The word was "Calenture."
It meant a special kind of madness, brought on the heat. First Mate Cox had told her about it, probably hoping to frighten her because he was that sort of person. Sailors got calenture when they'd been becalmed at sea for too long. They'd look down and see, instead of the ocean, cool green fields. They'd leap down into them, and drown. First Mate Cox said he'd seen grown men do it. They'd jumped into a meadow full of daisies and drowned, or, as he put it, drown-ded. And he'd probably pushed them in, too.
Black Mage: We have always lived in the ocean. There is no before. There will be no after. There is no place for time here among the dark, among the alien things that crawl and swim in a sea without light. We are one of them now. We have always been one of them.
Red Mage: Black Mage? You're narrating again.
Black Mage: My companions succumbed to sea madness weeks ago.
Thief: Dude, it's been two and a half hours.
Black Mage: I alone maintain a gimmer of humanity. I fear it is fading fast.
Red Mage: What kind of dark wizard in league with nameless forces of primordial evil are you that you can't even make a successful sanity check versus boredom?
Black Mage: I ignored the pitiable babbling that issued from their misshapen lips. Their wet gurgles, a noise that had once been words, came to and end when one of the things outside assaulted our craft. I welcome death.
Red Mage: Black Mage? You're narrating again.
Black Mage: My companions succumbed to sea madness weeks ago.
Thief: Dude, it's been two and a half hours.
Black Mage: I alone maintain a gimmer of humanity. I fear it is fading fast.
Red Mage: What kind of dark wizard in league with nameless forces of primordial evil are you that you can't even make a successful sanity check versus boredom?
Black Mage: I ignored the pitiable babbling that issued from their misshapen lips. Their wet gurgles, a noise that had once been words, came to and end when one of the things outside assaulted our craft. I welcome death.
