Wandering Isles
The sailors of Torvalen, no matter their species or country, share a common fear. That fear is to find their ships veering off the tradewinds of the Torvalen Sea's Golden Wheel and ending up in the windless doldrums of the sea's interior. There lurk the Wandering Isles, massive mats of tanep kelp the size of small islands that are the homes of the dreaded nagathi. These islands do not merely drift in the weak currents of the interior. They move, some as rapidly as a clipper under full sail with a following wind, yet they need no wind at all to do so.
It is a powerful temptation to sail at the inner edge of the Golden Wheel and take advantage of the deeper, reef-free waters, but only the most foolish, desperate or greedy of captains give in to that urge. More often, ships are blown inwards by storms. Then, a soon a the stormwinds subside, the crew feels the tepid stillness of the doldrums and eagerly await the order to deploy oars and find the live-saving tradewinds.
With a modest amount of luck, a ship will manage to find its way back and its sails full. In an unlucky one, the lookout will spy a faint, but growing dark green on the horizon. A short time later, the crew will hear the whooping croaks of the nagathi warriors sanding on the edge of the approaching island, eagerly anticipating battle and their next meal.
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