The Man at the Bow

I didn't realize it then, but I can see now that He has been with us the whole time.

First,

He was beneath us, 

holding our ship afloat,

teaching us the breaths and currents

of His Ocean, the great magnitude of it all -

never speaking too audibly,

knowing that if He did

He might shatter us,

destroy us all

in a breath

He was, He is the the good and great Sea.

He was behind us,

the wind that drove us

onward: a Friend and Helper

to Oceanus, to Aeren, to us all,

granting us strength and serenity -

seen not in His own substance,

but by the consequences

of His mighty presence:

Wind and power

ever at our

back

He was, He is the wild and infinite Sky.

Now,

He is before us:

The Man at the Bow.

He does not take the helm -

still allowing us to choose our path.

But He points ever on, toward the rising

of the morning light. Teaching us

the methods of mercy and 

ways of Sky and Sea and

Light: our Leader, 

both Wayfarer

and the

Way

He was, He is the Man at the Bow.

The Dark and the Drowned

I saw Rekië when we hit the water. Everyone else was caught by shrapnel or swimming to save each other, but I saw him. 

I saw the water part for his entry then gather around him like a shroud, cloaking every scale with a cool darkness that could convince even the most restless spirit to drown quietly. While all else was a silver opposition of air rushing to the surface and rubble racing to the bottom, Rekië seemed - dare I say it - safe. 

The way of things. False safety, then a misstep and a headlong dive into dark water. It seemed like ages ago we were standing on a gangway about to walk out into the resolved light. Then upside down and slapped into water. 

His blue scales embraced the water, and he floated for a minute in the blue cocoon.- more still than I had ever seen him before, serene even. He hung in the water for a one eternal moment before something sneering and gold slipped into his cocoon. 

Innocent enough. Innocent and gold. But not to Rekië. When the orb landed on his chest his whole body twitched and curled around the thing. I saw him. I saw him thrash in the internal battle to open the thing. I knew that struggle. 

I tried to paddle toward him, but Oceanus was already upon me, dragging me to the surface. I screamed and only added to the white rage of lost air. In the water, decisions are made alone. 

I saw Rekië wage the battle I well knew: to be animal or above. I saw the feral twitching along his brow, the snarl for something desired but hated at the same time. I saw the eyes racing behind eyelids grinding together to block out the call of beastial pleasures. 

I saw the collapse. I saw the eyes snap open and cloud over like oil poured out on paper. I watched something else enter in. I saw the terror give way to power. The way of things: false serenity punctured by our inevitable descent into darkness. 

I saw Rekië hurl himself upstream, raging furiously against the tide that dragged us all backward. There are only two things to be in this world. Tainted and powerful or innocent and drowned. 

I only ever hoped to reach the Sea. I never once dreamed it would lead me into oblivion. But perhaps that is the way of things - the comedy of the world. To place hope in the innocent and dare them to escape the desert, knowing full well when they do, they will be smashed upon the rocks and torn to bits by the tides. Or they will choose to embrace despair and survive a sort of half-life, riding the ebb and flow eternally in the shallows. 

What else in this world can anyone be except Dark or Drowned?

Oceanus and I are almost to the surface now. I think I would rather sleep here.

Lunar Eclipse

I can barely keep my eyes open, but I have to write this down. I'm afraid of what will happen if I don't.

My name is Ceric. I am 17 years old. I will be 18 in a few weeks. 

I grew up in Tûrsk. I was good and kind. 

I am an orphan. My two best friends are dead.

I met a mermaid. I travelled with a group of heroes. 

We tried to save the world. I have become a monster instead.

I killed someone. I killed a lot people. But I don't remember doing it. 

These things I know are true. I have to write them down because I'm afraid that I'm going to forget them. 

I'm so tired, but I'm so scared to go to sleep. Every time I do I wake up with blood on my hands and my face. Every time I let my guard down I become... something else. And it's building. I can't tell them, but it's getting stronger - this animal inside me. It's swallowing me up. I have to fight it but I don't know how. 

I don't know how to not be a Dread Wolf. I'm forgetting how to be a person.

It's late. I can't fight the darkness anymore. I'm barely finishing this journal. I know that I'm going to sink into sleep soon. But this I also know:

When I wake I will be a little less.

The New Chronicler

I am not sure how this works. I found this logbook in the cabin. The Watchm-- (this word was crossed out before continuing) Oceanus caught me looking through it and made me Log Keeper for the trip. I tried to tell him that I grew up in the mines and I don't write good. But he said that means I will be best. Because I will only write the most important things. 

