text: Across a vast ocean, cloaked in a thick fog, a ship navigating by the dim light from a derelict lighthouse. Barely able to see the way to a harbor nestled deep through the thick blanket of fog covering the seas. Even through this veil the captain keeps course, his eyes fixed to the seas, but once-in-a-while will take a glance at a man on the deck, wearing a trenchcoat and a top hat, his head hanging low, while the crew frantically make sure the ship doesn’t crash into any rocks. “Cursed island, though I won’t question the pay.” The captain says in a scruffy voice, as from the crows nest he hears, “Land! I see the harbor!” Though to the captain, there was no safe harbor, only a canopy of fog, and the vast seas. However as his eyes squinted he could make out lanterns not far in the distance, and so he made the call, with the fog he couldn't go any further. “I see the lanterns along the docks, but I cannot discern the distance! Anchor!” He shouts as the ship slows down when the two large iron anchors were thrown into the black waters below with a loud splash. “You! Passenger!” The captain shouts, getting the attention of the man who boarded. “We’re stopping here, we’ll lower you in a row boat, after that, you’ll have to find a way back as no sane man treads on this island.” “I’m well aware, but I received a summons, someone--or something--wants me here. Lead the way, captain.” The scruff old captain, who sailed seas no man dared to sail, was weary, and the passenger could tell. This gruff old man braved the seas, and yet one little island seemed so off putting to him, so detestable that he dare not sail any further. And he may say that it is because of the fog, but something on his brow says otherwise. “Here she is, get in, the quartermaster’ll attend you to shore. Whatever you seek, the devil’s due, and you’re his payment. If you’d ask me.” “Well I didn’t ask you, whatever has summoned me here, I feel it is important. My business is failing, a lineage of successful gunsmiths, the last of Egress Gunsmiths has come to an end, and I was sent a letter, telling me that ‘ Whatever the heart desires, Isle Iglas will fulfill .’ If it is so, then I must, my legacy, my lineage, what will my ancestors think of me?” The captain sighed, looking longingly to the shores. “Whatever it is you’re lookin’ for you ain’t gonna find it here. But if you insist, be my guest.” So the passenger boarded a small row boat with a few members of the ships crew and the quartermaster. “Must’ve used whatever is left of your business’ funds to get here.” The quartermaster said as the passenger sighed in disdain. “I’m not judging, but I am in agreement with the Captain, whatever you want, you’re not going to find it here.” “You believe that but have you sailed to this island, step foot on it? Or have you heard stories from travelers who have never been here, only seen it.” “Fair enough. Though this island is always covered in fog from the tales I hear, making it out in the fog is impossible. No idea how anyone even lives here, where their food comes from, must live on fish and fish alone. Hope you like fish soup, he-he!” The passenger chuckled, trying to take his mind off the tension. As the small rowboat moved near the island, they were able to see the harbor, lit by lanterns. The island was breathtaking. A large island with little to no trees sat in the center, with a large forest ringing it, and at the base near the shore was a sprawling village. There was a mansion, a large, gothic sight to be seen, resting halfway up the mountain, carved into the rock. The dock’s were moldy and wet, slimy, with bags of fish left out to try, and the aroma, that foul, sickening aroma of rotting fish hit the ship like a rock. However, the crew knew the smell better than the passenger, who nearly puked as they kept their course. “Hehe! Are you sea-sick or fish-sick!” He shouts out laughing with the crew chiming in as the passenger only shakes his head bitterly. “Very funny.” He says as the ship slowly eases to the docks as the townspeople begin to watch. The passenger disembarks from the rowboat, standing on the moldy, slimy docks, barely able to breath as that pungent acrid smell continues to assault him. Rich of iodine, as the sea breeze carries it along, An otherworldly, and yet earthly musk, so foul, so rich. He admires the source, the hanging nets of caught fish, hung from the lantern posts as a fatty oil-like substance drips from the lanterns onto the fish. The fog was still making it hard to see, with the lanterns covered in a misty haze. And the people, were they even human? They stood around, yet refused to speak. They watched him, and he swore he heard someone chant the words, “What the Heart Desires” It echoed in his head somberly, a reminder, rather subtle, but empowering. “What the heart desires.” He says out loud as the people watch him silently, like a barn owl to a mouse. But the people seemed to move, they began to walk, and clear the way. They went about their days, some tending to the fish sacks and others fishing. What was odd was that there was business here that made no sense. Jewelers but no mines, bakers but no wheat. Bicycle shops but oddly no bicycles. It was rather peculiar to him. Nevertheless he was able to focus on the town itself, this somber village nestled on forsaken shores. The homes were old, they were moldy, lit barely with the soft lighting of candles, made of tallow he