by Kell Inkston
The Hideous Table of Malicious Contents
1: The Witching Book
2: The Mist Hour
3: The Sunken Breath
4: The Record of Ambition
5: The Black Eye
Note from the author?
Nocturna League
Season One
Episodes 1-5
By Kell Inkston
Copyright 2014-2020
All rights reserved.
Cover by J Caleb Design
All characters, places, and events within are fictitious, fortunately.
The graveyard of legends and the so-called invincible-
A shifting so-called ocean comprised of a million seas and lands,
Breathed on by the unknown gods in their cruelest so-called blessings,
The so-called Eversea continues to claim tens of thousands of lives each year.
It’s here that one soul also loses her life in the pursuit of so-called freedom and fulfillment.
This is that so-called story.
“The Oceans are as wide and varied as the people who drift upon them. You will experience everything and meet everyone. Such is the nature of the ocean: That Chaos Incarnate. Seawater is, in essence, the very blood of adventurers.”
- unknown
The Duel and The Introductions
“You ready for it?” a hulking, grey-scaled shark-man asks, wrapping his hands with athletic tape. A ragtag crowd cheers as they ready for the spectacle of “The Daily Whuppin’”, now a well-loved pastime of many upon the M.S. Nocturna.
A bruised young lady, covered with a different sort of bandages and opposite to him on the deck, is already to her feet. The slipping squeak of black sea-boots upon the deck sounds off alertly when she takes her stance. “You won’t catch me off guard this time, Fats,” she says with a smirk, extending her hands through her long pea-coat in preparation of martial arts.
There’s a silence while the shark man takes a deep breath, pulling the eldritch salt of the Eversea into his lungs. “Only thing ‘fat’ ‘round here’s gonna be those bruises once I’m done w’cha. Let’s go!”
She scoffs, her nerves pulsing with hot, practiced blood. “The only thing ‘done’ around here is your reputation. Come at me!”
“Naw, you first, lil’ bitch!” he passes back.
“What, scared?” she passes as well, both jockeying for position.
The crowd gets restless, so they just have Cluton the clownfish seasort wave them off.
“Readyyyy~” He raises his orange-white striped arm, his gaze twinkling with the same excitement that’s on the faces of everyone watching the event. After all, Colette’s been getting pretty close to winning once or twice.
There’s a bloody silence, the breeze moaning old, generations-long curses to anyone with ears to hear….
“Go!” Cluton yells, swinging his arm down with manic excitement.
In a blink, the two combatants rush at one another and the crowd goes wild. The blond youth, about eighteen, slides right past the shark man’s giant frame with the grace of a butterfly. Before he can turn, the agile lass latches up his back fin, and puts him in a headlock.
There’s an explosive, feverish ruckus in the crowd as another young lady, peeking out from the kitchen, cheers under her breath, congratulating Colette on the fast footwork. As the only other “pure” human on the ship, she needs to give her support.
“The only bitch here is you!” Colette exclaims, squeezing the shark man’s dense neck with every fiber of her strength.
The shark man winces in surprise and then, as if this were all a game to him, smiles. “Really?” he asks, raising a scaled brow and peering behind his shoulder with black, cursed eyes.
She doesn’t stop squeezing. “Really, what?”
Her opponent stretches out his arms, yawns and then, amidst the cheering and laugher of the crowd, abruptly falls flat on his back with Colette underneath.
“Wh-What the hell? Cheater!” she shouts as she fails to push the shark man off her amidst the crowd’s laughter and jeers.
He releases another mock yawn. “I dunno, kid. I just got real tired all of a sudden. Not sure if it’d be smart to get up. I’d just fall over again, I reckon,” he says, winning smug agreements all around from the crowd.
Colette punches into her opponent a few seconds more, and then Dunklestein gets up with a relaxed “fine”, freeing her from his boulder-like weight. She needs a moment to breathe, which is more than enough time for her enemy. He sweeps his leg from under her, tripping her and sending her face into the cold, salty deck. The weight slams into her face, and her teeth are pressed against her inner cheek, cutting it and filling her mouth with the coppery, exerted, crimson taste of defeat.
