Rile is going to die; his ghost keeps telling him so. He just doesn't know where.
Raised by his aunts in Bloodcove, Rile began sailing as soon as he was old enough, working fishing vessels, traders and the occasional pirate raid. Rile developed a reputation as a good-luck charm after finding a lost cache of treasure, seemingly by just wandering around the beach. Word got around — "The boy can SMELL gold!" was the rumor — and Rile never really worried for work after that.
He worried about other things though. Glimpses of something following him out of the corner of his eye. A shadow that seemed too large or misshapen. A gnawing sense of dread that he couldn't put words to — until some years ago when he was first visited by Dead-Rile, a terrifying spirit who claims to be Rile himself from beyond the grave.
At first Rile was panicked. He fled through the city, screaming, but could not escape the apparition. Desperate, he made to throw himself from a rooftop, but Dead-Rile explained coldly it wouldn't work — Rile’s doom wouldn't come until he reached the shores of [unpronounceable word].
Then he was confused. His voyages had taken him a long way and he had never heard of [unpronounceable] nor seen it on any map. No other sailor had, either. Yet Dead-Rile maintained it/he had died there.
Finally, he was emboldened: This ghost said his death would come in [unpronounceable]? Then he wouldn't go there. He was a valued enough sailor that he could choose his voyages; stay to the maps he knew and — by the ghost's own admission — he'd be safe.
He tries not to think too much that Dead-Rile might not be telling him everything …
