"Mind-loss is a peculiar affliction. Though it can be crafted by mortal hands, it most often takes root in those who have gazed upon truths beyond mortal comprehension. The mind.lost are ideal servants— obedient, unthinking, and imprisoned within the silence of their own minds. Be aware however, the trade of unsanctioned mind-lost, while very lucrative, is banned by most divine institutions."
—Excerpt from "Merchant lord's Musings" by Soral Illios
Alric awoke to the sound of muffled shouting from abovedeck and the insistent ringing of a bell. his brain instantly switched from groggy to alert, and he jolted upright, his hand instinctively reaching towards his waistband. The improvised shank provided a small measure of comfort, as he scanned his surroundings, searching for the source of the commotion.
Yet, instead of the hulking, hairy brute with heart-shaped tattoos on his bicep he expected to see, his gaze landed on a strikingly beautiful woman, leisurely sitting in the other corner of his cell. She was on the shorter side, with black hair that fell in smooth waves around her face, and delicate, even pretty features. Her skin was pale as a newborn child's, and made Alric think the poor woman must have not seen the light of day for months at the very least. Like him, she wore a linen garment, though hers was significantly less dirty and torn than his was. A silvery collar encircled her neck, matching the one he wore, but fitted to her more slender frame. She was sitting on what was a significantly more impressive bed than his collection of rags, complete with a blanket and pillow, even a bedside table made from what looked like expensive wood. Her deep green eyes were scanning a stack of paper she was holding in one hand, before shooting up to meet his eyes with a mix of surprise and suspicion.
"You're aware," she finally spoke, after an awkward silence Alric hoped wasn't due to his gawking. "How curious." her eyes bore into him as if searching for something hidden beneath his surface.
Feeling a bit uncomfortable under the scrutiny and strange greeting, Alric quickly attempted to shake off the unease and gave her his best charming smile. All things considered, he could have had a much worse cellmate, and being friendly cost him nothing. "I sure am, miss. Alric's the name. A pleasure to meet you" He said, though his voice came out rough and raspy from a combination of nerves and disuse, ruining his attempt at a charming first impression. he cleared his throat. "Who do I have the pleasure of speaking to?"
After a moment of hesitation, the pale woman gave him a nod, managing to make the simple gesture seem authoritative. "Elara Vale. You may call me Lady Vale." She put the papers to the side. "Forgive the suspicion, it is just that to my knowledge, a case of recovery from your condition is entirely unprecedented. Or at least rare enough that I haven't heard of it happening in my circles. How tremendously interesting." Her eyes hovered above the hand that he held close to his waistband.
Noticing his mistake, Alric quickly folded his knife-happy arm in front of his chest, disguising the gesture behind politeness, before performing a small bow. He may not have his personal memories, but there was no mistaking the authority with which this woman carried herself. The light skin, the tone of her voice, and the air she exhuded, all spoke of this woman being a highborn. That begged the question of why she was in a cell with him, but such sensitive topics were best left for later. Especially after she dropped a bombshell like that on him. "Well met, lady Vale. I would love to clear up your puzzlement, but I'm afraid I'm just as confused. The last thing I remember is waking up on this ship and feeling like I picked a fight with a carriage and lost. What is this condition you're talking about? And where are we?"
"You had been afflicted with what is known as mind-loss." She explained, her tone slightly more approving." Usually, your ilk would end up fetching a high price on an auction, there are no better servants after all. But I imagine your nature as a cursed made you somewhat.... dangerous merchandise to openly sell. Hence your presence on this ship." She tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Oh, but that doesn't entirely answer your question does it? To clarify, the mind-lost are humans whose minds have been completely broken. They are incapable of thought, have no sense of identity, and are completely obedient to any verbal commands heedless of their own desires and safety. Which is also why it is so curious you managed to recover from that state. Unbreaking a mind is no easy feat."
Alric almost choked on his own spit as the implications of her words hit him. He had been no better than a mindless puppet for at least 3 weeks? Gods above, how did this even happen? Not to mention the tiny detail about being sold. Losing his memory was one thing, but his future did not sound like sunshine and rainbows at all. His mind churned with questions and anxiety, but he forced himself to stay composed. This wasn't a good place to show weakness, even if the lady seemed cordial so far. "Well.. not that I would have particularly enjoyed being sold at an auction instead, but what is a cursed? And why would that make me... dangerous merchandise? And if I'm not being sold... where is this ship going?"
