It was rather common knowledge that the condor fed on carrion. The ship of the same name was no different. The man who ran the dark carrier was rarely seen, but anyone who had the misfortune to face him in battle said he was a terror to the skies – some said the Devil himself. So when they told me I'd been summoned to the bridge of the foreigner's vessel, I was understandably terrified.

"Keep it moving," growled a tough-looking bitch. What femininity she possessed was limited to the long, blond locks that spilled over her shoulders, and a blessed bosom hiding behind her shielder. I hurried my pace, and we made our way up to the accursed ship.

Long ago, the paint had been white, but a solemn shift in management changed her colours to the steely gray of the clouded sky. Up above, the helm was a bright white, a few crew wandering about, but one figure stood by the helm, and looking at it, I could just make out two glowing yellow eyes peering down at me. I felt a shiver in my soul, but moved quickly up the gangplank before my 'escort' lost her patience.

The expansive hangar was lined with skimmers and rides of the same steely gray, though they were accented in variations of storm blue, swamp green, and blood red. A single white steed stood alone, its markings an inconspicuously bright blue; no one touched it. I took it in with a curious eye as we made our way to the back, the crew stepping out of the way, doubtless recognising that for some reason I was a a dead man walking. The bitch behind me grunted at a ladder, so I started up; I was even more disconcerted that she managed to keep her weapon trained on me as she followed, but decided it was best not to mention such.

The corridors were lined in emerald carpets, the walls freshly scrubbed (much better kept than most places, I noted) and lined in shields and maps and the occasional piece of artwork; they didn't seem to have any sort of rhyme or reason, but I didn't expect the trophy hall of a pirate ship to be too organised. What crew we saw stopped to bow a head and salute the bitch behind me, but she never answered them. She did, however, growl at me to 'Turn left', and then at the end of another hall, 'Stop.' I did, and she rapped her knuckles on a door.

"Who is it?" called an impatient, female voice.

"Rhea, ma'am. Got that one we heard tell about." She smirked at me – a terrifying sight. "The bird spotter."

My face went pale as a sheet. That's why I was here? For a story I'd stolen from a stranger? There wasn't even a way it could be true – why would they care about some tall tale? As it was, my throat had closed up, so I couldn't speak for my defense. Before I could get my breath back, the woman inside ordered us to 'Come in'.

Rhea – an oddly pretty name – pushed a button and the hatch flew open. At the end of the room, a large desk had been somehow crushed into the room; a woman – fairly young, though perhaps not for a pirate – stared at me with honeyed eyes. Her skin was a muddy brown, and dark locks cascaded around her face, adorned with charms and threads and likely a weapon or seven. An ancient, raw ore crystal hung at the neck of her dark blue ship suit, and I gaped at it, not quite believing.

"That's a raw crystal..." I whispered, kicking myself for not finding my voice earlier.

"Rhea, tell the Captain he's here. I'll send him to the bridge if I like his answers." She looked at me, and I felt a chill down my spine. "If not... He won't need be bothered."

Even Rhea shuddered. "Aye, ma'am." She excused herself, and disappeared behind me.

"Sit down," the moor said to me, and I quietly took a small chair.

She returned to whatever paperwork she'd been working on before Rhea's interruption, and I found my eyes wandering around the room. The walls were lined in bookshelves, crammed with tomes and scrolls, and even a few chests here and there. Behind her, a map stretched out on the wall, covered in scattered islands in a pattern I didn't recognise. Not that I was a cartographer, but I'd honestly never seen any of the shapes before in my life.

She gave a growl of a sigh, and set the papers aside, the fluttering drawing my eye back to her. I noticed a worried look on her face as she pulled out a book and opened it to its last entry. She readied her pen and looked to me, her eyes taking on a hard shape.

"My sources tell me you've been telling stories of another world. You want to tell me this story?"

I gulped. I wondered idly whether lying would be in my best interest. I had no idea what version of the story had piqued their interest, or why, and much less what that meant for my well being. Did she want a fun tale, or was there more to the story than I knew?

"Well, it's not a terribly interesting story," I answered, a bit startled at my honesty. "Just something I overheard, and... added to, miss."

Her mouth twitched, and she scribbled something. "Tell me the story."

I glanced up at the map, trying not to imagine that her hair would rise like the tentacles of an ancient beast to throttle my throat. "It was about a crew of young knights," I said. She looked up at me, her expression indistinguishable, and I felt compelled to continue, even though I suddenly didn't want to. "He said they'd come here following a black witch. Called it the Farside."

The woman immediately stood, scribbling feverishly on her journal.

"What did this man look like?" she asked, hurrying to a chest on the wall, peeking her face inside it. I saw it glow with a red light.

"Um... I didn't really see him. Ma'am," I added.

She glanced back at me, but only returned to her desk. "Was he big? Average? Weaselly?"

"Um... big. Real big. Ate a lot."

she whispered something under her voice, and scribbled it in her book. She pulled out a large map from the far side of the desk, and grabbed another writing utensil. "Where did you see him?"

I eyed the chest she'd peered into, wondering what dark enchantment she had in place to make me speak so true. "Um..." I looked down at my hands. Me and my big mouth. "He was here... seven months ago. Came to my mother's pub with the crew of the Egret. Mining company." Never in my life had I ever answered so honestly. It was terrifying, but I'm pretty sure I couldn't have lied if I wanted to.

The woman grabbed a jacket from her seat – the leather jacket of an officer of the ship. I swallowed as I took in the dark blue that matched her ship's suit, a number of pins and prizes decorating the lapels where an officer might wear medals, and she quickly slipped into it.

"What's your name, boy?" she asked, a certain excitement growing in her voice.

"Meredith," I answered. I hadn't confessed that to anyone in many, many years. "Folks call me Doyle."

She gave a wicked grin. "Come along, Doyle. It's your lucky day. You get to meet the Captain."