Sea of Ghosts

The crisp morning air, still carrying the faint scent of pine and something distinctly fishy, did little to deter the sun’s determined assault on Windhelm’s docks. Sunlight, thick and golden, poured over the city’s ancient stones, making the newly repaired timbers of the waterfront gleam. Hammers clanged with rhythmic purpose from a nearby construction site, a testament to the city’s stubborn refusal to stay broken. Dunmer, Argonian, and Nord alike, their faces smudged with dust and sweat, moved with a shared, quiet resolve, rebuilding what the war had shattered.
On the deck of The Enchantress, a sleek, dark vessel that looked far too elegant for a working dock, Palindon unfolded a parchment map with a soft crackle. His milky white eyes, strikingly pale against the deep grey-green of his skin, scanned the coastline with an intensity that bordered on unnerving. Long, dark grey hair, almost black, spilled over his shoulders, catching the light like spun shadow. He was a tall figure, easily matching the formidable height of the Nords bustling about the docks, yet his movements possessed a fluid grace that was utterly alien to their brusque efficiency.
“Another fine day for it, wouldn’t you say, old friend?” Palindon murmured, tracing a finger along the jagged contours of the coast between Windhelm and Blacklight.
A low, contented hiss answered him. Onix, a magnificent cobalt Sep Adder, lay coiled on a sun-warmed patch of deck, his scales shimmering like polished jewels. He uncoiled a fraction, his head rising slightly, a flicker of his forked tongue tasting the air. The snake seemed to be in a perpetual state of languid contentment, a stark contrast to the restless energy that hummed beneath Palindon’s calm exterior.
“Aye, too fine, perhaps,” Palindon sighed, his finger drifting further north, towards the icy expanse of the Sea of Ghosts. “These ice flows, they’re thicker than the High King’s skull, even in summer. Still, we’ll navigate them. It’s the other parts of the journey that concern me. The parts where the ship needs to sing.”
He tapped a specific point on the map, a tiny, almost imperceptible mark. “Without those crystals, Onix, she’ll be nothing more than a glorified bathtub once we hit the truly cold waters. And you know how much I despise glorified bathtubs.”
Onix’s tail gave a lazy thump against the deck.
A sudden, boisterous burst of laughter echoed from the docks below, followed by a triumphant shout. “She’s up! By the Eight, she’s actually up!” Palindon glanced over the railing, a faint, almost imperceptible twitch at the corner of his lips. A newly hoisted mast, still swaying precariously, dominated the scene, surrounded by a crowd of cheering labourers.
“Optimistic lot, aren’t they?” Palindon mused, turning back to his map. “All this rebuilding, all this hope. You almost forget what they’re rebuilding from, eh? Still, it’s a refreshing change from the usual moans and groans of a city under siege.” He straightened, rolling his shoulders. “Speaking of things that need to be ‘up’, I wonder if our esteemed crystal-hunters have managed to locate even one of those blasted Ayleid shards. The Sea of Ghosts waits for no man, nor Maormer, nor indeed, for any ridiculously well-prepared Sep Adder.” He glanced at Onix, who merely blinked slowly, basking in the sun’s warmth, utterly unconcerned with the impending magical preparations. The serpent seemed to hum with a quiet, reptilian contentment.

The crisp, unforgiving Windhelm air clawed at Jo's fur, a stark contrast to the College's stuffy, magically warmed halls. Not that he was in those halls anymore. His worn satchel, stuffed with a few mouldy cheese wheels, a suspiciously large, unread spell tome, and a single, slightly singed sock, bounced against his hip. Expelled. The word still hummed in his ears like a broken lute string, but Jo, despite knowing his failure at the mage's guild, found this rather liberating. Adventure! Open spaces! Perhaps even a dragon or two to politely ask for directions.

The city itself was a cacophony. Nords, all brawn and booming voices, jostled past, their breath clouding the frigid air. A blacksmith's hammer echoed through the Stone Quarter, drowning out the distant squawk of gulls. Windhelm was grim, utterly devoid of scholarly quiet, a stark, grey canvas against Jo's vibrant, if somewhat naive, internal palette. He was a lone, ginger and spot-furred splash of sunshine in a blizzard.

