The Flying Mouse, a ship built for tough voyages, sliced through the pre-dawn mist. Aboard, sailors in uniform-type attire in dark dresses. Brown leather jerkins won over shirts. Shirts are loose-fitting to the body with full-length sleeves gathered at the cuff. Their eyes fixed on the looming silhouette ahead. Ikomzil. The name alone carried the weight of dread, a dark island on the otherwise vibrant kingdom of Urgatto.
"The great island where all evil is called 'good' and good..." Kelan began, pausing as he lifted a pitcher with both hands to his mouth.
Weana replied without missing a beat. "Good doesn't exist here, captain. If there were, there wouldn't have been a need for I and Ifuna to be on this ship pretending to be some sailors' wives," she concluded nonchalantly.
Kelan met Weana's comment with a wry smile. "Our purpose here is good. I can already tell from the misty air that the guards of this island will be glad to see us," he said.
As the flying mouse gets closer to the island, the horizon starts to glow with a soft light. Ikomzil revealed herself. It isn't the restful place where dreams come true, but a snaggy, unforgiving landmass. Towering cliffs, dark as elderberry, plunged into the churning sea. No beaches offered solace, only perilous rocks that make an invitation for hulls wishing to bleed. With a prison complex so vast and intricate that escape was deemed impossible. Within its cold, damp cells resided the kingdom's most dangerous criminals: murderers, revolutionaries, and those who dared defy the iron fist of the Urgatto throne.
Even from afar, an oppressive aura emanated from the isle, but not a palpable sense of despair settled on the heart of the ship's captain.
"I have sailed many years to places where men feast and where swords dance. Today, here we sailed to Odder, where we all must be of our most humble selves and invisible to fear," Kelan said as he stood facing his crew. All of them gave a nod, and some clapped faintly.
Ikomzil's reputation preceded it. It was more than just an island; it was Urgatto's ultimate deterrent, its inescapable cage.
"Legends spoke of bewildering tunnels carved into the heart of the island," Trognol disposed.
With his hand on the silk rope attached to a straight pole, his eyes fixated upon Trognol, Ursti, the second in command amongst the crew, calmly remarked, "Yes, and the unspeakable things there be. It all feels a bit solemn now to find ourselves within reach of the island. You and I have studied this place. We shall have a good time here. Nothing is more satisfying than seeing people happy and knowing you played a part in that,".
The Flying Mouse navigated the perfidious currents, guided by a lone, grim-faced navigator, Pikoll, who seemed immune to the island's oppressive influence. The air grew thick with anticipation as they approached the only visible landing point: a narrow, fortified cove guarded by draped stone towers. Banners bearing the sigil of Urgatto – a bent arrow crossing a straight spear – snapped in the wind, a stark reminder of the kingdom's unwavering power.
The ship slowed, its heavy anchor plunging into the murky depths. The journey was over. The Flying Mouse had arrived at the shores of Ikomzil, a destination from which few ever returned.
The guard's order sliced through the salty air, sharp as a stray dog's tooth. "No! You are forbidden to land. Ikomzil is off-limits to privateers and foreign sails. Keep heading on!"
The crew, weathered and worn from weeks battling the tempestuous Urgatto Sea, groaned in remonstration. The fumes that drew the attention of the other three guards who rose from their sleep all at once, "Just when we decided to have a little sleep after a night of riots. What in all that be, gave you folks the audacity to choose this shore for your anchor hold?" Asked Plarutin. The most superior amongst the four guards at the mark.
"My good masters, we are sailors from the distant Jawgiaw realm, from the kingdom of Canaptoca. For months, we have been on this voyage, with little moments on land. We have not ventured on land in over three weeks due to the storms that threw us far out of our initial sail. Kindly pity us. We are gentle fellows who seek the good for all people. I beg you," pleaded Kelan, his voice rasped from exhaustion. "Just a moment. A single, blessed moment on solid ground. We won't linger. Just to share bread on land again."
Ifuna rushed forward, chimed in, "Aye, Great masters. Our bodies are breaking, our spirits fading. We pose no threat. Only a brief respite, I swear on my father's grave."
The air hung heavy with their desperate pleas, mingling with the creak of the ship and the distant, mournful cry of gulls. Plarutin, a man hardened by years of command, hesitated. He knew the law. Knew the grim purpose of Ikomzil, the island prison that held Urgatto's most dangerous criminals. Yet, he also saw the desperation brewing in the weary eyes of the crew.
"A moment," he conceded, his voice laced with warning. "One moment to stretch your legs and taste solid earth. No wandering. No exploring. Back on your ship before the last sliver of sun dips below the horizon. Is that understood?"
A ragged cheer erupted, a brief surge of life in the otherwise desolate atmosphere. The anchor plunged into the dark sand with a resounding thud. A white boat was lowered, and the men scrambled aboard, their faces alight with anticipation.