. It looked like they had taken the time to land the troops from the frigate in the bay, judging by the number of boats in the harbor. Just for little old me. I was flattered. But there he was, among his warriors. A man as slim as a willow, a feathered spear in his right, and a long, stiff, red-brown braid that reached over his back to his belt. I could not see his face from the distance, but his hair stood out. Barak Bloodbraid.

I did not know if my eyes were playing tricks on me, but I seemed to see slivers of darkness running down the bodies of the warriors, especially Bloodbraids. It was just a haze, just a trick on the eye, but it was unsettling even so. These were a different breed of Wyldling. These were the ones that breached the walls of Ravenrock with no fear or remorse. These were trained predators and killers of the Snake Clan, not the younglings and those of other clans they had to send into the floating mountains to do the dirty work. I had not expected that Barak Bloodbraid himself would join the hunt. He wanted to come to me, to my mountain, where I was king?

Fair enough. I wouldn‘t be there anyway.

I was a Level 5 [Margrave of Ravenrock] with a couple of Twice-Born tricks under my belt. Those were elite warriors and hunters. It would not surprise me to see some 20s and 30s among them. If every rumor about Barak Bloodbraid was true, that he was the [Shaman] of his generation, then I would even expect him to be level 40+. I would not face them on their terms. Or ever, if I could help it.

So, when the hunting group scaled the Needle up to the Broken Lands, I slipped off my rock and on to the vines hanging over the chasm and nothing more. I was hanging under the lowest layer of stone, nothing but air below me, and started climbing ahead. From vine to vine. Climbing on and over the smallest debris, miles under the walkable paths up top. Gone from the face of the earth for all intents and purposes.

I rested for an hour as I reached the gap between the Broken Lands and the Needle, sitting on a swaying rock that was just big enough to sit on cross-legged. I had to go up, over the rope bridge that connected the Needle with the next big floating boulder, and down again. And I wanted Barak and his men to have enough time to leave this area for good. I could not see what was going on above me, and my ears were useless under the deafening noise of the giant waterfall. So I just waited and hoped for the best.

I stared at the Needle. A jagged, sharp piece of rock. And it was enormous. It reached all the way down to the bowels of the earth and all the way up to the floating mountains. And was big enough, and angled perfectly, to use it as a ramp even for cavalry riding side by side. And it was so close to me.

I was two hundred feet under the bridge, the workers carving a way straight down the Needle were maybe 120 feet above me, climbing over their scaffolding and platforms, spanning ropes and hammering anchors into the rock.

It was so close.

As was the waterfall. The noise was stunning in and of itself, but the scale of this force of nature was unbelievable. I felt so small, so insignificant in the presence of a wonder like this. The force of the rushing and falling water even pushed the air out so hard, I had trouble sitting still. Even if it had been calm, I would‘ve gripped the rock I was sitting on so hard, my knuckles turned white. I could feel the pull of the Abyss, the pull of the earth below.

And yet, I was so close.

The Needle itself was 40 feet wide between the two waterfalls. All of it wet and slippery. And yet...what was a wet wall and a little jump against the risk of being caught by those men and women above? The stone was rough and had good grips for climbing, if you discounted the sides the waterfall had washed to a smooth surface. But in the grand scheme of things, the Broken Lands were young, because the Mad King himself had broken them. Nature hasn't had enough time to erode it yet. And that could be my chance.

I jumped.

I was secured by my rope, which was knotted to Zero, who had used [Fetter] to fasten himself to the small rock we had been sitting on. If I fell, he could hold me and I could climb up to the small rock again. If I made it, he could slip off and I would pull him up.

One glorious moment I was in the air, my legs running over nothing, my arms windmilling in the spray of the waterfall. That glorious feeling of absolute freedom and peace, when even my heart was too afraid to beat, and adrenalin rushed every other sensation away.

I slammed into the wall, my hands finding the grip I had been aiming for. The force of my impact bounced me back from the wet stone, feet scrambling hands cramping painfully, slipping off. I threw my foot out over the Abyss as I felt myself falling off as if kicking at an unseen attacker.