He drifted towards the docks, the scent of brine and fish guts replacing the city’s metallic tang. Most vessels here were squat, functional things, their hulls scarred by ice and sea. Then he saw it. The Enchantress, Oohhh!. She was magnificent, a sleek, dark silhouette against the pale sky, her mast reaching for the heavens, sails neatly furled. Not a single barnacle dared cling to her polished timbers. Big. And pretty. So very pretty.

At her helm stood a figure, an elf, but not like any Jo had ever seen. His skin was the colour of the sea, his hair a cascade of dark seaweed, and his eyes… they were a startling, milky white. Blind, then. A poor, sightless Dunmer, clearly. He stood so still, so quiet, a stark, aloof statue. Jo’s tail twitched with purpose.

“Excuse me, sir!” he chirped, bounding over, his paws crunching on frozen gravel. “That’s a splendid vessel you have there! Truly splendid! This one's name is Jo, Jo’Qa ashi, and this one's a mage! Recently… well, this one decided to practice magic in the field, as it were." It was partially true. "Perhaps you need a crew member? this one is very good at keeping spirits high, and can certainly help you with… navigating!” He gestured vaguely towards the ship's prow. “Being unable to see, I mean. It must be so difficult.” He might have chosen his words more carefully; he certainly didn't want to offend the Dunmer by highlighting his blindness.

Palidon raised his eyes and moved with deliberate steps toward the ship's starboard side, guided by a voice that pierced through the clamour of the bustling docks. Drawing closer, he swiftly identified the unique rhythm and melody of Khajiit Speak, a harmonious and lyrical manner of expression that deeply resonated with his senses. With his milky white eyes narrowing, he scrutinized the Khajiit figure, observing every detail, the distinctive attire, the elaborate markings decorating his fur, and the unmistakable digitigrade legs that defined his particular kind. A glimmer of curiosity ignited within him, causing his left eyebrow to lift subtly as he pondered the unusual nature of this encounter. A gentle breeze stirred, tugging at the tightly furled crimson sails, as though whispering a reminder to the Maormer that the sea was where he truly belonged.
"It has been more than a hundred years since I last laid eyes on a Suthay," he remarked, his tone tinged with reminiscence. "The only time I ever encountered one was during a brief journey to Senchal. The sight of one in Windhelm is truly intriguing. 'Dras'kay an yosan," he uttered the final phrase in Ta'agra, the tongue of the Khajiit, purposefully avoiding any mention of his vision. Countless individuals who encountered him were under the false impression that he was a blind Dunmer, an assumption that was entirely unfounded and far from reality, but one that he did not mind. In truth, he was a Moarmer with a sharp perception, deeply attuned to his environment and the subtle intricacies of the world, even when others remained blind to what lay beneath the surface.

Jo’Qa ashi was taken aback by the blind elf's unexpected response. He had never anticipated that someone with such a unique condition would possess knowledge of the Khajiit language. The elf's assumption that Jo’Qa ashi was a suthay surprised him also; was it merely a clever deduction based on his peculiar way of speaking, or was there some arcane influence at play? Perhaps it was even Jo’Qa ashi's scent that had given him away. The entire situation left him feeling perplexed.

"Jobal kha'jay," Jo’Qa ashi replied with a more common greeting that the Khajiit used, his curiosity piqued. "Indeed, this one is a suthay. Your guess is remarkable; was it a form of magic, or perhaps my scent that led you to this conclusion?" He scrutinized the elf's features, searching for any signs of enchantment, but found none. Instead, he noted that the elf appeared somewhat unusual, a subtle difference that set him apart from the Dunmer he had encountered before.

'Wait, what? You said sight? Did this one hear correct?' he thought, his ears twitched with confusion.