“Looks like I win again.” The towering shark man guffaws with a cross of his broad tattooed arms. “You know, I really like your willingness to get trashed every day, but I think you should’ve started with some easier opponents first,” he says with a shrug.
Colette brings herself back to her feet with half the vigor from last time. “Forget it, Dunks. Ol’ Salt started hard ‘cuz that’s the quickest way to improve.”
Dunklestein the Daring scoffs with a wide, sharp-toothed grin. “Sure, kid. Just keep in mind you could never choke me out the way you would a landy.”
“Yeah? And why’s that?”
Dunklestein points to his gills, and Colette draws back amidst another burst of laughter of the crowd.
The girl in the kitchen sighs, and turns back to her work as Colette mutters in confusion.
“Wait, seriously? Doesn’t that only wo-”
“Work in water?” Dunklestein interrupts, “Naw, that’s just a landy rumor. Seasorts are fish and man, so we can breathe in the air or in the drink with gills. You got a lot to learn, kip.”
Colette nods, averting her gaze. She takes in every word, but she refuses to look like she’s valuing correction. “Alright, Dunks, cool. I guess that’ll be useful one of these days.”
“The real way to go is to just reach in there and scratch. That’ll set ‘em straight real fast. Gills are sensitive, after all.”
“Now I know your weakness,” she hisses with a sly grin.
“Yeah, cool. Now you ready for another or are ya’ done?”
She takes a breath and stretches her limbs. “Why do you even ask that anymore?” She sets into a guard again, ready for round two, albeit waveringly.
“Actually, I think that’s quite enough from you two,” a voice says, its owner descending the steps from the upper decks.
Everyone hushes up and most of the crowd disperses to either get to work or hide in their quarters. Just audible over the chaos are the prompt, measured steps of a pair of boots; these ones a few sizes larger than Colette’s, and a few sizes smaller than Dunklestein’s. Before Colette and Dunklestein stands The Captain, Commander of the M.S. Nocturna, and unofficial best captain ever.
“Now what all is this here? Explain why you’re engaging in this degenerate rapscallionry to distract the other sailors.” The tall, entirely-bandaged figure demands as he fixes his round spectacles and captain’s hat.
Dunks smiles sheepishly as Colette sighs. “W-well, Captain. The boys and I just thought it’d be proper t’-”
“The gym’s way too small,” Colette says, cutting off Dunklestein.
Dunks cringes and The Captain looms over Colette. “Could it be that it’s too small, or is it that you simply want to impress everyone with your ridiculous tomfoolery?”
“No, it’s definitely too small, Cap. I need room to move or else Dunks’ll just run up and corner me.”
“Which is totally fair in a real fight, ya’
know,” Dunklestein says, definitely being helpful with that bit of information.
“Thanks a bundle, Funks,” Colette hisses at that relevant bit of info. “Now, as I was saying—it’s not like anyone’s actually busy except the chef and Gran, so like, why shouldn’t we entertain them a bit? You should watch sometime Cap. I’ve gotten pretty fierce these past few days if I do say so myself.”
“Yeah, Cap. Poor lass could almost deal with split ends,” Dunklestein says with a fishy grin.
Colette jabs an elbow into Dunklestein, who shrugs it off.
The Captain stares on a moment, and then nods. “I see… You say you want more space to fight, and that it wouldn’t be of detriment to anyone at this time of day?” he asks, his voice a cross between a salted, calculating veteran and a warm, thoughtful grandfather.
“Yeah, exactly,” Colette says.
“Well your thoughts are misplaced, Jobber Colette. You two hustling about in public eye encourages in-fighting, and I need our men thinking about their work. It’s not just Chef Boris and Miss Vereyrty that are busy, you know.”
Colette sighs. “You really are hopeless, Cap.”
