Dulian Winlass pulled the hair back from his eyes as he slid on his Tarnished helmet and fumbled with the leather chin strap. A stiff breeze pushed at the Imperial Soldier as he made his way toward the prow of the ship. He roughly shaved his way between two sailors and leaned heavily against the rail. His stomach felt uneasy as the ship eased its way up the Soult River and rounded a bend. He could just make out the watch towers of Bowmar as the island emerged from the morning mist.

A sailor next to him s lapped him on the back and flashed a toothless smile. "So, do they really have the Emperor in chains on that island?' he asked.

Another sailor overheard the question and jumped in, "I hear he's stark raving mad - barks at the moon like a dog."

Dulian didn't answer. His mind was on the approaching battlements of the island. He is dreading his return to duty at the prison.

Dulian had spent twelve years of his miserable military career on the island. As a young lad, he had dreamed of being a soldier like his father - of fighting Grevans on the wild frontiers and returning home a hero. Instead his life had became entangled with the moss-enshrouded walls of the island. He hated the island with a deep passion. His dreams were filled with images of himself taking down the walls, brick by brick, with a hammer and chisel.

For him, Bowmar was a hell to which he had bean condemned - serving out the days of his life. He often wondered if the gods were punishing him for some terrible sin he had committed. For the life of him, he couldn't t think of anything he could have done to offend them - at least nothing to warrant the misery he endured from day to day.

Bowmar Island had aged Dulian far beyond his years. When he had first arrived at the island as an over- zealous recruit, he had felt some semblance of pity for the poor prisoners be watched over. To be sure, they were incarcerated on Bowmar for a reason, but it had pained the young soldier to see fellow men being subjected to hard labor, maiming, and other atrocities. If Bowmar took its toll on the prisoners, it wasn't indiscriminate. For the prisoners it was back breaking work and, if he was lucky, an early death. For the guard, it was a hardening of the senses as he was forced to watch the madness day in, day out. Eventually those senses snapped and the guard was no longer human - he was a monster. "That's what Bowmar was all about," thought Dulian, "creating monsters and madness "

The sailor broke from his thoughts as the sailors questioned him further. "Say, you ever get a chance to see all that gold and silver they say is in there?"

Dulian shook his head in response to the question. Everyone wanted to know about the Imperial Treasury on Bowmar Island. He returned his gaze to the Island. Now he could detect the rising plumes of smoke from the smelting furnaces. More gold and silver for the coffers of the glorious Empire.

Dulian had been granted thirty days of leave so that he could bury his father in Aramar. The brief respite had only deepened his resentment for the island. He had tried to find the courage within himself to desert. He dreamed of a small villa in a faraway province where he could raise grapes and make his own wine. Then he would drink and try to forge his ill-spent years in the military.

The captain of the small river barge bellowed a command for the rowers to slow their pace. Dulian sniffed at the air and grimaced. He could smell the furnaces now, mingled with a dozen of other smells he associated with the island. It was the smell of death.

"You don't look so happy, Laddy," " the sailor pried. "Surely you will be looking forward to seeing your comrades again?"

Dulian spat over the rail of the ship in disgust. "I'd rather kiss Mother Death on the lips, " he moaned.

Bowmar Island, Part 2
Bowmar Island, Part 3
Bowmar Island, Part 4
Bowmar Island, Part 5