We are still sailing toward Dysmiridia. Milleora is getting more excited. I think she missed home more than she let on. 

The sea is calm. The wind is good and behind us. Oceanus has the Wayfarer - that's the ship's name The Wayfarer - under a spell and can control the ship with a few words. Everything on the Sea is strange and incredible. Even this ship.

I do not know what we will find on Dysmiridia, but I have a feeling that something good is about to happen. I cannot explain. It just feels righ--  goo--  secur-- 

It feels like when I felt the Sea for the first time. It feels like Hope.

I cannot wait to see what sort of beautiful things will be on the island! I wish Dirt and Seebo could be with me to see it too.

The Fathom Throne

"Twixt crown of fire, crown of sea—

far fallen round the ocean’s bones—

to bring Amaura to her knees,

ascendeth now the Fathom Throne

of Bleak where Black, the Stag, the Spire

shall gather on the Brazen Shore,

mount Burning Isle upon its Pyre—

Drown ash in water, evermore.

So beware the brewing of the bloods

Mark well the rising tides

Guard yourself from shadow virtues

Beware the scorching ides

For none on earth or sea below

Shall escape the judgment of the Fathom Throne"

--As inscribed on the tablet taken from the Conservatorium by Svoulwyn

The New Prophecy

Mark ye well: the pieces fell

to dungeons dark and sorrow-ridden.

Yet heed this fate; t’will illuminate

lunar stones long-lost and hidden.

One was buried in the soul

of men – at the heart of spirit;

another set for all to see

Fair Heritage safely keeps it.

One was stored ‘neath earth and snow;

the other shocked to heaven.

One was given away, now rides the sea

on vessels of transgression.

One was lost to a broken heart—

turned by fear, bound dark in beast.

And one lies within you, calls to the sea

to be fully and finally released.

If seek ye must the ocean's relics,

this caution take with thee:

beware the kiss of friendly lips;

beware all prophecy.

For fortunes slip twixt cup and lip.

What is right may not be what is heard.

Many men have twisted truth—

their dark purposes to serve.

So mind Memoro’s histories—

what is written is not always the real.

And beware the lure of painless Peace;

Beware its simple, subtle appeal.

For ancient folk still lurk below

Fathom Thrones lurk deeper yet.

But wandering souls that threaten you

May help you heal Amaura’s debt.

So do not fear the rising tide,

nor fear the dark sea’s rage.

For I am with you always—

Even to the end of the age.

A Burning Moon

EXT. ROOF OF THE ASTROLOGY TOWER IN DYSMIRIDIA - DEEP NIGHT

The four Astrology Mentors (professors) are gathered in a tense circle, staring at the moon above a blanket of taut fog. Their night-blue robes stand in dark contrast to their faces - painted red by the half-light of a lunar eclipse.

MENTOR 1:

(looking down from the moon and wringing the edges of his robes)

Should I go wake him? 

MENTOR 2:

Perhaps this is a cause for worry. Yes, it warrants an exception... 

MENTOR 3:

Peace, Verrica. It is not as if this eclipse was unprecedented! The libraries are bloated with the next thousand year's worth of lunar cycle predictions. There is nothing in the sky that can surprise us.

MENTOR 1:

But, Terrimor, this is different. I really think we should wake him. I'm sure he would understand - would want to know.

MENTOR 4 does not speak but nods his head "yes." MENTOR 1 shifts uncomfortably.

MENTOR 3 / TERRIMOR:

(breaking his gaze at the moon and turning on MENTOR 1)

Studying the stars has crumbled your spine, Havolio. Where is the man I once knew who could stand up to even the most terrible of students? You didn't need his help back then. You must trust your decisions as you did when you expelled -

MENTOR 4 delivers TERRIMOR a silencing glare. TERRIMOR withers under the stare and backs off HAVOLIO with an uncomfortable cough.

MENTOR 2 / VERRICA:

(Look from the moon to TERRIMOR)

However clairvoyant or self-assured we may be, Terrimor, the last time a Burning Moon was seen in the sky, Isle Pyros sank into the sea shortly thereafter.

(She acknowledges each of the Mentors before continuing, as if she can hardly believe what she is about to say)

I believe the Seafolk are moving again. 

MENTOR 1 / HAVOLIO:

(moaning miserably)

Oh! We really should just wake him up. He will know what to do.