The Captain leans forward. “Do you really want to fight that bad? I heard you say that you felt the harder the opponent, the greater the improvement. Perhaps instead of Dunklestein the Daring, you’d like to-”
Colette jolts back. “N-whoa! Captain! Normally I’d take you up on it, but I-” She massages her shoulder. “I’ve been going at it ever since I got off swabbing the decks. A little winded, ya’ know?”
The Captain draws back professionally. “Then as you’ve been at it so long, I suppose it’s time to swab the decks again, Miss Ketiere,” he says, smiling gently under his bandages.
She sighs. “Right away, Cap.” Colette fires off a sour salute and trots off to the janitor’s equipment.
The two watch her leave, and Dunklestein winces in pain and kneads the spot where Colette punched him. “Gah- Cap, I know you told me I should be acting tough and all, but the past couple days she’s been hittin’ like a damn whale. She’s so scrawny, but the way she ridges her punches… sometimes I get glimpses of you.”
The Captain scoffs. “She’s getting quite the competitive set of skills, don’t you think? I believe there’s hope for her winning her little wager with that overlord of hers… Really, I’m wondering if it’s time,” he says, watching Colette gather a bucket of soapy water with a cross look about her as she starts up the stairs.
“Time for what?”
“About time we had her mettle tested in a more… inspirational fashion; we’re almost to our destination, you know.”
Dunklestein’s dark eyes gain a small spark. He scoffs as he nudges The Captain. “Yeah, I think she’s ready. Between her fists and her marksmanship, I’m sure she’d give most landies a run for their money.”
“Then it’s settled. You’ll be keeping us company on the landing party,” The Captain says with a nod.
Dunklestein nods back with a smirk, but then jolts. “Wh-wait, I’m going too?”
“You certainly are. Now have your gear ready,” The Captain says, peering out to the mists ahead.
The Captain and His Crew of Misfits Locate the Correct Island
An hour later the M.S. Nocturna glides across the cardamom waters of a distant, exotic ocean shifting from a cool blue to the energetic new colors of the sea and sky just as quickly as if they’re passing over land. At the helm of the ship, the tall and slender Captain overlooks a large island through his spectacles.
“We almost there, sir?” A half man-half starfish sailor asks with a gurgle.
The Captain nods, glancing behind to address the seasort with his gaze. “That is correct, Swab-mate Gregory. Our destination is indeed the island ahead,” he confirms.
Gregory hums. “Well, but I mean are you sure, this time? This is the third island you said that about, sir.”
The Captain is quiet a moment. The seaspray frolics across the deck. “Tell me, just who is the captain of this vessel, Gregory Gallsway?”
The seasort sighs and returns to wiping down the deck. “You, sir.”
“That is correct, and how many times did our assistant navigator turn to his dark side when charting the course?”
Gregory sighs again, glancing at the statuesque captain. “Every time, sir.”
“And how many times did I… Suddenly and inexplicably forget about double checking the course?”
“…Also that many times, sir.”
The Captain nods. “As such, now that we have thrown Mr. Masthaven in the brig for his traitorous decisions, and I have not had a regrettable lapse in the past week on the subject of navigation, we can then assume that this island is the correct one, and that it also contains our mark.”
Gregory nods with his brows raised. “Uh, sure thing, sir.”
A half-hour passes and the Nocturna is at the rim of the island, just five minutes away. Most of the sailors have lined up across the railing to look over their destination: Ketman’s Keep. It is a vast, verdant swamp island, its trees an impenetrable fortress from every direction save for its single town. Alien, feral sounds come from the swamp within, but when overlooking the sizable town there is nothing but laughter emanating and bright colors streaming from it.
“What’s ya’ think they celebratin’?” One seasort asks to his human friend.
“Could be anything,” he answers while scratching his dark chin, “maybe a holiday.”
A few Crew members exchange fanciful theories while The Captain, as mysterious and impenetrable as the swamp, approaches with his officer’s cap straight and in perfect condition.