"If you desire to contribute your efforts aboard this vessel, your assistance will be appreciated," Palidon shifted the focus of their conversation, eager to steer clear of discussing his vision, a topic he preferred to keep private, especially in the presence of the Nords and Argonians bustling about the docks. He stepped back from the starboard side of the ship, then reached for the map with a deliberate motion, handling it with both care and precision. He folded it meticulously, ensuring each crease was firm and neatly aligned. It would be highly beneficial to have an additional set of skilled hands to assist in operating the ship, particularly in situations where strong winds might arise and intensify around the coastal regions, making navigation more challenging. The climate in Skyrim was highly erratic and prone to sudden changes, requiring constant alertness and sharp attention to safely navigate and manage the ship under such unpredictable conditions.
"Welcome aboard!" he exclaimed, directing his words toward the Khajiit with a tone of genuine hospitality. "Tell me," he continued, his gaze shifting momentarily to the ship's bound sails overhead, "have you had any prior experience working on a vessel like this one?" The vessel in question was a ship of Redguard design and craftsmanship, which he had purchased several years prior during one of his travels to the coastal region of Hew's Bane.

Jo’Qa ashi's face lit up with pure delight the instant he discovered he had been invited aboard the ship. He leapt up the plank with a lively skip, rivaling the playful hop of a frolicking rabbit, his whiskers quivering joyfully. As he stepped onto the deck of the enchanting vessel, the question that had been lingering in his mind swiftly faded away. It felt as though he had stepped into a majestic floating palace, and the sight of the neatly furled sails caused his heart to dance with delight. A proud smile spread across his face as memories of past adventures flooded his mind, days spent scrubbing decks and scaling the crow's nest to keep watch for towering waves and playful, mischievous gulls.

"This one has only been on a handful of boats," he exclaimed, his eyes sparkling like stars in the night sky. "But none have been as splendid as this one!" His enthusiasm was infectious, and he gazed longingly at the sails, imagining all the grand escapades that awaited him. Jo’Qa was ready to embrace whatever the sea had in store for him, all while keeping an eye out for those pesky gulls that always seemed to have a knack for stealing snacks.

With a hint of amusement dancing on his lips, he remarked, "Yes, she is a beautiful... 'boat.'" Although he knew that The Enchantress was indeed a ship, he recognized the common misconception among many, particularly the Khajiit, who often used the term 'boat' interchangeably with 'ship.' Unlike some of his Maormer kin, who carried an air of superiority, he chose not to judge others for their misunderstandings. Instead, he appreciated the charm in their errors, understanding that language could sometimes be a playful barrier rather than a true divide.
As they moved away from the bustling dockworkers, he lowered his voice, allowing a softer tone to emerge. "Her name is The Enchantress, and I'm Palindon," his milky white eyes locked onto the Khajiit's gaze with an intensity that conveyed both pride and affection for the vessel. The ship had a personality of its own, capable of navigating the waters with a mind of its own at times, and he felt a deep connection to it. He tucked a long strand of hair behind his left ear, revealing its unique shape, a subtle gesture that he hoped the Khajiit would recognize what he was.
Standing closer now, he felt the weight of his identity as a Maormer, aware of the historical tensions between his people and the Khajiit, often marred by piracy, slavery and other illicit activities. He wondered if the Khajiit would see beyond the stereotypes and recognize him as an individual rather than merely a representative of his race.

Jo slowly surveyed the boat, his eyes wide with wonder as he took in the surroundings. "Enchantress," he murmured, the word lingering on his lips as he turned his gaze toward the elf. Despite noticing the elf's subtle gestures, Jo remained unaware of the deeper significance behind them. A thought flickered through his mind, reflecting on the peculiarities of the Dunmer. How strange it was, he mused, to encounter such differences among them, much like the varied forms of the Khajiit.

"This one is capable of handling any tasks that need to be done," Jo stated with unwavering confidence. "And this one will rest wherever you desire this one to rest," he continued, his whiskers quivering slightly as he spoke. With deliberate movements, he carefully shrugged the strap of his satchel off his shoulder, easing the weight off before gently placing it down on the deck beneath him.

