This post was inspired by a writing prompt in the Worldbuilding Community - Worldbuilding Prompt #1037 - Out of the fog
It's set in the seas of my homebrew Dungeons & Dragons world. Enjoy !
Image by Enrique Meseguer from Pixabay
"How the hell can we have a storm and thick fog all at the same time ?"
The helmsman's voice, muffled by the white clouds that had descended to sea level, and drowned out by the crashing of waves, was one of utter frustration.
"Damned if I know, Jose," came the reply from the man standing behind him. It was Lieutenant Diaz, the officer of the watch. He was wrapped up in a sea cloak that did nothing to keep the damp out, but at least it caught the ash that was drifting down through the fog.
The deck of the Ciudadan merchant carrack San Felro was blanketed with the stuff. Somewhere over the invisible horizon was a range of volcanoes spewing ash into the sky. Ash that drifted south and gave the Greyfall Sea it's ominous name.
"Where are we, Sir ?" Jose asked Diaz. "We've been sailing blind for three days since this fog came down."
"By my dead reckoning, and castings of the log, we should be about fifty leagues south and west of the island of Ilvar. Damn volcanoes, I hate this part of the world. Going all the way around Janar is going to kill half the profit of our voyage, all because that other volcano blew and closed the Velan Straights."
"Yes, but we've loaded a good cargo, Sir. Good Cassaran wine, exotic spices from Ciudad Nueva, and three sacks of vulture feathers for fletching. The elves of Glasheim will pay handsomely for that last one !"
"Aye, very true... what the !"
Lieutenant Diaz broke off, halfway through his sentence. The white fog had tricked them !
A wall of vertical rock loomed up out of the mists, the same light grey-white colour as the ash and fog. With visibility down to half a ship's length, and everything being the same drab shade in a world of pale grey, they had no warning.
"All hands, wear ship. Now !" Diaz cried. "Sound the bell, Jose !"
Reaching over, the helmsman frantically rang the ship's bell to sound the alarm, then spun the wheel to try to get the cumbersome vessel to respond in the heavy sea.
He could see white foam dead ahead. The San Felro heeled over hard as sailors hauled on ropes to turn the yards. Waves crashed over the deck as the ship went onto her beam ends in an effort to turn. They swept the length of the lower midships, and three men went spinning overboard into the fog and sea.
The galleon was turning now, responding to helm and sails. They might make it ! Jose felt his heart jump for joy as they started to move parallel to that wall of deadly rock and spray. They were halfway there ! Wearing ship was working, they just had to hold on for a few more seconds and they would have the mountainside at their backs. They'd be headed back out to sea again, back into the dense fog.
A slow, grinding, scraping crash killed the dream. The San Felro stopped dead with a shudder. An underwater rock, unseen, deadly, had ripped the bottom out of the vessel and bought her to a shuddering halt, impaled on the spike.
The pressure of wind on her sails knocked her flat onto the surface of the rough sea. Sailors tumbled into the water to their deaths. Jose clung onto the wheel, his feet swept out from under him. Diaz disappeared into the spume with a scream.
There was no surviving a wreck like this. No beach to swim to, no other vessel within five hundred miles that might rescue them.
There was nothing Jose could do but let go and hope he'd drown before he was smashed to a pulp against the towering cliffs.
Excerpt from Map of Argull showing location of the shipwreck, created in Wonderdraft