Elara gave him a bemused look that turned thoughtful after. "Oh my. You do not know what a cursed is?" She chuckled "Have you perhaps been living under a rock until the Saltbloods sniffed you out? We cursed are.. not exactly popular in the eyes of the local churches. Or anyone else's eyes for that matter. You see, they think us heretical creatures tainted by the abyss, monsters wearing human skin that will corrupt all that comes into contact with us. Of course, that is mostly due to ignorance and fear. Those bird-brained brutes of the Tidecaller Order, and the Order of the Codex with sticks so far up their asses they might as well have a second spine, would not understand the workings of the world if it was written down in a book for them to read." She scoffed. "And the reason why we are on this ship, my dear Alric, is because said churches are bringing us evil and corrupted cursed to a colony in Eirathor to become mine slaves until we work ourselves to death. But I suppose you must have been... well ... let's say out of sorts for a while already. I do not blame you for not knowing that."
To say Alric was flabbergasted was an understatement. He was supposed to be what now? a heretical creature tainted by the abyss? One destined to become a mine slave in a distant continent? Just what the hell had happened when he had lost his memory?
He felt adrift. Waking up on a prison ship had already worn down his nerves, and now this—this revelation gnawed at the pit of his stomach like something alive. A familiar sensation. Fear. Fear of what was to come, and fear of what lay buried in the past he'd forgotten. Almost instinctively, his hands found each other, index and middle fingers interlocking like a knot. The motion was calming, ritualistic. He didn’t know where he’d learned it. The meaning was lost somewhere in the fog clouding his mind, but the gesture brought comfort all the same.
"Why are you making the sign of the Tidecaller, Alric?" came the pleasant voice of the noblewoman. "Were you perhaps a believer before?" She paused long enough for Alric to open his eyes and look at her. She smiled, all teeth. "You shouldn't bother. The gods don't listen to cursed like us. If anything, drawing their attention will only bring you misfortune."
The Tidecaller. That title sounded so familiar, yet so alien to him. Something stirred within his mind—like a faint chime carried by the wind. Alric stood once more before the fog within his mind. But it wasn’t the impossibly deep and undisturbed sea it had been the first time. Now, it was roiling, like the angry sea before a storm. The chime sounded again, louder this time, rippling through the fog—just as a memory slipped through its grasp.
A towering blue-and-white building.
A desk with books.
Murmured prayers, repeating a word—faint, indistinct. Alric felt the weight of it. The power behind it. His mind spun. He wanted—needed—to remember that word. That name. But the fog surged forward, swallowing the memory fragment again, and he could feel it fading, slipping further from reach. He couldn’t let that happen. He pushed into the fog, grasping for whatever he could hold onto. The murmured prayers grew louder, more distinct—but with each step deeper, his mind strained, stretched, slipping further from his grasp. Still, he pressed on. The word was on the tip of his tongue now. He almost had it. The scent of the sea filled his nostrils. The roll of distant thunder echoed in his ears. The murmurs rose—higher and higher—like the rising wind before a storm, until they roared in his ears with triumphant clarity:
A single word.
A single name.
Thal’Kareth. God of Sea and Storms.
And like floodgates opening, the power of that name surged through him. Elation crashed through his chest—so fierce it felt like he might burst from the pressure of it. And then, softly—unconsciously—it escaped his lips. A whisper turned into a storm. A thunderclap shattered the fog clouding his mind. A great swath of it dispersed, torn apart by the rising storm the utterance had provoked. But the fog was not defeated. It rose, seething, like a towering wave ready to crash down upon him in fury—yet now, scattered fragments of memory slipped free of its grasp, spilling into his mind like debris after a broken dam.
A happy childhood, filled with blurry faces of people flitted through his mind in a haze. Days spent in the blue and white building, reading, learning along with many other blurry-faced children, a stern blurry figure praising and chastising him in equal measure. A young boy, feelings of jealousy turned into admiration, Days spent together at a small port, learning to tie knots. The same youth standing before him, taller, wearing blue robes and ropes tied around his arms decoratively. Pride in his friend, celebration. The blurry-faced youth making beer float from his mug through the air straight into his mouth. The youth standing before him, defending him from larger youths. Alric stealing a pastry for a smaller yet similar vague figure to the now familiar youth warm feelings within his chest.
