Land of Iaria
A point in time, long now forgotten the world was once whole.
At least that is the picture the stories of old depict. It is said, that below the mist is where people lived. Where land was massive and stretched on for unbelievable distances. That water was the only thing that separated anything.
No one knows if these tales are true, what is fact, is that no one has ventured beyond the mist. The mist that is the known bottom to our world. A dense, white mass that swirls upon itself with an angry pace.
Just within its depths flashes of light are seen, followed by loud crackles and claps. Few have dared to enter, and even fewer have resurfaced. All charged black and crisp.
The world is very different from these fairy tales. The land is broken up into chunks. They Raise high above the mist by earthly pillars. Their bottoms or what they are anchored to never seen.
These island as they are called are unstable, with no reason as to why their climates manifest the way they do. Some are extreme within themselves, or from island to island. Others are just beyond strange, with crystal masses, or fluorescent plants.
All have their own danger that is presented to those who dare to travel unprepared.
Law and order are not well-enforced constructs to this world, despite the entities that try adopt such rule. Chaos and anarchy are more popularly used, as pirates rule the open air seas.
This is where the story begins,....
Upon a well-known island run by outlaws and pirates is a pub with no name. If it ever had one, it was lost ages ago.
The pub is small, crowded, and reeks of various unsavory smells. It is unwise for women to venture there alone, and even more so for those who are weak.
Rum and alcohol, in general, has soaked into the floor and every wood surface inside. The tables are old and carved into, and the chairs have seen better days.
Women work by the watchful eye of large burly men as they deliver drinks and foods to rowdy customers. Though most do not say a word if the women are mishandled or taken elsewhere. As long as they are returned fairly unharmed and fair payment is given.
The food is better than rations, and the drinks will get one drunk. So no one goes there for such delights, and that would be the same for the band of misfits in the back, circled tightly around a table.
Their words barely louder than a whisper, as they discuss the latest find on their last,... adventure. An unusual ship, that seems to be made of ancient materials. With glee in their eyes, they hope beyond hope it can pass beyond the mist. To travel the world of stories, and gather upon it treasures and powers unheard of.
Yet many drinks and hours later, their words reached to those around them. As their words had grown louder with each drink, and new found excitement.
That once the sun rose upon the island, this band of misfits found themselves passed out on the table, and freshly robbed