The Legend of William Oh

William Oh arrived at The Flotilla on a ghost ship, carved from the bones of a dead leviathan and piloted by ghosts.

Once they docked, tales spread like wildfire of deckhands and voluptuous chambermaids that seemed to appear and disappear, never allowing others to get an accurate grasp of how many souls were on board. Some nights it seemed like hundreds were on board, while other nights, only a single window would flicker with lamplight revealing about a dozen people, begging the question of where the rest of the crew had gone.

Not to mention the strange noises, and objects moving with a mind of their own.

And the smell of death that seemed to follow it.

• Heron Stiles, level 30 Sailor

Will yawned and tossed the blanket off, slipping out of his Relics and back into his clothes before putting his Relics back on over them

It was weird sleeping with falconer’s gloves and a dragon mask on, but you got used to it. You didn’t not sleep in your Relics.

Or at least, Will didn’t ever since the church of Granesh had tried to kill him in the middle of the night while they bunked at what should’ve been a reputable inn.

Will glanced down at the Swampstompers that hadn’t left his feet since last month.

I should air out the shoes at least.

---