And the storm keeping the fog at bay howled. The wall of fog roiling, furious, began to descend. The light of memory began to fade once more. But before it could fall, an arm burst from the fog. Tan, filled with old scars, tied with ceremonial ropes, the hand was stretched towards him.
"Alric! Take my arm!"
A voice shouted, familiar, so familiar. The same voice that he heard in his nightmare, warning him from looking back. Alric didn't hesitate. He ran towards the towering wave. The fog was above him now, threatening to crash down. But Alric didn't care. He grasped the arm, putting all his strength into pulling that arm from the fog. The arm of his friend.
And then his face emerged from the fog, the haze dissipated. A young, irritatingly handsome man, smiled dazzlingly at him, familiar eyes filled with the sparkle they always had been. And Alric remembered. Owen. his first and closest friend.The light to his shadow. The golden boy of the neighborhood, always willing to take the blame for Alrics antics. More memories flooded his mind, Each of them still blurry, save for Owen's face. tears ran down his cheeks. Like a rock, an anchor within the storm of confusion Alric awoke in, the memory of Owen grounded him.
And then Owen spoke, in a teasing tone. "Really Alric? You having some piety? Tidebringer knows how many times I tried to bring you to Septa Rosa's sermons."
Alric, overcome with joy at remembering his friend, tears in his eyes, slapped the broad man's shoulder. "Oh shut up you infuriatingly handsome bastard. You know I slept through all that bullcrap in school. But how are you here? And how am I talking to you?"
The blonde man grinned at him. "I'm your memory of Owen. Where else would I be but your mind, fool? As for how you can talk to me, how would I know? We're in your head, not mine."
Alric gave a frown. before giving the man a light slap. "You feel awfully solid for a memory. Are you sure you didn't somehow crawl into my brain and are pulling my pizzle?"
the man waved his one arm, chasing Alrics hand away from his face. "Oy! Hands off the merchandise. This face is meant for a fair maiden, not an unwashed shiprat. And stop fooling around. The name of my god might have empowered your memory of me somehow, but I cant hold back the fog much longer.
Cold sweat rolled down Alrics back as he saw the fog looming around them, pressing closer and closer. Owen might be a blessed of Thal'kareth, but even the god's name could not hold back the fog for long it seemed. "Good point Goldie. Actually, you wouldn't believe the shit that's happened to me this time. I woke up on a prison ship, everyone's calling themselves cursed, and this blasted fog has been giving me a headache ever since. Do you have any idea what it is?"
The memory of Owen smirked "Can't leave you unattended a minute eh?" But his expression became more serious. "But this isn't good Alric. If you're a cursed... well let's just say my god really hates those. All blessed of his too, actually. But I suppose I can make an exception for you, ratface, seeing as I'm just your memory. As for the fog, I don't know more than you do. All I know is that once it's back, I'll slowly disappear again."
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
Alrics heart rate sped up. He didn't want to forget, not again. he grabbed the memory's arm and began dragging him. "Then let's get you the hell out of here! I'm not losing you a second time." The fog covered everywhere he looked, but maybe the divine name would disperse the fog around the blessed. But before he could test his theory, Owen shook free.
"What are you doing?" Alric shouted, grasping for his friend's arm again. Owen just gave him a sad smile. "There's no use Alric. I'm your memory. Where else can I exist except for in your mind? We don't have much more time. I can feel the name's power fading. But there's something more I can do for you." he pulled Alric closer, And his mind began to flash with memories, conversations with Owen. Owen telling him about the cursed, his parents, his god, his adventures. His mind filled with conversations, helpful information, and context he had forgotten. As he was still dazed, processing the large amount of memories, he felt a push, and felt Owen's palm push against his chest. his eyes shot open. He was falling away from Owen at a great speed, as the fog began closing in around Owen like a hungry maw.
"What are you doing you damn bastard!" he tried to hold on, claw onto anything, but he saw his mindscape already fading. He had already begun to forget the upper half of Owen's face.