MENTOR 2 / VERRICA:

I did not want to believe it, but I would not have summoned this Gazing unless I was sure. This will be a Burning Moon, and we have great cause to be afraid. 

MENTOR 1 / HAVOLIO:

(gathering his robes)

I'm going to wake him -

MENTOR 3 / TERRIMOR:

(with a roar)

BE STILL, HAVOLIO!

HAVOLIO yelps and freezes. MENTOR 4 shakes his head and turns to the moon again. TERRIMOR whirls upon VERRICA

MENTOR 3 / TERRIMOR:

Dear gods, Verrica, The Seafolk? They have been absent for generations! Stars have been born and died since they were last heard from. What? Do their tortured ghosts now seek to forge new Nautilus Pieces?

(He gestures furiously to the moon but does not look at it)

This is the third day we have been watching this eclipse! This is a Blood Moon - an exceptionally long but perfectly harmless eclipse. It turned red. It has run its three-day course. After it, Cytes will cross Thruum over the southern galaxies. The comets will migrate across the Western horizon. And the stars will turn and turn and turn. There is no Burning Moon. There is no cosmic threat. AND WE ARE NOT GOING TO WAKE HIM!

MENTOR 4:

(pointing to the moon)

Look.

The four turn to the sky again and their faces are bathed in red shock. The red light over the moon twists and writhes across its surface as with tongues of fire: a Burning Moon. TERRIMOR'S mouth pinches into a panicked flat-line. VERRICA reaches for HAVOLIO without looking away from the moon.

MENTOR 2 / VERRICA:

(breathless)

Go wake him...

But HAVOLIO has already torn away from the roof, his sandaled feet furiously slapping the steps of the tower as he descends into the fog - stained blood red by the Burning Moon. He dashes through the bowels of the tower, throws open the door to the eerie Dysmiridian moors and sprints through the snarling darkness of monster-infested marshes to reach the Tower of Prophecy. 

Little does he know, that his target - who would have been ceremoniously sleeping within his sanctuary - is already awake. In a cold sweat, he stands before the wide-open window of his High Mentor's chambers. And his breath catches soundlessly against the sharp edges of the prophecies lodged in his nightmarish recollections of oracles of old. For he is watching the Burning Moon, and already he feels the weight of oracles and prophecies - of stars and towers and oceans - tipping into Fate's hopeless abyss. And he tips with it.

HAVOLIO reaches the door to the Tower. Pounds furiously upon the ancient oak. There is a scuffling of locks and barriers being removed. Then from behind, a gushing crash in the moor grass. HAVOLIO yelps then turns. The fog breaks for a moment to reveal a figure in grey Prophet's robes, splayed across the wet field - bathed in reds both lunar and liquid.

The door bursts open. Warm light floods the moors as HAVOLIO shrieks and grey-clad guards pour out of the tower and encircle the fallen Mentor. And the stars turn and turn and turn. And the moon burns. And the sea waters roil in terrible anticipation, as all the pieces begin to fall into place.

A Disgruntled Crew Member Reflects

"And that's not even the worst part, lad! No! I swear unto ye. This be - by far - the worst crew to which I have e'er been assigned. 

Did'n I tell ye? First, we set out late from Asah'Ibolim 'cause these half-wits failed to review their contract with T'samaan in advance. Then we take a battered wash down the Meridian Current, barely arriving at the Fringe in one piece. And then! With our target in sight, the bumbling collection o' dolts charges into the cap'n's quarters to have a bit o' a tea party. Talkin' about whether to stick to the contract or no!

I thought I was daft when they bust out and hollered at us to loose sail and stick to the current and blow past the ever-lovin' island. But no! On we charged - deep into the restricted blue within the Fringe (I heard a yarn or two of them haunted waters) - and got ourselves properly arrested by the Oceanic Guard for trespassing in sanctioned sea-space.  

But that's not the worst o' it. You know why they plunged in full tilt with rudder-lock toward misfortune? I heard that one of 'em claims he saw a ship flittin' in and out o' the fog like a ghost. So they resolved to chase it into the channel!

Can you believe?! A ghost ship! They's headed back to Asahb'Olim Mining Camps for a ghost ship! 

Ha! Praise the gods ye never tangled with this mess of a expedition party. Mark me words, lad: NEVER sign on with a bunch of lolly-headed misfits like them if ye can help it.

Oh well... The mines outta straighten 'em out. If the desert doesn't kill 'em first, of course."

- A Very Happy Half-Elf to his young Friend in the Mines