Oftsala

Oftsala

                “That wondrous land, Oftsala.” The man’s voice was quiet, furtive. Crammed into a tiny booth in a seaside tavern, he spoke of a mythical, bountiful land to his companion. Both were port workers who loaded and unloaded ships for a living, and both had heard many tales of far-off lands.

                Oftsala was the most legendary – the continent existed, and had been oft seen from afar; a green paradise. But none who landed there – bar those who landed for the briefest of times – had ever returned. Even a great expedition sent by an emperor to the north, had vanished without a trace.

                Still, stories from those claiming to have been on the island for extended periods were many. They blamed a thousand different things for the disappearances – great shamans, primitive tribes of giant men, strange monsters, even the land itself. Each escaped the threat somehow, and spoke of the great bounty of the island – unknown fruits that tasted like happiness, capable of feeding a man for a week with only a few bites; tribes of beautiful women or men that were born from the land itself, waiting for outsiders to come; stone hands deep within a cave system that, when asked a question, would open and release the answer in writing, always correct no matter what the question was.

                None of these were ever confirmed; and many were proven to be tales from liars and charlatans – or worse, those who enjoyed sending others to their deaths merely for daring to hope.

                The man’s friend feared this latest story was one of the latter. “So how did this mysterious traveller tell you to get there, Damien?” asked the friend.

                “He didn’t Jung, not exactly. He proved he’d been there though! He had one of those hands. He said he can tell me the way for a few silver, and then –“ said Damien.

                “Well, a con-artist beats someone trying to get you killed. But you’re an idiot for believing him,” replied Jung.

                “Oh come on. People have been there before! This guy just knows how to stay there without getting caught by the pygmy-pigs!” replied Damien, still enthusiastic about Oftsala.

                “Pygmy-pigs? That’s a new one,” said Jung. “Do they worship a great chicken-beast?”

                “I’ll have you-“ began Damien.

                He was interrupted by a loud thud as a strangely armoured woman placed a chair at the edge of their booth. “Who are you?” asked Damien, assuaging Jung’s fears that the con-artist had just shown up.

                “An adventurer. I just got here; sailed in from Winderron. I’m looking forward to seeing this land. I heard you mention Oftsala?” she asked.

                “Yeah, you might not have heard of it. It’s a fertile continent to the north east, but everyone who travels there disappears – shortly after landing, fine,” said Jung, fine-tuning his statement.

                “I’ve been there, although it was a while ago. You don’t want to land there, ever, and you should avoid sailing near there as well,” she said.

                “Really? Why?” asked Damien. Jung sighed. Another story.

                “It has a biological defence system that detects humans and dispatches enforcers – you’d call them huge monsters – to clean up the mess. It’s quite incredible, but it’ll detect you within about five minutes of landing, or after a day or so near the coast. Damn hard place to leave, I had to build my own ship which took twenty frickin’ years,” replied the adventurer.

                “And you killed all these monsters, did you? Wait, twenty years? You’re barely thirty, if that!” said Jung.

                “Hell no and you wouldn’t believe how old I am, haha. I haven’t found anything living older than me in this world. I escaped attack because I’m not human, although the rest of those I came with were killed. It wasn’t pretty,” she said.

                “I’m honestly sick of charlatans and liars,” said Jung. Even Damien looked apprehensive about the adventurer’s statements.

                She smiled in reply. “Alright,” she said, picking up a knife from the table and pressing it to her hand. “Let’s see if you recognise this.”

                She cut herself with a quick motion, leaving a light scratch on her hand. Jung was momentarily taken aback by her actions, but the blue blood that coloured the scratch left him truly speechless.

                “Recognise me, then?” said the woman with a grin.

                “D-Dytja,” muttered Jung.

                “Yup,” said the woman, smiling.

                “Dytja, Dytja… Wait, weren’t you one of the heroes who went with the northern emperor’s expedition?” asked Damien.

                “That and a lot more if this is her,” said Jung. Dytja was a living legend in that part of the world, last heard of when passing through lands on the other side of Oftsala – and after travelling there with the northern emperor’s fleet. Tales had said she’d left early, before they reached Oftsala, but now…

                “I was. They put up a mighty fight, but the island… The first time, it sent five flying beasts; the second twenty-five – which nearly ended us all. The few survivors had no chance against the one hundred and twenty-five that showed up next. I… Had already left, by that point. And the ships were long gone, destroyed by underwater creatures they had no means to fight,” said Dytja.

                “I – assuming what you say is true, why are you talking to us?” asked Jung, hesitantly.

                Suddenly the tavern went completely quiet. Peering out from the booth, Jung saw the High Priest of the Two-Waved Storm (a much revered water being that aided fishermen along the coast of the entire country) entering; clad in full official attire.

                “You said something interesting and I was waiting for him to show up,” replied Dytja, indicating the priest. With a smile she stood up from her chair and started walking to the priest, one arm raised in greeting.

                As the priest acknowledged Dytja in return, Damien said, “Well, this is one I’ll be telling the grandkids.”

                “Yeah, the tale of how Dytja, the hero of pretty much everywhere, stopped you from falling for a scam,” said Jung with a chuckle.

                Damien glared at him in reply, before saying, “Fine. You were right. It was a scam.”