Enshrouded Shipment

The crown sent word.

We ought to prepare a new vessel for its maiden voyage, but the ship’s to be sent off with cargo none of us are allowed to inspect. Strange business. Crates bear no marks, no writs, no tally for the ledger... and they're sealed shut.

The Lord deems them of such weight that his own men were dispatched to see them stowed. Thought I’d see sharp-eyed veterans, but the lot that stumbled in yesterday looked half-dead, eyes glazed and dragging their boots. They’re fixing cannons to a merchant hull... my hull. Never seen the like.

I know not the purpose of this lading, only that it sits ill with me. Shouldn't I know what shipments come and go like the back of my hand?

I gave in to my suspicion tonight and slipped aboard the vessel. The soldiers had turned their backs, staring off into the distance, fixated on a point beyond the horizon... unmoving. It was the perfect time to strike.

A dockmaster ought to know what passes through his harbor, no matter whose seal it bears, I say! So I snuck into the cargo hold, careful not to let the iron grate cover slip from my trembling hands. The air below smelled rotten. Infested. Could it be rats, or some dead stowaway? I covered my nose and mouth with a handkerchief and pressed on, making my way to the back of the hold where the crates were stacked.

Once there, I broke one's seal and recoiled at the sight that revealed itself before me.

The cases were not filled with grain or powder, but with some choking fog — sealed inside like a thing alive, pressing against its confines, rebelling. No markings, no warning. Just a pale mist festering on a bed of foul mushroom flesh.

Does the Lord seek to spread a sickness to distant shores? My vessels should ship food and clothing, not a new form of warfare crueler than steel!

I am resigning tomorrow... may the next sod bear witness to what comes next.