In front of Bandle was a giant cliff-side made entirely made of ice with several streams of massive waterfalls in either direction flowing over it and into the icy sea below. Further down the cliff-side was a massive crevasse in which the occupants of this region had built up a sort of base of operations—a centuries-old fortress of brass and iron built and nestled under the ice and snow by the Dwarfs long ago. It was here that Bandle now stood hours later, leaning over the outer railings as he watched the waterfall in motion.

“Mr. Bandle?” came a man’s voice. “Your boat is ready for you now.” The man in question was Austin Vanohime, a war pastor that was stationed there at the frozen fortress. It was in Pastor Austin’s chapel that Bandle had suddenly appeared when the muses unceremoniously divined him away, much to the shock of all in attendance at that point in the day.

“Oh, er—thank you, Pastor.” Said Bandle.

“If you like, I could take that vase for you and bring it to the ship if you still have things you’d like to do before you—”

“No!” said Bandle, just a little too sternly. “I mean…no thank you. This must stay with me at all times, I’m afraid.”

“Hmm. Well if you insist. Come, I'll show you to the ship.” Through the busy streets and corridors of the fortress, they went until they arrived at a metal contraption that the war pastor called an “elevator”.

“So, Mr. Bandle.” Said the war pastor. “Tell me, what do you know about the World-Fog?”

“Why?” said Bandle, coldly.

“Well, you’re not the first to try to venture past this point of the world, in an attempt to reach the one beyond the fog. However, while the authorities of this border tend not to care what happens to those who want to venture out and ultimately never return, I try to make it a point of making sure that people at least know what they’re up against before they leave. It helps to calm an old pastor’s mind too.”

Bandle sighed. “Sure, Pastor. What do I know about the World-Fog? Well, it’s a magical sort of fog that’s been here since who knows when.

“Hmm, yes,” said the war pastor. “Since the early days of the Mythical Age, some reckon.”

“Right…and in most cases, world-fog just blots out limited sections of oceans or continents so that no one who enters ever comes back. But this world-fog here? It’s different. Whereas all other world-fog is a rosy-pink sort of colour, this one’s black and it covers the entire northern hemisphere of Enchantyon.” It was funny. Saying this all out loud now made the seriousness of what was about to unfold all come rushing back to Bandle. This made him wonder what about it brought any sort of ease to the old man.

“Well that’s pretty good so far,” said Pastor Austin. “Go on, tell me what else you know about it.”

“Well, it’s really, really tall. So tall it touches the upper atmosphere, no sunlight can get through it, and there are these tiny, blue glow bugs that love to fly inside it. I’ve heard that they look like stars when you look at them in the black misty void, and that when you put them together, it looks like you’re looking at flickering stars in the night sky.”

“Yes, this is also true. The seawater just a few ways away from the waterfalls just sort of blends into the fog, visually. Combine the spacey look the ‘glow bugs’ give it and the loudness of the massive waterfalls themselves and it’s not hard to see why people gave this region the name, The Roaring End of the World. So…knowing all that and knowing how dangerous it all is, you still want to go out there alone? I’m sure we could find someone to go with you. It’s funny, I find you never have to wait very long before some adventure-type wanders to the edge looking for the most extreme of adventures.”

“Thanks, Pastor,” said Bandle, smiling weakly. “But this is something I was told to do on my own.”

The old war pastor’s smile faded away slowly then and a more solemn look took hold. “Well, very well then, Bandle. I’ll be praying for you and your journey. May the Lord Faun be with you.”

“And with you, Pastor.”

At that moment, the elevator had finally reached the bottom, and they found themselves in a sort of ship bay under the ice. It was there that the small fishing boat, with its small motor and cabin were waiting for him. Bandle made his thanks and goodbyes quickly, and before he knew it, he was on the water, sailing towards the very thing he had been dreading just a little ways from where the waterfalls met the open water: the World-Fog.

It was exactly as Bandle had described: a thick wall of black clouds that rose into the very atmosphere past all the other clouds around it. It went so high that when the sun crossed paths with it in the sky, it was completely blotted out and no light made it through it. Bandle watched as the large, brightly glowing bugs flew in and out of the black clouds, giving it that surreal spacey look he had described.

And once again, the magnitude of the situation that was before him weighed heavily on him.

“Lorraullion,” said Bandle, looking up at the blue sky as he prayed to the White Faun. “Please, Lord, if you can hear me, be with me. I’m about to go where no one has returned from. I know what your muses told me about going with me even if I can’t see them, but please, Sir, I’m so afraid. Please…show me I’m not alone out here.”

Then, Bandle jumped a little as, quite suddenly, he felt a gentle pressure on either shoulder. He looked at them and saw that a handprint had appeared in the furs of his cloak on either shoulder pad—the invisible hands of one of the muses that were travelling with him. Bandle finally allowed himself a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Lord. Thank you, Muses.”

With that, Bandle steered his boat past the edge of the open waters and into the world-fog, where none but dead men dare to go.

The End