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The Dead Isles, it is a place told of only in tales. It is no different from Atlantis. People always talk but no one has ever found it. The gypsy was rather convincing in Boron, so west is where we are headed. The path with be perilous but, it isn’t anything my men cant handle. On a good note I connivance The Barkeep to discount one of the crates of beard oil from Fable Beard Co. The stuff makes my beard incredible and you can never tell when it might come in handy for another purpose. I lost my captain chair and navigation table in the last battle when we ran out of cannon fire and little glass bottles would make a worthy replacement.
If my guidance is correct heading west we should reach The Dead Isles in two short weeks. Out of all of my travels, I have never voyaged that far west but, I am sure we will make it through. Over the last few days the fog has been getting thicker and the clouds blacker. I have to trust what my compass says and west really is where it’s supposed to be. The oil is running low on the lanterns due to the fog. I shall instruct the crew to use the beard oil for fuel and keep the bottles. I knew they would come in handy.
I am beginning to lose faith on this journey. I haven’t seen 30 feet in front of my ship for four days. The seas whisper things to you, awful things. There are also creatures, I think, in the waters. It is best not to dwell on these things as sanity is in short supply. 30 feet becomes 60 and 60 then becomes 120, the fog is letting up. Visibility no longer becomes an issue but, something is different. The sea has changed from the blue to a thick black. Almost like an oil weighing heavily on my ship we slow down to a crawl but still make way to our destination. I look out the captain's door and I see it. LAND!
As we draw closer a small beach is surrounded by massive turrets of rock and clay. A desolate wasteland, In my thoughts I doubt that life has ever existed here. How could life exist in such a place? We reach landfall and I step off the ship onto the beach. Something is different here. The sand isn’t sand, or is it? My boots crunch similar to barnacles and shells and I reached down to grab a handful. This is not sand, these are bones. To think of the death that was needed to fill this beach with bones. I shutter and tell me, men, to press forward. There is a clearing in the rocks.
A path only big enough for three men, whatever is here has the advantage. My men make their way down the path using torches made from beard oil and old rags. Rock walls on both sides taller than we can see. The light grows dim as we make our way down the path. Just then the deafening silence of the land is shattered by the most grotesquely loud ROAR. I have never heard such a thing in my entire life. A gust of wind almost knocks us over like a shadow the size of the largest ship passes overhead. I then see what has caused this disturbance. It cant be, they don’t exist. What else could it be other than a dragon…
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