[indent][i]“Dear Sedrak, my most treasured friend, how I miss you. There is so much I wish to share with you, all the most peculiar things I’ve seen during my travels. All the people and all the marvelous sites. I wish you were here by my side to bask in it all, I know you would love it…more than I at any rate.

Wish I could say that everything was well but each passing day is becoming harder and harder to remember what you look like, what anyone looked like. My mother and father, Mr. Fibbs and Mrs. Jenkins. I can’t even see their faces anymore. I feel adrift in the midst of an ocean with no land in sight, floating endlessly with no purpose or direction…”[/i][/indent]

“Ms. Thorne.” The man’s voice, deep and husky, rattled the young woman from her thought. The quill held in her hand drew a line across the paper as she jumped in her seat. 

“Oh! Mr. Howard, you startled me.” Wretha gasped placing a swift hand over her racing heart. She closed the little black book she had been writing in and immediately replaced it back in her coat pocket.
“I do apologize, Miss.” Mr. Howard, captain of the Sea Sprite, was a courteous man or at least he appeared so when ever present in front of Wretha and she had no reason to think otherwise. He was an older man perhaps in his sixty and most definitely past his prime with a big round gut jutting in front. Ms. Thorne liked to speculate his well-known affinity for sweets had something to do with it. A thick black beard littered with gray hair covered the bottom half of his face, a contrasting featured to his shinny baldhead covered in sheen of sweat. “I thought you would like to know, we are nearing land. We should be docked before sundown.”

A small smile graced the woman’s face as she glance out the porthole, all she could make out was the blue sky and the calm sea outside, but she trusts the man’s word. “Thank you Mr. Howard. It is good news indeed, I’m afraid the sea life isn’t agreeable with me.” She teased, not entirely true.
“Ah, the sea is no place for a women.” It was a typical men remark, one that robbed the smile from her face, but otherwise she ignored the prideful man. Instead she was more interested in his stance, his entire weight was shifted on to his left foot, and the movement was accompanied with a slight grimace. “How does your foot fare?” She asked rising from the barrel she had been using as a seat. “Come, have a seat and I will take a look at it.”

“No need. I’m quite fine.” He reassured her, “Besides, you seemed occupied, I didn’t mean to disturb-“

“Nonsense, Mr. Howard. It’s no disturbance at all, now please sit.” Wretha stepped aside and motioned for the man to sit in the barrel. The Captain was a stubborn man, she knew that as well as the sailors under his command, and she’d had weeks to know the man. Grumbling under his breath Captain Howard shuffled into the small quarters that had been temporarily outfitted as the woman’s room. It was by no means anything extraordinary; it was quite the opposite in fact. Crates lined the entire back wall, used for storage, and a small cot had been set up for the female with a pair of stained sheets laid over it. A cannon laid still taking more than half the room and was secured down with ropes, thankfully the situation to use it hadn’t arise, something Wretha was both thankful and disappoint it for. 
With a grunt the man flopped onto the barrel and Ms. Thorne dragged over a crate so he could prop his foot on top of it. “This is really not necessary, I’m quite fine, really.”

“Now Mr. Howard, you know better than to argue with me.” Wretha was stern, but never rude. “Remove your boot please.” Another line of protest was murmured under his breath as he did what was commanded. Ms. Thorne unbuttoned her grey coat and tossed it on top of the cot. Underneath she was wearing a regal dark green dress with tight sleeves and fitted torso, the endings along the sleeves and neck were detailed with white lace. If it weren’t for her current location, she could have passed for a lady of distinguished upbringing.
The foul stench pouring from the man’s foot slapped Wretha across the face and assaulted her delicate senses almost immediately upon the removal of the boot. It took some self-control but she managed to remain calm and not betray her disgust. The captain had been suffering from acute podagra, his foot was red and swollen, the skin underneath the big toe had rupture in several places with puss crusted over and reeked something fierce. Large inflamed lumps covered his ankle, some large enough that seemed ready to burst at a moment’s notice. It was clear that the disease wasn’t getting any better, partly due to the Captain’s fault. Wretha had seen her share of gruesome sights; especially during her tenured, but at the sight of Mr. Howard’s foot she could feel her stomach turning in knots- whether or not the rocking of the ship had something to do with it was beyond her. “Have you been taking the medication I gave you?”

“That disgusting concoction you brewed makes my innards churn. A mighty sight that is let me tell you.” Wretha shook her head; there was no point in arguing with the stubborn man. She turned back towards her cot and leaned down reaching under the bed for her bag of belonging and pulling it out from hiding. “You really ought to be drinking the medication, Mr. Howard, it helps ease the pain and fever.” 
“Blah.” 
She had to give it to the man, he was a strong one, and there was no doubt in her mind that he was in excruciating pain – then again the rum she could smell from his breath must have been helping to dull the pain. She dug through her bag until she produced a paper wrapping tied with a piece of string. She undid the knot and unwrapped the item. In her hand she held two wilting purple flowers with white pollen inside. “What is that for?” Howard asked curiously, which Wretha replied back with a prompt ‘Shh.’