My foot slammed into the air. [Airwalk]. I pressed myself off the air against the wall. I had one second. I searched, my other food dangling in the air, looking for purchase. There! [Airwalk] ended. I had done it. Hanging from a protruding rock just big enough to grab it with both hands and standing on a ledge, comfortably as wide as two fingers. I was grinning madly. This was what life was all about.

It was 40 feet up to the sea level and 130 or so to the first human-made platforms. I could reach the first mark without untying Zero, and after that, the rock would be dry and easy to scale. And so I began. I just needed the slaves to either not look down too much or not care enough. But everybody knows not to look down when you are working over a bottomless pit, right? I sure as all hells wasn’t looking down myself.

I reached the sea level with quick and practiced movements and gestured for Zero to let go of my little safety rock. Instead of trying to pull the rope in with one hand I just climbed on, and around, until I was on the side of the rock, so the workers would no longer be able to see me. If I climbed on I would reach the improvised pier the slaves were reinforcing to calm the waters of Shipwreck Bay. The pier itself had looked tiny from the top of the mountain but was a combination of wild shoals and stones reaching into the sea for miles. The slaves just had to flatten the tops and use the debris to fill the gaps. The water was shallow as well on this side of the breakwater, which is why the current was so strong. Why wasn't the chasm filling up? Why wasn’t the sea drained already?

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

Of course, the Shattered Sea had been known to the Empire of the Sun. It was really close after all, to the southern shores at least. It was not a matter of concern to the people of the Margraviate of Ravenrock most of the time, but I had been educated. But this...was a wonder beyond any mortal understanding. And we - even the mages of the White Tower - had no idea. All of this, even the lands on the other side of the ocean, or whatever this body of water was called, were cut off from the rest of the world by the Shattered sea and the changing nature of the Wyld, and was completely unknown to most peoples.

I had time to ponder. I was pressed against the Needle, standing securely on some rocks, and just waited. Waited for the twilight of the evening, maybe even nightfall. I let my mind wander to pass the time. What if you would build the pier out to the other side, to the unknown shores there? Would this side of the waterfall run dry? Could you drain away this part of the bay? My muscles tensed over time. The position I was in was comfortable but went over to painful really quickly once a few hours had passed. I stretched and relaxed every group of muscles in a seemingly endless cycle. I could not afford to begin the final stretch of my climb with sore joints and muscles.

As I looked over the boiling sea before me, for hours now, I couldn‘t help but notice a few things. For one, there were the shadows in the waves. Darting in and out of the spray with incredible speed. Some of them big enough to send a shiver down my spine. This was my first time at the sea, so to speak. I had seen it from above, and the sight of it had melted my heart, but I never had been so close. The depth and sheer magnitude were mind-blowing. As was the thought of what would lurk in the deepest waters. And I noticed something else. Every now and again, when a wave hit a certain spot just right, I could see a curious thing under the surface. It might have been just a shallow spot. Or it might have been the crumbled roof of a building out of yellow bricks. After a few hours, I had seen it enough times to be sure. There were buildings down in the shallow side of the bay. Victims of the cataclysm that shattered the Shattered Sea? Victims of the Mad King’s rage or the fight of the dragons? Or was it some kind of aquatic structure, not buried but actually built underwater?

Dusk came and I moved. I slipped around the Needle, carefully looking out for movement on the parts of the pier that came into my field of view. They had retreated to their ships or somewhere else to spend the night huddled around their campfires and lanterns. I had not seen the slaves yet and did not know where they were held.

Finally, I stepped on the first rock, smoothened by human hands, that was part of the pier, shrouded in [Walk the Night Unseen]. It was almost dark now, and I was experienced enough in the Wyld by now, that I could practically feel the unknown dangers of darkness awaken around me. The sun was going down in the West, and so I would have the last rays of sunshine in my back if you looked out from the shipwrecks, which wasn’t ideal. The shipwrecks were brightly lit with lanterns, torches, and fires surrounding them. The whole structure was swaying lightly in the few waves that reached the harbor and the Needle swallowed a lot of the thundering noise of the waterfalls. But it was still there. No one would hear me if I did not make a grave mistake.

I ducked behind a couple of carts, filled with shattered stone ready to fill up some holes in the morning, and ran from cover to cover, watching out for the guards posted around the fires scattered over the area.