“Gentlemen,” he nods to the large crowd of men, fish men, and probably also fish. “Ladies,” he nods again to two young ladies, one dressed as a cook, Grancis Vereyrty— and the other, an enthused Colette Ketiere, having just finished dawning expedition gear- built up to the teeth with knives, ropes, rations and supplies of all adventuring sorts. The Captain starts trotting to the side of the group. “As you all know, our charge for this mark is to find the ancient, supposedly magical book of the great witch Vuuya. It is said to grant wishes, and while we all have heard that one before-”
There’s a knowing guffaw shared between some of the sailors.
“-It is still our job to chase such wild dreams, and the O.E.L. will pay good money for it. Very good money; your paychecks for the next three months good money. And so though it is late in the day, I find no need not to initiate the expedition immediately and send our away team.”
Nods and agreements are given from the multitude.
“I have decided that this team will consist of myself- as I am The Captain, Dunklestein the Daring- should beasts or the locals prove to be a problem, Colette Ketiere- for she desires experience in adventure and arms, Jim-”
An uproar overflows on the deck as concern and disapproval abounds.
“Gentlemen, please,” The Captain says quietly. The yelling continues and people bombard him with questions. The Captain sighs, and cracks his knuckles, a sound that every sailor on the ship has been trained to be alert to, and the yelling quiets to a disgruntled muttering. “Very good. I have chosen Jim because he is among the best off-deck men we have, and honestly I would rather him off the ship in the advent of his turning, especially on an empty moon, which is tonight- understand?”
While most of the crew is silent, some do nod their heads and generally agree. A turned Jim on a black moon, the crew has learned, ranks among their employment’s most extreme episodes.
“Very good, feel free to remain in port and go on shore leave as you see fit. Just remember if you hear the rifle, get the ship ready,” The Captain says, patting the strange, dark rifle strung around his back.
At that, an apologetic, confused Jim is let out of the brig, brought up to speed with the situation and joins the other three as they enter port and start down the boardwalk.
Jim’s a fit lad, but not built by any definition. He
has shaggy black hair, smooth, with a flush to the side, and pale. His brown eyes aren’t exactly used to command either respect or appreciation in those he looks at, and is rather unskilled at social endeavors. He is, however, quite handsome and has a winsome personality in the right situations which are, regrettably for him, few and far between.
Oh, yeah, and he’s party to a terrible, terrible curse.
“Thanks for having me along, Captain. I thought for sure I was going to be in there for good,” Jim says.
The Captain nods as Dunklestein scoffs. “Whatever dude. Just don’t pull that shit again,” the great white shark seasort says with a smirk across his wide, tooth-lined jaws.
“Now now, Dunklestein the Daring. There is no need for foul language in this outing party. A clean mouth is as a clean conscience, after all,” The Captain says, receiving a sigh from Dunks.
“It’s like you’ve never heard the term ‘swearing like a sailor’, Captain.”
“I am not a sailor, Dunklestein. I am a captain.” The Captain wriggles his finger as if that were really an important distinction in a semantic case such as this.
Colette and Jim exchange some sly smirks, certain The Captain will never change, and that Dunklestein will never realize it.
“Come on, Captain. You sail, that makes you a sailor. Stop acting so superior,” Dunklestein says with a smile, the usual expression he owns when arguing.
“I am too busy being The Captain to care about coming off as a prig. Now please, let us commence with our mark,” he says, straightening his cap as the four walk to the side of the ship as a group of sailors lay plank unto the port.
“Sure thing, Cap,” Dunklestein says, stretching back and forth as he readies to disembark.
The Captain is about to step off onto the plank to the island when he stops himself. “Oh, that’s right. I was going to bring along Miss Vereyrty as well.”
All three of his companions display surprise and disapproval.
“Cap’,” Dunklestein says. “Y’can’t really be sayin’ you’re taking along Boris’ girl, are ya’? You know it’s gonna be dangerous… and she’s not exactly the…” Dunklestein waves his hands about in thought, trying his best to find a term that would describe Grancis Vereyrty without offending her best friend, who’s right next to him.
