Never set sail without a navigator or at least a map and compass

  -Excerpt from ‘The Ten Laws of the Sea’, author unknown

  Rose didn’t know when she had fallen asleep. It was hard to tell time without the moon and the stars when the only view was the pitch black of the ocean.

  A thick fog had descended rapidly as she went further out to sea and it had clouded her path, leaving her unable to tell which direction she was rowing.

  She thought that the boat had been going towards Smuggler’s Rest, but perhaps her course had altered while she slept. Why had she slept?

  In the sky above the clouds were still thick. A dark grey blanket that covered the world, hiding the sun and obscuring any hope of navigation. At least the fog around her had cleared, so she could see the black water beneath.

  In her rush to leave home she had forgotten to bring any means of measuring her direction. Even a torch would’ve helped.

  She did a little spin to see if there were any recognisable landmarks on the horizon, but it was just her and the deep blue. I can’t already be lost! she cursed inwardly. I’m the worst pirate ever.

  Emerlan Isle was situated at the southern end of a small ocean. Small by the standards of the world, given that some of the grander seas could stretch for hundreds of thousands of miles or more. Yet it was still vast for a single teenage girl all alone in a fishing boat.

  Perhaps one of her skills or traits might be able to help her out in this situation. Rose didn’t think so, but it was worth having a look before making any rash decisions.

  With that in mind she reached out to the tide and her eyes flickered across her status as it splashed into view.

  Name: Rose Everblue

  Race: Human

  Occupation: -

  Title: -

  Available Titles: -

  Skills: Cleaning 4, Reading 8, Fishing 12, Swimming 7, Writing 2, Butchery 6, Cooking 5, Herding 2, Focus 7, Drawing 9

  Traits: Sensitive Line

  As the stories told it—and the academic books too, or so she’d heard—the tide was a gift from the gods, designed to help the sentient races hone their knowledge and skills. Hone them for what? No one really knew, but the tide was damn useful.

  Most believed it to be a sort of exchange where mortals got more power and knowledge and in return offered up more prayers to the gods, granting them greater strength and divinity.

  Rose wasn’t sure how that had worked out or if it was even true, but she had been raised to both fear and worship Sylack, the God of Fish and Fishermen. A healthy respect for the ocean had been instilled in her since she had been a child. Her father made sure of it.

  The dangers of even a mundane job like fishing could be catastrophic. A storm could strike at any moment or a sea beast could emerge from the depths and swallow a small vessel whole if it so chose. Offering a prayer to Sylack every now and then warded off such horrors.

  She’d even come to respect Sylack as her god after a life of praying to him. He seemed to be a relatively simple god, satisfied with his realm and the worship of those who plied his trade.

  Yet the world was vast—it held innumerable oceans and dozens of gods holding domain over various aspects of the sea. Perhaps one of them might take issue with Sylack one day and decide to strike out at his worshippers.

  It was a cruel world and Rose felt that it was easier to stay out of divine politics where necessary. It wasn’t unheard of for battles between gods to end in disaster for the believers of the loser.

  Being forced to submit to a new deity that you hardly believed in wasn’t a small thing. It didn’t happen often, but when it did it gave rise to great tragedies.

  Right now though she would freely offer her worship to whichever deity could offer an escape from her predicament. Her one trait, sensitive line, would be of little use for navigation.

  She’d received it upon achieving level ten in Fishing and her father had treated her to a meal in Smuggler’s Rest as a celebration. Back then the idea of following in his footsteps and making fishing her life’s work hadn’t seemed so harrowing. So… terrifyingly mundane.

  All the trait did was nudge her aim a little when she cast her line, giving her an increased chance to land near an approaching fish. Traits tended to be like that—minor adjustments to how things functioned. At least at level ten, that is.

  She had heard from her father and other tradesfolk that the traits at level twenty-five, fifty, and one hundred—if one was skilled and dedicated enough to achieve such a thing—were more potent.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  Tales from her father were of little use to her right now. It was beginning to look like her only option would be to wait it out and hope a ship sailed by to pick her up or at least offer her a true heading and some means of staying on course.

  Taking a chance and rowing or sailing in a random direction might seem like a tempting prospect, but Rose knew better.

  There was just as much chance she would end up taking herself further out to sea and wasting valuable energy with no payoff rather than advancing towards Smuggler’s Rest or even Albumott, if she’d managed to veer that far off course and was heading south instead of east.

  Her stomach growled.

  Rose desperately wanted to stuff the delicious leftovers in her gob, but held herself back. It was possible she would have to ration out her limited food. Devouring it all now would be satisfying, but stupid.

  Instead her breakfast would consist of one apple and a few sips of water. It would have to be enough.

  The first day came and went, marked by the setting of the sun and the passing of the moon. That night the clouds stayed thick, unrelenting in their mission to hide away the majesty of the moon and the light of the stars. It was frustrating and she grew hungry.