surely didn’t want to know the source of. The windows were foggy, just like the air, and smoke was billowing out of chimneys, noting the unique architecture. At least three stories in height in the center of town with winding narrow alleys and pathways, leading aimlessly around the town. The roofs were made of tiles, maybe sea shale? Whatever it was, it was coarse, and yet smooth. Composed of multiple sediments, then layered flat one over the other held together with some sort of glue. The passenger slowly walked along the docks as a man approached him. Dressed formally in a tan coat, with a white poet shirt delicately embroidered along the central curls of it, done in golden string. He had on dress pants, a similar tan color as the overcoat he was wearing with finely detailed leather worked jackboots on his feet. “I’m the innkeeper, welcome to our humble town, I kindly ask what brought you here?” He asks politely, in a tone so fond it seems like the man knows him. “I was sent a letter, telling me that whatever the heart desires, I should come here. It took a while before I could find a captain who’d take me here, but I found one.” “Ah, and is it because of familial affairs? We’ve been, expecting you, for so long.” He was taken back by this sentiment, and his mind started racing. The innkeeper has been waiting for him? How did he know about him? How did he know about his business? But the echoes in the fog reassured him, and he took a somber breath. “What if I want to leave?” The passenger asks, getting a rather menacing chuckle from the inkeeper. “Leave? Oh, why would you want to leave when you just got here? Here, come to the inn, there is a tavern, have a drink. Or two. And let the heart guide you. Whatever the heart desires, it’ll come true.” He says with a grin to the passenger, with one arm curled across his torso all formal-like while the other one points for the passenger to go ahead of him. And so the passenger began to navigate the winding streets, moving through carefully, looking at the flies surrounding the fish nets, and seeing people working. There were restaurants, cafes, bookstores, all the accoutrement of a thriving town, and yet, where did it all come from? And his mind began to race again, and he stopped, somewhere in a rickety alley with no clue where he was. And in the distance, a faint beating could be heard, perhaps his heart. “Where was I going?” He said to himself, looking around, frustrated. He saw someone walking in the distance, and he began to follow them. “Hey! Do you know a way off the island?” He shouts out, following after them. They stop, a young woman, wearing a black dress with a black bonnet. She looks at the passenger with a smile, chuckling. “Leave? Why would I leave?” She asks him, striking the passenger’s curiosity. “No, why would I leave? I’m here because of my family business, it's in danger, I cannot fail my family!” He stops himself. “No, I want to leave?” But the young woman only chuckles louder. “Leave? There is no leaving, not until the next ship docks. You’ll like it, the inn and tavern is right there. You’ll be welcomed here. Like all of us.” With a breath of that sour salty air, moisture from the fog clinging to his lungs and a taste of burning oil, he turned his head to the left where the woman was pointing, and to his delight, Corpus, the Inn and Tavern of Isle Iglas. It took some courage, but he entered the inn, delighted by the warmth. Feeling it caress him as a large fire roared in the center right hand wall. There were men and women, dining, talking, making it hard for the passenger to hear. Hard to listen to what they were saying as all the noise was just a cacophony in his ears. “Ah! My esteemed guest! Sit, enjoy your, stay.” The innkeeper said so affectionately, a warm voice in this loud solitude. He approached the innkeeper who was stationed behind a counter, with a vibrant assortment of elixirs and alcohols behind him, a delight to his famished lips. “May I give you something? A specialty made of the mushrooms in the forest, a refreshing tea, for all new travelers.” Without asking the passenger was handed a ceramic mug with details of the sea, of men fishing on a ship, and something dead upon the sea bed. There was a mountain in the background, with a village along the shores. He gave the tea a good smell, a flavorful, meaty and yet pleasant aroma to the nose. There were some herbs to it, not too sweet smelling, with enough floral notes to make it that much more appealing. “So, your family business is, doing terrible? We could use a, gun smith, here. So how is the tea, is it good? I hope you feel welcome here. I know we’re not, hospitable , but we try to appeal to, newcomers.” The passenger took back a sip of the tea, with the flavor hitting him hard. It was strong, a deep meaty mushroom taste with sage and what tasted like cinnamon and anise. There was a good turmeric flavor in there too, making him wince. “Ah, you must find the taste, interesting? Drink up. We don’t like to, waste the tea here.” The passenger nodded as he began to down the tea, with a plate of roasted fish being handed to him. “It is a delicacy here. Roasted pickled bass herring. That is what, the locals call the fish. They’re like a bass, and a herring.” The innkeeper added, watching as the passenger began to eat the fish, devouring the plate, with the taste coming off strong. It tasted like the ocean in the most foul ways imaginable, and