[IRP] Return to the Dread Isle

[Toogee]

Wratt was appreciative of Renata and Tiras volunteering to scout ahead. He liked those who took initiative. Perhaps he misjudged the girl earlier. Same for this Tiras fellow. He was just a guy they picked up just as they were fixing to get on the ship to Valor. Hired solely for his appearance as an Imperial soldier, Tiras seemed to have the discipline of one as well.

“Good on you two,” Wratt replied to the volunteer scouts. “But the island’s big and their isn’t enough of us to split up. We go together.”

On the subject of the map, Wratt tempered expectations. Just because they didn’t expect much resistance didn’t mean they would be in and out by evening.

“Chances are pretty good that whoever drew this map didn’t set foot on this island. The location is based on stories and some fancy math done by some magician. Best case, the location’s off by ten miles in some direction. This won’t be a short trip.”


Lennox then brought up the chance traveler that would visit the island, as well as the chance to revisit the remains of the battlefields of the past. Wratt had very little familiarity with such a period in Lycian history, but wasn’t against it.

“I think we can handle any nutjobs living on the island,” Wratt reassured his crew. “And the animals would have taken care of the bodies a long time ago. But hey, if I’m wrong, feel free to take souvenirs. Consider it a bonus.”

Though there was still some details to iron out about the mission, the ship had a ways to go. It was time to take a break and figure out who exactly they were traveling with.

“So speaking of nutjobs, what brought all of ya on this crazy mission? Money? Fame? Those are typical reasons for the Illians to take up merc work. Not like there’s much else to do in that frozen wasteland.”
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Back on deck, the captain’s seasickness had worsened. His fingers became numb. His body could barely hold itself up, even with the aid of the ship’s railing. The captain soon realized that this was no bout of sickness: he was poisoned. He collapsed against the railing, wondering who would do this. Not the passengers; they had no quarrel. That, and they had to get back. So he had to suspect the crew. He tried to treat them well, but perhaps taking on imperial customers was a bridge too far. Yes, the young tended to side with revolution, but he was just trying to keep them safe and fed.

As he began to pass out, the last thing he saw was two members of his crew take him by the arms and toss him overboard. They watched him sink to the bottom of the sea. The silent mutiny was successful.

“The ship is ours,” one of the crew said to the other. “Shall we turn around?”

“No…keep going. But land them on the eastern side.”

“But the Dread Isle! It’s cursed!”

“Only to these imperials, my friend…”