3. The Southern Docks, Part 1

Rosalyn sat cross-legged on a small, wicker chair while Catherine paced around her dingy apartment. Despite being inside, the air was little less gloomy and gelid than the hazy streets of Fogport, and the materials were still drab gray stone and wood panelling that had been warped by the humidity. In the corner of the main room, now without her bulky Cannon Knight armour, Catherine grabbed bits and pieces of cutlery and ceramic from disorganized piles, before reaching into a steel icebox.

“Do you like Lampfish?” Catherine called as a dubious odour wafted through the stale air. Out of the ice box, she lifted up a large sea creature the size and dimensions of a beach ball, a bulbous sphere whose scales gave the appearance of being made of glass. It’s body flickered on and off like a glitched out lantern - no doubt an adaptation to survive the uniquely dark Misty Sea.

“I’m… I’m not sure.” Rosalyn laughed nervously. “Do you just have any bread? Or something like that?”

After another minute Catherine returned with a small plate of stale-looking bread, with some dried sardines and a bit of frozen fruit on the side. “Sorry, even with the new trade routes we don’t get shipments of food very frequently… these ice boxes have been great, but there’s not much to freeze but weird fish.”

“I’m guessing they’re powered by frost magick?” Rosalyn asked as she started to gnaw on the dry comestibles.

Catherine nodded her head. “Thank you so much again for coming out to help with this. I tried to explain things the best I could in my letter, but I was a bit frazzled when I wrote it.”

Sitting on the dining table between her and Catherine was a stack of papers, among them being a letter addressed to Rosalyn Darc herself, along with a short reply written from her beneath the main text. An identical letter sat in Rosalyn’s bag - an enchanted letter, one of the great tricks of the Ink Wizards. Whatever was written on one magickally appeared on the other, cutting down the long delays of magick seabirds while avoiding the expense of crystal balls. This, and that Rosalyn was already nearby in the Tempestian Isles, are the only reasons she was able to arrive within the day, and why there still might be hope for Elliott.

Also among the pile of papers were several news articles. Clippings of stories and reports from all across Blackwater, with headlines like “Masked Killer of the Boiling Sea Unmasked by Detectives” and “Stolen Elodean Artifacts Found in Tellia Nigh”. These were all stories Rosalyn recognized - they were talking about her.

“Tell me a bit about Elliott.” Rosalyn started, journal at the ready. “How have you two been these past few years?”

Catherine paused, shifting her mountainous physique awkwardly back and forth in her chair, before speaking carefully. “We’ve been okay. It’s been 5 years since we moved here, and at first things were hard but Fogport has been growing and Elliott’s settled in. He works nights at the Southern Docks, and during the day he mostly sleeps and goes out on the town with some of his friends from work.”

“Any other friends, hobbies? Is he romantically involved with anyone?”

“No. No his life is pretty simple, except for the odd time he gets himself into trouble… but even then, he always comes straight to me. He tells me everything.” Catherine explained, before her eyes drifted to a nearby portrait hung on the wall to her left. It showed Catherine standing next to a much smaller young boy, but with the same golden hair and sunkissed face. They were standing on the docks of Fogport, although not as developed as they are now, standing in front of the sprawling Misty Sea, each with a smile on their faces.

On each of Elliott’s hands was a silver ring. Catherine had told her that they were his parents’ wedding rings, and that he never took them off.

When Rosalyn and Catherine first crossed paths on an old investigation, Rosalyn had met Elliott briefly. He was just a boy then, not even 10 cycles old, but he reminded her so much of Catherine. Warm, jovial… the kind of person who could maybe resist the punishing drudgery of a place as lowly and gray as here.

The two discussed more details of Elliott’s disappearance, and his routine leading up to it. Which parts of town he frequented, what hours we worked, who were his coworkers, where and when exactly he was last seen, all details that were poured into Rosalyn’s journal, but still she couldn’t seem to get a clear picture. “He just… didn’t come home from work? And it’s been two days since anyone’s seen him?”

Stolen story; please report.

Catherine nodded solemnly. “I know it’s only a short time, but this isn’t like him. He’s poked his nose where it didn’t belong before, but that just got him into a scrape or two. He’s never disappeared on me…” she continued, her gallant persona quickly dimming with each word. “And between you and me, things on the Island are dangerous right now. I’m seeing it all the time. This place is like a pressure cooker.”