yet he ate. He stopped for a moment to question what was going on, looking at the innkeeper confused. “The fish tastes horrible.” “I understand your concern. But you’re, our guest, here for a reason. We’d love you here. So what is the reason, someone on this island will surely help you.” “My family business, I’ve said it before I need to get it straight!” “Perhaps you’re, not cut out?” “No I am! I designed the best revolver that money could buy! The cylinder rotated when the trigger was pulled and it operated the hammer! No revolver did those things at once! You used to have to cock the hammer to move the cylinder and then fire! What I made is revolutionary and yet no one took me seriously and I didn’t get government contracts, and it was just a ‘sporting gun’! They wanted a rifle and I didn’t have the tools or money to make a rifle!” The innkeeper was smirking, nodding in affirmation. “So you have skills, you are quite, talented. Perhaps you should go to the mansion, and speak with the heart. Whatever the heart desires will come true, it came true for us all.” The passenger nodded stiffly, but shook his head in confusion. “I just don’t know, is self reflection going to help?” “Well, you can call it, self reflection. You’re good at your, craft. So good, so, desirable. Come, finish your fish and have some more tea, and find your way to the mansion. Whatever the heart desires is yours after all.” The passenger nodded, declining the tea and getting up, walking across the room and stepping outside. But as he stepped outside, his mind went blurry. He didn’t remember the room, whatever the inn was like, he just knew it was loud, chaotic, and warm. The shelf with the elixirs and drinks, who served him the fish? These were all questions that echoed in his mind. And yet, something called him, beckoned him, a desire from within. Urging him to leave the village. He couldn’t question it, he felt it, raw, burning, a craving. A desire. And before he knew it, when he came to, just for a moment, he stopped, that sweet salty air still clinging to his lungs, in a panic. Somewhere in the woods, the village so far away, horror seeped across his face as he wept. “I have to! I’ve come so far! All I need is what the heart desires! He breathed heavily, in tears, shouting to himself. “You’re better than this...” He said to himself, trying to snap himself out of it. “But no one took my patent! I need this!” He shouts to himself from the hill, looking down, and seeing that the mansion wasn’t far away. “Whatever the heart desires.” He says to himself with determination, with courage. Standing up from his knees and pressing forward. As he approached, he admired how well and quaint the mansion was. The village was in ruins compared to this fine structure. Solid beige bricks making up the outside with red shutters that were all closed. There were white supports strutting from the wall giving it some extra texture to it. The doors were massive, at least ten feet tall, being made of dark wood. But before he opened the door he could hear something from within, a slow, rhythmic beating. But the more he listened, the less he heard it. So, he opened the door, and carefully stepped inside. He walked the halls, admiring the wallpaper, the ornate prints and textures, following the sound of a crackling fireplace. He kept following it, deeper and deeper into the mansion. That beating sound, it was louder, and the crackling of the fireplace grew too. He weaved the corridors, lost, confused, almost in a panic, and the beating was deafening, it was impossible to hear his own thoughts, impossible to navigate, horror gripped his face as he fell to his knees before a fireplace, the crackling hissing in his ears as he lay near the andirons. His breathing began to even, and realized that the beating was within the room, but it wasn’t from his chest. He came to his knees in this darkened room. The light of the fireplace is the only salvation. And as he looked up, he was greeted to a pulsating red mass before him, hanging from the ceiling. No eyes, no mouth, no nose. No arms and no legs, veins ran through the ceiling feeding it, and it beat like a bloody heart. It beat, and it beat. It oozed, it smelled of iron and soot. And the passenger laid there, confused, his eyes glossing back as he began to cry. Silence fell upon him. Just the beating of the heart. “Oh God...oh merciful God” He sighs somberly, in a voice so holy it would rock the earth. He hears, coming from everywhere and yet somehow nowhere, but what it was he heard fell upon deaf ears. “What are you?” The man asks, and yet no response comes, as his eyes fade to black, and the beating continues in the background. It keeps beating. Slowly, until the life of his fades away, and the beating stops. The salesman, young, spry, full of life and energy, steps off a rowboat along the shores of a mountainous isle. Dressed in a nice red suit, a smile on his face, the pungent air doesn’t send him packing! He begins to walk the boardwalk, hoping to find someone, instead finding a shop, a small firearms shop, that catches his eye. “Egress Gunsmiths? Sounds familiar!” The salesman shouts with a smile. He walks in as a young man in a black trench coat and tophat stands lifelessly behind the counter, with a rack of revolvers and revolver rifles behind him. “Whatever the heart desires, it’ll come true. It did for me” He says to the salesman, in a dead, lifeless tone.