Placing the flowers aside she dug around her bag once more until she pulled out a small white marble pestle and mortar and a small vial of clear liquid. She made quick work of grinding the flowers, stem and all, and every now and then she would have to catch her balance when the ship rocked one way or the other. Afterwards she poured a small amount of the clear liquid into the mixture and churned it with her fingers until she was tossing about a greenish-brown paste. When the paste was to her liking she placed the mortar down and splashed some of the same clear liquid directly on the Captain’s foot. “Fuck! What in the nine hells is that!” The old man shouted in pain, his foot overcome with an immense burning sensation. 
“Oh, Mr. Howard, don’t be such a child.” Wretha retorted, reaching over for the bowl and taking a handful of the paste. She moved quickly with steady hands and experience, she didn’t have time to think too much on what she was doing, otherwise she wouldn’t be able to go through with the procedure. She couldn’t think twice or she surely would’ve heaved her breakfast all over the Captain’s burlap coat. The paste was cool to the touch as she rubbed it between her palms, before Howard’s protests could become too frantic, Wretha plunged her hand into the otherwise gruesome sight, coating his foot in the green paste. Every crook and crevice of the ship, every sailor- even the man on the crow’s nest heard the Captain scream in pain.



The Sea Sprite had docked on the harbor of Gothic-Maxim, a routine scheduled stop on the way to Civitas proper. It was a chance for sailors to stretch their legs, fill their bellies with some spirits other than rum and to satisfy their more basic needs. It also served as a chance to restock the ships wares and sell some goods the Captain had picked up in other ports. Amidst the excited sailors crowding the deck of the ship, stood Wretha patiently waiting for the ramp to be lowered onto the dock itself, her small bag of belonging tightly held at her side. She had placed her coat back on along with her dark green and black cloak to shield her form the brisk breeze rolling in from the sea.
“Are you sure this is where you want to disembark?” Mr. Howard came up next to her then, a bushy eyebrow rose in concern. “This is no place for a young lady to be on her own.”
“Thank you for your concern, Mr. Howard, but I’m more than capable of handling myself.”
The old man scuffed and let loose a hearty, deep laugh, “I don’t doubt it.” It was infectious and soon Wretha joined in with her own giggle.
The wooden ramped touched down onto the dock’s planks with a resounding thud. “Alright, you lazy scoundrels, we leave at first light tomorrow! If you aren’t back by then, then you’re swimming back home!” The captain’s voice boomed over the ruckus as the men rushed down to land. Wretha watched it all with mild curiosity; she too was itching to be off the darn ship. She had felt so cramped and uncomfortable from the very moment she stepped on-board. But nevertheless she was thankful to Mr. Howard for having allowed her free passage in return for her services with his ill condition. She turned to him then, her smile and all semblance of jest gone from her features. “Mr. Howard, please do take your medication and as soon as you reach your destination seek a doctor, immediately. Your condition will only continue to worsen. If you do not heed my warning, next time I hear of Mr. Howard will be as the peg legged Captain of the Sea Sprite.”
“You worry too much, lass.” The captain hiked his pants up, the action rather comical due to his round belly. “It’ll blow over, you’ll see.”
“Perhaps.” Wretha knew better, he would lose his leg of that there was no doubt in her mind. But whether or not he chose the leg or allowed the disease to claim his life was another matter entirely. “Well, Mr. Howard, this is were we part ways.”
“I can’t say it was a pleasure, but thank you for your help.” The man slapped her across her back in a friendly manner, but the act almost toppled the female over if she didn’t catch her footing in time. “Goodbye, Mr. Howard.”

The harbor reeked of fish, sea water and sweat, a stench that made Wretha cover her nose with the back of her hand in an attempt to conceal her sensitive nostrils. Men littered the docks, some working, others mingling about and some sitting on the edges fishing. She could feel the leering eyes on her as she ‘clocked’ her way across the wooden rampant that led to the city proper, she tried her best to ignore the stares and whistle blowing of the men but for the most part she was left alone. She dug around in one of her coat’s large pockets until she produced a crumbled piece of paper. With fast hands she unraveled it, iron out the creases as best as she could, it was a flyer advertising work and adventure. It looked rather poorly made to Wretha but nonetheless it still had caught her attention back when she had first laid eyes upon it. She had felt a familiar sensation, one that she had grown accustom to, some might have called it a gut feeling and others an intuition but it went further than all that. To Wretha once her path was set there was no diverting from it, she knew better than to at any rate. It was like a magical tether that pulled her with gentle tugs in the direction she needed to go, and right now, it was pulling something fierce. Glancing up from the flyer, straight ahead, loomed her destination. The Farmer’s Daughter. A gust of wind snatched the paper from her hand, carrying it down the street, but Wretha no longer needed it or cared as she hiked up her skirt and made for the Inn.

Evening was fast approaching and the Farm was already starting to become busy with the regulars that frequented the place. Wretha wasn’t sure what she had been expecting, and one glance over didn’t betray anything unusual. Her entrance drew several eyes towards her, nothing she hadn’t encountered before, but for the most part everyone seemed to mind their own business. She took a seat at the end of the bar tucked away in a corner, green eyes surveying the patrons that mingled about drinking and talking. The barkeep caught sight of her and began to walk over – most likely to see what she wanted to drink. The female waved him away with a shake of her head; alcoholic beverages weren’t exactly her forte.