"Remember me Alric. Become stronger until you can navigate the fog. Use your memories. And find me again. if you don't... I'll haunt you, bastard."
And with a start, Alric was back in his own body, staring ahead at a very intrigued Elara. The memories Owen had imparted him before his departure settled in his mind. Owen, his good friend, was a blessed of the Tidebringer. Which automatically made him apart of the Tidebound Order, the same Organisation that supposedly was persecuting them and was transporting him to Eirathor. They worshipped the Tidebringer, a God with capital G. He held domain over the Oceans and Weather, and his churches were present in every port in Thalorin, the country he and Owen had grown up in. Aside from helping with the education of the young and guiding the common people in the faith of Thal'kareth, they were responsible for assisting all ships and defending the coast against the great threat lurking beneath the waves of the Cerulean. Eldrovora. Beasts corrupted by the abyss, twisted into abominations that attacked all things weaker than them indiscriminately. Normal humans stood little chance against their threat, with the exception of very well-armed military regiments. And so, in their benevolence, The Tidebringer and the other gods chose humans that aroused their interest and bestowed them with a blessing. This blessing, also called a manifestation, could take many forms, but most were related to the god who granted it. Owen's he now remembered well. Owen could control liquids like an extension of his limbs, breaking or creating waves on their ship, instantly drying himself, using it to always have a perfect hairdo... Alric thought about the state of his own hair, and cursed the bastard silently. The Blessed of any god automatically became part of the clergy and were revered and powerful figures of authority, only second to legal authorities of the empire depending on their rank.
Which brought him to the much more important, and much less pleasant part of his regained memories. The cursed. While the abyss could corrupt animals quite easily, and Eldrovora were quite common, it could also happen that the abyss corrupted Humans. Known by most folk as Evil and murderous magicians, they were considered the scourge of civilization. The churches put priority on containing or exterminating the cursed, not only because of their powers, which were eerily similar to that of the blessed, but rather because of their ability to interact with the abyss and become a much greater threat to the stability of the Empire and the churches. Eldrovora, at least the weaker ones, were mere beasts after all. But the cursed had all the benefits of human intelligence, and to make it worse, had no distinguishing features like Eldrovora. One never knew whether they were talking to a human or a murder wizard planning to use them in their next ritual sacrifice. At least, that's how Owen remembered them. They were much rarer than Eldrovora, but they were the stuff scary bedtime stories were made of, rather than Eldrovora.
Not only did this mean that he was now stuck on a netherblasted ship full of dangerous, twisted, and evil murderous magicians, but he was supposed to be one of them too! A cursed! A thrice flogged scary bedtime story mothers tell their children. Him! He may not be the kindest soul he knew, but that didn't mean he was a monster! Tidebringers beard, this day kept getting worse and worse.
The memories of Owen offered answers, if not very fun ones to some of his more pressing questions—but in turn, whipped up even more. How had he gone from a simple villager to a cursed? What had he done that the fog was hiding from him? Blast, what even was that damned fog in his mind, and why was it there?
His mind was reeling, and stuck between the difficult choice of screaming at the heavens, or beginning a litany of his now expanded repertoire of curse words he had developed by sailing with Owen, a small cough snapped him out of his dilemma. The beautiful Highborn was still looking at him, but had raised an eyebrow, her smile more sharp than friendly. it seemed spacing out, convulsing from the power of a divine name and waking up ready to unless a torrent of curses unfit for any lady was considered a social faux pas. This tipped the scale of his difficult choice towards the litany of curses, but thankfully Alric remembered one tiny detail just in time before going on a tangent in front of this complete stranger. If everyone on this boat was a murderous dark wizard, that meant this tiny, elegant woman was one too. And despite her frail appearance, the fear inspired by his newly remembered scary bedtime stories made him think twice about his choices. And he settled to save his outburst for later.
"I take it from your expression that you didn't follow my advice?" came the elegant voice of the murder wizard. Her voice was just as relaxed as ever and she sized him up with her eyes quietly. "He must have one of his benevolent days, you didn't even start bleeding from your orifices" She chuckled.