As he drew closer to the Redguard ship docked at the harbor, a flicker of longing ignited within him. This was the vessel he yearned to board, a means of escape from the chaos that had engulfed Windhelm. His frustration began to ebb, but the underlying discontent remained. The city had transformed into a cacophony of noise and activity, a far cry from the tranquil life he once knew. He recognized the necessity of the repairs following the Imperial assault, yet it was hard to overlook the fact that Windhelm had been in disrepair long before the attack. Ulfric Stormcloak, the self-proclaimed savior of the Nords, had done little to restore the city to its former splendor. Instead, every street and alley seemed to echo with decay, and it was infuriating to see the squalor that plagued not just the Grey Quarter but every corner of the city.

His anger was further fueled by a recent encounter at the stables, where he had attempted to sell his horse and saddle to that insufferable high elf. The elf, with his condescending demeanor, had offered him a mere fraction of what the gear was worth, leaving him feeling cheated and desperate. Days had passed without a single coin to his name, and the thought of parting with his horse gnawed at him. He had no desire to sell the horse, but the weight of his financial woes left him with little choice. The docks, once a place of opportunity, had become a dead end since the war's conclusion. Despite being a Nord in a Nord city, he felt the pressure to align himself with the Stormcloaks, as if survival depended on embracing a cause he had no interest in. The notion of being swept into a conflict led by a self-serving leader was repugnant to him.

The war may have officially ended, but the aftermath left him feeling trapped, with no clear path forward. Joining the Imperials was hardly a viable alternative; their alliance with the Thalmor had only deepened his disdain for the situation. It felt like he was caught in a web of a frost spider, yearning for freedom and a chance to explore beyond the confines of Windhelm. The idea of boarding that ship and sailing away to wherever filled him with a crazy flicker of hope. He was determined to leave behind the noise, the chaos, and the suffocating expectations of a city that had long since lost its way.

He clenched his hold-all tightly, his resolve hardening as he strode purposefully toward the Redguard ship. The choice was clear: he could either fork over his hard-earned coin or earn his passage through labor. He had no intention of squandering his money on a simple fare when there were far more enticing pursuits awaiting him—like indulging in ale, mead, and wine, or enjoying good company. He had his sights set on better weapons too; swords, sex and...

Suddenly, a massive Nord loomed in his path, his back turned, a wall of flesh that seemed to have feasted exclusively on horker meat. The man’s bulk was more than just intimidating; it was a grotesque display of gluttony.

"Oi, you'll find my boot up your arse if you don't move!" Eyvar's patience wore thin, and he growled a warning, baring his teeth in a snarl. The Nord spun around, his face contorted in anger, and while he was slightly larger than Eyvar, the smaller man was quick and had a reputation for holding his own in a brawl. With a surge of defiance, Eyvar shoved past the hulking figure, his anger propelling him down the jetty toward the ship.

"Oi!" he shouted, his voice echoing across the dock. "I’m looking for passage and I’m willing to work for it. Where’s your captain?" His tone was sharp, still laced with irritation as he scanned the deck for any sign of authority.

Palindon was on the verge of posing additional questions to Jo’Qa ashi when a sharp, unexpected shout echoed from the docks, followed by a demand to see the captain. The abruptness of the voice caught his attention, and he recognized the unmistakable tone and language as distinctly human, marked by a certain rudeness that was all too familiar.
"Wakay ahziss ," he said politely to the Khajiit, then turned toward the source of the commotion. As he approached the side of the ship, he leaned against the railing, his long dark hair cascading over his arms by the motion. His milky eyes narrowed slightly, darkening with irritation as he focused on the figure of a typical Nord, brimming with bravado.
"I am the captain," he declared, a smirk playing on his lips as he assessed the Nord and the assortment of gear he carried. The captain's gaze was sharp, taking in every detail, from the Nord's rugged appearance to the worn equipment that suggested a life of labour. "I have spare bunks available for those willing to work," he continued, his tone shifting to one of curiosity. "What experience do you bring?"

Jo's head whipped around at the sound of the shout, his ears perked up like a cat spotting a particularly plump mouse dusted with moon sugar. He found himself standing beside Captain Palindon. Jo's tail flicked back and forth, a mix of mild irritation and bubbling excitement coursing through him. While some of the Nords had greeted him with the warmth of a snowstorm, he knew not all of them were so frosty. After all, it was a big, wide world out there, and not every Nord was a grumpy giant with a penchant for scowling.