I based my confidence on two things. One, the noise of the waterfall and my Skill to shroud myself in shadows. But the second consideration was, that I was a human. And over the days I had hunted the Wyldlings, I had not seen them concerned about the presence or absence of a human once. They had not placed much value on the life of humans, and would not do so now. So what if a slave ran away in the night? Let the Nightmares handle that problem. At least that was what I was imagining they might think like.

But I was fairly sure that no one had seen me, as I finally was pressed against the barnacled hull of a ship, rolled on its side, that was part of the pile that was the Shipwreck Bay. There was a guard, with his fire, just around the bow and the figurehead, a crowned mermaid. I again had underestimated the scale of something from the distance. these ships here that were so haphazardly thrown onto one another were no dinghies or even longboats. These were frigates, older cogs, hulks, and caravels. And some of them were big. Honestly, having never been to the sea, I was astounded how big these ships were in reality. With forecastles, multiple decks and masts...and there were dozens of them piled up. It was a little mountain of ships in and of itself, right at the base of the Needle.

And as I did with every mountain I found, I climbed it.

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It was a labyrinth of half-intact ships, which often were keel up, which made for insanity manifested in architecture. And in this labyrinth of cabins and holds, decks and bilges dwelled the Snake Clan. I could see the fires on the other side of the Needle, where hundreds of slaves were huddled around the light with nothing to protect them from the elements or the creatures that were not deterred by light. They didn’t even have enough fires for everyone to lie down. They sat back to back, to safe on as much space as possible.

In the bellies of the ships the Wyldlings had their camp, and food and drinks flowed freely, wherever I caught a glimpse of the festivities. But the Shipwreck Bay was huge and there may have been hundreds of Wyldlings around, but even one of those ships would have been able to hold the lot of them. And they were spread out.

I had a Nightmare sneaking up on me, as I was just balancing over a horizontal mast to the next ship, broken in half, but instead of dealing with the monstrous combination of countless animals, I dropped down and jumped into the protection of a small campfire. The Wyldlings there were pretty surprised. Well, they were no elite warriors or hunters, those searched the mountains for me.

[Wyldling Trapper defeated! Reward 4 EP]

The Wyldling sank down with Kingsbane through his heart and I just let it go because I just grabbed the other one and threw him into the darkness. The roaring of the waterfall swallowed his screams. I took my sword and the one amulet he had and sprinted on, hoping that the Wyldling would buy me a few moments from the Nightmare.

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Finally, I reached the top and pulled myself on the deck of the topmost ship, a caravel in weathered painting, fires blazing all around, but there was no Wyldling to guard them. A man as vain as Barak Bloodbraid would of course live in the highest ship and his privacy would be respected in his absence. I came to a small door in the aftercastle, next to a set of stairs, took one last breath, and entered.

It was a richly decorated cabin, with a big table in the middle, loaded with tons of books and papers. To the side were several crates filled with Dragonamber, shining like treasure chests of stolen gold. And behind the table, chained to the wall, was a man who whirled around in surprise and fear. He wore silk and the colors of a rich man of the Empire of the Sun, maybe a noble or a successful merchant from the coastal cities. The silk was as dirty as he was, and his face almost as bruised as his silk was torn. His clothes were baggy and hung around his limbs as if a child had been fitted with his father's clothes. He had a hunted look on his face, like a man who had experienced relentless abuse and violence and was preparing himself for the next round of it. He had dark bags under his eyes and the loose skin of a fat man that had lost a large amount of weight quickly.

"Please, no!“ he cried, trying to raise his hands over his head, but the chains stopped him short, biting into his chaffed and raw wrists. "I am almost ready with the tabulations.“

As he turned and spoke, I almost stepped back in revulsion. His lips had been cut off. Instead of a mouth, he had a scarred, gaping hole beyond which broken and shattered teeth formed a nightmare of a smile, forever frozen in the horrific grin of the skull. Saliva ran freely over cheeks and chin, which was riddled with inflammation.

He had not even noticed me, not truly, he dared not lift his eyes to meet mine, instead, he buckled and bowed in submission, already on his way to throw himself on the ground.

"Eyes up!“ I said softly, pulling back my hood. "I mean you no harm, good man. Quite the opposite, in fact. We have much to talk about.“

And soon some life returned into the dead eyes of his, and a dangerous spark awoke in the blackness of his pupils.