If Alrics attitude towards this woman was blasé before, having discovered she wasn't some muscular freak that could strangle him with one hand, it had now completely switched. Alric was a pragmatic man. Shame was absent from his vocabulary when it came to his survival, and his childhood had taught him well how to read people. His talent for saying what people wanted to hear, combined with the golden boy appearance and reputation of Owen, he had tricked his fair share of adults to his benefit. And there was no doubt that this woman was much too calm for an unarmed prisoner half his size, not to mention eerily knowledgeable. Combined with how she carried herself, her pale skin, common amongst the nobility that did not have to work in the sun, Alric was sure whoever he was talking to was not some small fry. She had already told him to address her as lady, so Alric tried his best to recall the etiquette classes he had snored through and copied off of Owen, and replied with a genteel bow.
"Indeed my lady. Forgive my presumptuousness, I simply had to try. But as you must have noticed, the experience was none too pleasant. I can't believe I once admired those vile saltbloods." Alric was quick to throw his former ilk overboard to attribute his grimace to them rather than the fact he was face to face with a walking nursery rhyme of the bad kind. Maybe it would get him on her good side.
The woman's eyebrow shot up another notch, surprised by his sudden eloquence. "That must have been quite the experience for you to suddenly find your tongue," she laughed, "but all the better. Those curs will be here soon, and I don't want to be seen associating with a bumbling fool. Alric, was it? Some free advice: Don't attempt any more foolishness of the kind you just did. Our manifestations are sealed, but they can use theirs freely. Not to mention that using ours on the open ocean would doubtlessly attract many unpleasant critters."
The fool in question, of course never had such plans. Mucking up in front of someone with a big stick was a sure way to get it to the face. And if those tidebringers were anything like Owen, they could likely drown him with little more than a finger. They weren't called the blessed for nothing. Besides, as much as he regretted it sometimes, his face never seemed to stand out much, quite the boon when faced with a hammer seeking the nail that sticks out. One of the reasons he had befriended Owen in the first place. So handsome, flashy and popular was he, that poor unremarkable Alric could avoid the brunt of attention the schemes that his... more devious side liked to come up with conjured. Who better to have by your side than an unfairly powerful and popular guy who had the massive weight of the church to throw around? But alas, he had no such thing this time, and a lady to answer.
"I would never think of tarnishing the reputation of one so radiant as you, fair lady. But I am afraid many matters on this ship are unclear to me. I am afraid my ignorance might make me commit other acts of foolishness." he bowed low, fishing for more information.
A sly smile spread on Elaras lips. "Ah my dear Alric, you flatter me with your newfound verbiage. Very well, considering you have made my morning interesting I shall grant you this small favor, the only of its kind. Firstly, stay discreet. All Cursed have secrets, and none like prying eyes." Alric didn't miss the implied warning in her tone. "Secondly, stay away from Zain. Unless you would like to die, of course. he's been unstable lately. And finally.. Pick your side, and pick it soon. This ship isn't a safe place for lone wolves. And it would be a shame if I had to clean up my cell."
Leaving Alric stewing in the implications of her words, she strode towards the bars of the cell and gazed towards the stairwell. Alric knew an implied threat when he heard one. And this advice of hers was less advice and more instruction. Firstly, she warned him against spying on her. Then she told him to stay away from someone. A rival? He couldn't know. And lastly, she advised him to pick the right side, with a very thinly veiled threat. There were a few assumptions he could make about this, none of them very reassuring. Firstly, his hunch had been right, she definitely wasn't a small fry. Her dismissal of him meant she hadn't made his mind up about him yet, and her vague words could be interpreted that he should stick his nose out of her business, not join up with a fellow called Zain, and make himself useful to her. So for the foreseeable future, that was what he should do. But before he could make any plans about how to go about such a thing, a group of 8 sailors slammed open the door at the top of the stairs and entered the brig. They were dressed in blue and white, ceremonial ropes wrapped around their arms tightly to not get in the way of movement. They were holding staves made of wood that had a metallic sheen to it. Alric immediately recognized the garb, it was, after all, the same one Owen had worn before he got promoted. These were underside acolytes, the lowest ranking blessed among the clergy of the saltbloods, but still much more powerful than a typical mortal thanks to their manifestations. And they did not at all share Owen's easy smile and easygoing attitude. Alric swallowed, and following Elara's example, stood to the side of the door.
the acolytes moved with practiced ease, opening up the cells and herding the prisoners out. They were not shy about prodding anyone who didn't move at their expected speed. One of the acolytes stood at the top of the stairs, as his fellows were opening the doors, this one having much more intricate arm ropes, the same ones Owen wore in his memory. Which made him their superior. He crossed his arms and hollered loud enough to be heard across the ship. "It's time for breakfast you bilge rats. Eat up and be quick about it. The ship's listless, with no wind in sight, so you'll make yourselves useful in the galley. Slackers get no food tonight."