"That one is Captain Palindon, Master of this fine and pretty boat called The Enchantress," he declared with a purr and a hint of pride creeping into his voice. Perhaps it was the thrill of being accepted as part of the crew that fueled his enthusiasm. He blinked slowly, glancing down at the Nord. Another crew member would certainly be useful, but ultimately, the captain would have the final say, after all, it’s his ship, not a petting zoo!

Eyvar glanced up at the one who had spoken first. It was a Mer, but unlike any he had ever come across before—and being raised in Cyrodiil, he had encountered plenty. This Mer had strikingly distinct features, with long, silky hair that perfectly framed his unique face. His pale, ghostly-white eyes locked onto Eyvar, sending a strange, excited shiver through him. Then, Eyvar noticed the ears, slightly larger than usual and oddly shaped, sticking out in a way that was hard to ignore.

He almost blurted something out—a comment on their appearance—but caught himself just in time. Annoying the captain wasn’t the smartest move if he wanted to stay aboard the ship. Still, there was something about the Mer's overall appearance that was strangely captivating to him.

"Nope, never worked on a ship before. Just jobs with horses and on farms," he replied to Captain Palindon's question. Then, with a hint of determination, he added, "But I’m a hard worker, and I’ll prove it if you let me join your crew." He nodded toward the khajiit with a slight grin.

"And hey, if I don’t pull my weight, you can toss me overboard." He let out a small chuckle, clearly confident the captain wouldn’t take him up on that offer.

Palindon stood upright, crossing his arms as he looked down at the Nord. "You wouldn't be the first I've thrown overboard," he remarked, his tone shedding its usual softness and adopting a more commanding edge.
“What is your name, and where do you plan to go?” In reality, Palindon had lingered at the docks far longer than he cared for, awaiting any messages from The Chimera Guild. He had been informed that several members of the guild were scouring various regions in search of the Ayleid crystals, often referred to as Welkynd Stones, an appellation frequently used among the Mages Guild. These relics were fragments of enchanted meteorological glass, imbued with magical properties by the ancient Ayleid sorcerers.

Jo flicked a sidelong gaze toward Captain Palindon. Throwing 'this' particular asset overboard would be an act of staggering financial ill-judgment, a folly even a land-bound human rarely committed. Jo was quite certain of his value, and equally certain the Captain appreciated competent crewmates, even the exceptionally furry ones.

A quick, sweeping appraisal of the vessel, the rigging, the deck planks, the general air of salty competence, was swiftly followed by a return of focus to the ashy skinned mer. Jo carefully damped down the twitching in his whiskers, managing to contain the sheer, unseemly joy of potential employment.

Eyvar’s grin faltered for a moment, a brief flicker of uncertainty crossing his face before being replaced by a sheepish chuckle. "Well, let's hope I’m not number two, then!" he quipped, meeting Palindon’s intense stare with a surprising lack of intimidation. "The name's Eyvar, Captain. Eyvar Stone-Hand, though I reckon most just call me Eyvar. And as for where I'm planning to go," he paused, shrugging his broad shoulders, "anywhere that isn't here, to be honest. I heard whispers of rich pickings in Hammerfell, or maybe even those mysterious lands across the sea – Akavir, was it? Though I'd settle for anywhere with good ale and honest work, preferably not involving mucking out stables for another cycle." He glanced at the Khajiit, a twinkle in his eye. "And perhaps a ship that doesn't mind a bit of Nord charm."

A faint, thin smile, a mere whisper of amusement, blossomed upon Palindon's lips, slowly unfurling into an artful smirk as he spoke, "Well, as far as I am aware, our journey won't be taking us to Hammerfell or Akivir," he remarked with a hint of humour. "At the moment, I'm waiting for word from my guildmaster regarding the next destination. It’s likely that we’ll be setting sail to a place like Solstheim or Vvardenfell. Alternatively, there’s also the possibility of heading to Solitude to reach the headquarters of my guild," he concluded, his tone suggesting careful anticipation of the decision. "I am part of The Chimera Adventurer's Guild...."
Just as he was preparing to proceed with his explanation, a courier arrived and made his way toward the ship.