  With the stars visible Rose would’ve been able to set herself on a proper course for Smuggler’s Rest. It lay in the direction of the Stormwind Star, just a little off from true east.

  On the second day she ate another apple for breakfast and by the time it reached the mid afternoon had drained two thirds of her first waterskin. A sharp pain in her stomach forced her to have another bite to eat in the evening.

  She opted for the potatoes, because her mother had mashed them with milk and they would start to rot if left for much longer. Wasting food when she barely had enough wasn’t an option.

  No ships had passed in those first thirty hours. That wasn’t unusual. Emerlan Isle didn’t have much in the way of trade and most people travelled across land when going between towns and villages on the island.

  Her desire to have a ship of her own had led Rose to steal the fishing boat and travel across the bay instead, which she now regretted just a little. It would’ve been a simple task to walk to Smuggler’s Rest and acquire a ship or look for a departing crew there instead.

  However, her path was set. Complaining wouldn’t get her closer to her destination.

  Two more days came and went. Rose ate the fish and the last apple. The second waterskin had just half its volume left.

  She reduced the rate she was drinking, conscious that with every passing moment time became a greater foe. If nothing changed soon, this little boat would become her grave.

  Humans could survive a few weeks without food, but it would take just three or four days to die without water. Which left her a week to be rescued or spot land—if she was stingy with her remaining water.

  Rose was hopeful. The ocean could be a cruel mistress, but ever since she had been a child it had taken care of her.

  Once, when she was four, Rose had strayed too far down the beach while waiting for her father to return from the day’s fishing. A rock pool had caught her eye, filled with vibrant coloured fish that flitted about and swam down an underground stream. She had followed, and wandered into a cave.

  High tide came fast in Fairwater Bay and Rose had been stranded, cut off from the path back to the beach. As a girl it hadn’t been that scary. In fact, she saw it as something of an adventure.

  Her father had started to read stories of the famous pirates to her by then and when the sea whisked her away, carrying her out in its cold embrace, she had imagined herself to be embarking on a grand voyage like her heroes.

  She still looked back on the incident with mixed feelings. The sea hadn’t drowned her or swept her out into the depths, instead depositing her back on the beach. A stroke of divine luck perhaps. Or just plain luck.

  Regardless, she knew the dangers the ocean held. Which made her all the more furious at herself for preparing so poorly for her voyage.

  It would have taken her a minute or less to grab a compass on her way out the house. Instead, her luck was going to be tested once more.

  By the sixth day Rose was flagging. Her lips were dry and cracked and her skin was red and peeling. Even through the thick clouds, which covered the sky and refused to clear, the sun beat down like a foreman’s whip.

  Her breathing was ragged, each inhale a burning gasp of air down her dry throat. Her water had run out the day before and the clock was now running, counting down to the moment of her death.

  As the sun set, painting the horizon in vibrant and gorgeous shades of purple, red and orange, Rose lay down in the little fishing boat and thought about life.

  Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad to have a mundane existence. There was beauty in routine. In the sheer mastery that came with performing the same actions every day for a lifetime.

  She saw it in the way her father cast his line. Every movement was fluid, with no wasted energy. The way he gutted and deboned a fish without wasting a morsel of meat. Maybe she would have reached that level with time.

  A fabulous success story of piracy she was. Six days at sea and already on her deathbed. Not quite as colourful a legend as Castell Saltbeard, it had to be said.

  A ripple in the waves drew her from her idle musings. Rose wanted to leap to her feet. She had no strength left though and the result was a lethargic struggle.

  She clambered to her feet, using the mast for support and just about planting herself in the middle of the boat. However, she was glad to have spent the energy.

  In the far distance and fast approaching she spotted a small brigantine. It had all the trappings of a merchant vessel.

  She cracked a smile, though regretted it straight away when her lip split open and a drop of blood dripped onto her tongue, the tang of iron almost refreshing to her parched mouth.

  She had left home to begin her adventure as a pirate. Now, a week at sea later, she had encountered her first merchant ship.

  The mind tended to act in odd ways when dehydrated, which was perhaps why Rose decided to take up the oars and row toward it. A few minutes later she had closed the gap and there was just fifty metres between them.

  Grabbing hold of her mother’s hefty kitchen knife, she stood tall on the fishing boat, her mighty pirate vessel. Raising the knife high, she grinned with bloody teeth. This would be a raid for the ages.

  When they told the tale of Rose Everblue, they would recount how she raided a fat merchant ship after days at sea without food or drink, claiming the first pieces of treasure with which to build her hoard.

  It was then that a bout of dizziness struck her and her grip on the knife loosened. The weapon slipped from her grasp and splashed into the sea, sinking to the depths below.

  She staggered, clutching for the knife and falling backwards into her boat. And then she heard a shout from above.