Soon one of the acolytes came to their cell, peering inside with a smirk. He was a burly man with a cruel glint in his eyes. Alric instantly recognized the type and cursed his luck inwardly. "Well, well, well, look who's finally up and about," he sneered, eyeing Alric with disdain. "The puppet's awake. Enjoy your beauty sleep did you?" He rapped his staff against the bars, the metallic clang echoing through the brig. "Move it, both of you. breakfast time." Alric and Elara both moved as instructed and got out of the cell.
As they were herded out of the cell, the burly acolyte stepped forward, blocking their path. The acolyte looked at Elara, and she looked back into the guard's eyes, before taking half a step back behind Alric. The eyes of the acolyte turned dark, a cruel smirk appearing on his face. Alric cursed his luck, as he stood a good head taller than the smaller woman, who had all but disappeared behind him, seemingly sensing the guard's mood. Where the hell was tall Owen when he needed him?
The acolyte's cruel smile widened as he looked Alric up and down. "Didn't you hear me puppet? I said move it." he snarled, raising his staff and bringing it down hard on Alric's back.
The blow sent him stumbling forward, pain radiating through his body. He gritted his teeth, refusing to give the acolyte the satisfaction of hearing him cry out, and just tried to keep his head down and moving. Talking to someone like that was pointless and would only get him beaten for talking back. He cursed his rotten luck, meeting a sadistic guard on his first morning.But the acolyte wasn't done yet.
"Hey look merric. The puppet still can't speak." he smirked, as another, pointedly short acolyte looked up from his task." I think I'll help him find his voice."
before Alric could react, the staff in his hand lit up with a cascade of sparks. The burly man drove it into Alrics side, and an intense, searing pain tore through him. his muscles spasmed uncontrollably as the electric current coursed through his body. it felt as if his very nerves were being set on fire, the agony overwhelming any attempt to maintain his composure.
A tortured scream ripped from his throat, echoing through the corridor. he faintly heard a few snickers from either the acolytes or prisoners, but he was in too much pain to care.
"That's enough!" a voice boomed from above, commanding. The higher ranked acolytes stepped forward, eyes narrowed in displeasure."Keep your bad habits for the punishments Crom. We need them functional today."
Reluctantly the burly acolyte withdrew his staff, the sparks retreating back into his arm, as he stepped back. Alric collapsed to the floor, gasping for breath, his body still twitching from the aftershocks of the electric assault.
"Get him on his feet and keep moving" the Overseer barked. "We've wasted enough time."
The Burly acolyte sneered, but complied, hauling Alric up by the collar. Alrics legs still felt weak and didn't respond to his commands properly, but he forced himself to stand. The pain still throbbed through him, and a sense of indignation of fierce anger burned in his heart. Not that he showed it on his face of course.
Another Prisoner grabbed his shoulder and dragged him forward. Alric was too exhausted to care who it was. His thoughts spiraled as he was dragged through the brig and up the stairs, thinking about the metallic staff the acolyte had used to transmit lightning from his hand straight into his spine. The more he thought about it, the more he understood why Owen had compared the manifestations of the blessed to magic. But how did it work? Did he have some magic too? He had to have it, otherwise, why would he be locked up with all these other black wizards? Was that what the collar was for? He vaguely remembered the collar burning and shining when he relived that horrific memory, but other than that it was dormant and comfortable. The thought of having magic powers also exited him, even as he was revulsed at the thought of black magic and the fog clouding hismemories. He'd always secretly been jealous of Owens's water manipulation. He had to find out more no matter the cost. After all, he couldn't expect to survive among dark magicians without some magic to himself right? A little bit of dabbling wouldn't hurt anyone. It was for his survival, yes, strictly survival.