"I've been looking for you, got something I'm suppose to deliver. Your hands only." The courier held out a crisp clean note with an unbroken black wax seal, embossed with a red dragon motif. "Looks like that's it. Got to go."

Palindon strode forward, his hand snatching the missive from the courier’s outstretched grasp. He retreated swiftly, his boots thudding a hurried rhythm towards the captain’s quarters, yet he halted abruptly. His slim, green-grey fingers, stiff with anticipation, tore through the seal. The script confirmed his suspicion: it was from a member of the House of the Dragon. As he unfolded the parchment, his eyes devoured the words:

'I have one of your trinkets. I'm probably the first to find one of these Welkynd baubbles. Anyway, I'm here in Solstheim, so come and get it. Also, can you give me a lift to Blacklight? I've been told there's a big meeting in the Dragon's Nest, and you'd best attend, if you catch my drift. I wouldn't want to miss seeing the group, some owe me money.

Ralos.'

"We sail for Solstheim!" Palindon’s roar echoed across the deck, especially towards the two new crewmen who had barely set foot aboard.
The note offered scant detail, yet the implications were chilling. If the Chimera was truly summoned to Blacklight, then events of profound magnitude were unfolding. But why Blacklight, he mused, and not the customary haven of Solitude? If Nisimar were to convene there, did it signify Solitude itself had been compromised? The Chimera Adventure's Guild had no shortage of enemies: the zealous Vigilants, the insidious Dark Brotherhood, the lethal Morag Tong, the imperious Thalmor, and a myriad of festering cults. Palindon crushed the note into his scrip, his jaw tight, as he ascended the steps towards the helm, a storm brewing in his mind.

Maja and Solena had brought the horses into the entrance of the Whistling Mine to keep them out of the cold and out of sight of any Thalmor patrol. The two women had agreed with the mine supervisor to pay him and the other miners with any iron ore or any other worthwhile material they found. At the same time, they searched the Whaling Crevice for the missing mage apprentices.

When Maya and Sol had emerged from the Whaling Crevice, they had made sure that no patrol was near the entrance before they handed the miners any metals or precious materials that they could exchange for the services of having their horses looked after. It was there that the courier came upon them, and Solena had a sealed message.

Solena and Maja retreated into the cave to read the summons from their guild leader, Nisimar, to travel to Windhelm to meet up with Palindon aboard The Enchantress.

The two women led their horses by their reins as they emerged from the cave and watched the road. Once they were certain no patrol was nearby, they mounted.

The fierce wind blew as the sun was setting, helping to obscure the horses' hoof prints once they left the mine’s road. Maya took the lead on her stallion, and they cautiously wound their path down towards the coastline. Though the elemental spells that Maya had recently learned under Solena’s tutelage helped her to gain confidence that she could handle the threat of the dark form that lived in the deep, icy waters and ice flows of the Sea of Ghosts, she still dreaded going near that place again, even in the company of her friend. This skilled mage had learned a new destructive spell of her own on their recent quest.

As the sun set, wild flurries danced to the tune of the whistling winds, helping to erase any traces of their passage. The blowing storm also made it more perilous and slowed their progress; however, the two women tried to ensure that the horses did not stumble and injure themselves.

They passed standing stones near Snow Vale Sanctum and from there headed southward, making sure that they watched from their higher vantage points on their horses. The two riders reached the riverside, staying close to the high cliff edges and the gritty, frozen shore of the river. They would enter the water only if they needed to, with their horses carrying packs and Maya’s own stallion armored.

They drew closer to the city of Windhelm, the crunching of snow and gritty rocks beneath their horses' hooves a testament to their progress. From that point on, they dismounted and led the horses by their reins.

Upon reaching the docks, they paid a young dockhand enough money to bring their horses to the stables. Next, the two women searched for the description of a sleek, dark vessel that looked far too elegant compared to the other ships docked. Soon, they believed they spied The Enchantress.