Rosalyn’s eyes widened. “You alluded to that in your letter, but I didn’t know things were this bad. Everything seemed fine at the Docks, what’s going on?”

Catherine sighed, before getting up and grabbing a piece of fish from the icebox. “Fogport is becoming a real city now, but it wasn’t always like this. You’ve heard of the Ghost Whales, right? Damn beasts…” she grumbled.

“Yeah. They’re a big part of the culture here, right?”

“SOME of the culture here. And ‘culture’ is giving it too much credit. It’s been a real struggle to get this place up and running, to get people working and supporting their families, because of this ‘Church’... the Church of the Mysticet, they call themselves.” Catherine hissed as she sat down with her crunchy Lampfish, before wiping away some of the newspapers to reveal a pile of headlines. All from Fogport now: ‘Mysticet Cultists Sabotage Dock Expansion’ and ‘Harassment of Goldpearl Execs Linked to Mysticet Cultists’. “Have you heard of any of this stuff before, Roz?”

“I’ve heard the name… I would have done more reading on them if I hadn’t been coming here on such short notice.” she answered. “They’re linked to the Ghost Whales, right?”

“They ‘worship’ the Ghost Whales. Have this whole creepy religion around them.” Catherine explained. “We’ve been trying to get a dock built on the Northern Shore for years now… most ships come in from the North, and it could save them from having to sail around the whole island. Plus, the Southern Docks are getting cramped it’s becoming a safety hazard.” she continued. “But the Mysticet have stepped in at every step of the way - they say the beach is ‘sacred’.”

Rosalyn had heard stories of the Ghost Whales. One of the things that made her most curious about coming to Fogport, but also one of the things that repelled most people away. Vast, titanous spectres, twice the size of military ocean liners with grisly, phantasmal appearances. Hulking skeletons that swam through the Misty Sea, surrounded by an aura of white light, fog, and strange ectoplasm that dripped from their bony bodies like rotting flesh. Like a Lich, only the size of a small city. At least, that’s what people said - not many actually SAW them. “Well… is it?” Rosalyn asked. “Do the Mysticet actually have some connection to the Ghost Whales?”

“Maybe. Most of them are probably just charlatans. But some of them are definitely powerful - some of my officers have the scars to prove it. We wouldn’t be so worried about them if they couldn’t hit hard.”

“Why not just arrest them?” Rosalyn asked. “I’m not condoning that! I just mean, if they’re as dangerous as you say…”

“Rounding up members of a religious group is never a good look. Their ‘harmony with nature’ attitude has gotten them support across Fogport. Every time we butt heads, they make a fuss, and usually we’re the ones who need to back down to keep the peace.” Catherine explained, her tone slowly softening as she spoke. “Plus, nobody wants a war on an island this small. I don’t want anyone to get hurt, especially because some of their members are children. As much as they bug me, I don’t want to hurt them. But with the way things are going, I may not be able to keep the peace.”

Rosalyn raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

Catherine sighed. “As creepy as the Ghost Whales are, things have been harmonious with them. But the Mysticet think their numbers are dwindling, since they’re seeing less and less of them all the time at holy beaches and around the Island. Meanwhile Goldpearl workers say the opposite. I’ve heard reports that they’ve been harassing ships, freaking out sailors and forcing other companies to reroute. It’s becoming a real clusterfuck, and it’s my job to keep things peaceful.”

“So that’s why you wrote to me. I was wondering why you, being the Chief of Police here, couldn’t just launch an investigation.”

Catherine nodded. “If I start going kicking down doors, especially Mysticet ones, this whole place could go off like gunpowder. I need a third party, someone unaffiliated with me, to find Elliott…” the Knight suddenly became a bit choked up, but she turned her head to try and hide it. Then she chuckled. “Plus, some of my guys are as dumb as bricks. I couldn’t trust them to play hide-and-seek without one of them falling into the ocean.”

Rosalyn laughed too, but she as well could feel the melancholy in the air, creeping in like the omnipresent fog. Nobody wanted to assume the worst - after all, it’s only been two days. For all they knew, Elliott was just passed out on a beach somewhere having drunk himself into a coma… but they both knew it was their job to assume the worst. And now, with Rosalyn knowing that the stakes on the Island seem to be way bigger than just one boy, ‘the worst’ is now a whole lot worse.