Lady of the Lake

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I approached Lake Ire from the east and found its repose amusing. For all the storms I'd weathered on this icy continent, the relative peace I found here felt oddly out of place. The hill to the west hushed, almost entirely, the eastern flowing winds over the lake.

Circling around the north of this lake of mercurial water, I ended up on the west side where the land rose just above the liquid. I traveled to the center of the lake and removed the bottled ectoplasm from my bag to begin the ritual. I wasn't certain how to begin, but at the very moment that hesitant thought entered my mind, a voice called out as if carried by a wind:

"Place your offerings in my waters."

I moved forward to the inner edge of the lake and removed the cork from the bottle, emptying the ectoplasm into the water. I stood back as several moments passed without incident. I began to wonder if my anticipation had played a trick on me. Moments later, the wind began to rush around me, gradually becoming more forceful. Snow began to fall, lightly at first, and the air grew thin. Then, just there at the lake's center, a spirit of feminine stature appeared.

"You seek the secrets of Niflheim and her islands."

I was ensnared by her troubling calm and ethereal substance. I could not speak.

"Bring me gifts, young life, and I will reveal them to you."

As quickly as she had appeared, she dispersed in the wind and snow around me. The zephyr slowly died and the snow grew light before stopping entirely. The lake knew tranquility again.

I have not returned to Lake Ire since.

The Mouth of the Shadow

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Intrigued by the tale of Garroth Dagon, I set out, perhaps foolishly, to see what he had seen.

I left immediately from the hospitality of Sweetwater when the account of the story had reached its full conclusion. There were many questions to be answered. What, if anything, did Garroth Dagon seek? What had he seen after crossing beyond the pyramid top? What had he done? Was his soul really gone, or did it linger within the shadow?

The first ship north from Sweetwater was a trade vessel bound for Apautan. It was the closest any ship route leaving from Sweetwater would get to my destination. I was a strange face for the crew considering the context of their voyage, robes clearly not the best wear for the journey, but the captain understood my purpose and that was enough to silence any questioning from the crew. I would not have minded their questions, but perhaps the peace I found in their ignorance was for the best.

After we reached Apautan, I promptly set out for the coast of Chultun. From there, I trekked north to the Strait of Iyrtan and the Mouth of the Shadow itself. I approached the strait from the south which put the entrance to the cave across the channel. I moved east and crossed where the cliffs gave way to flatter land. Once to the other side, I moved again west and into the cavern.

The entrance was somehow smaller than I had anticipated, though still large enough for a group of men to traverse by shoulders. Walking through it alone, I still felt small before the majesty of the opening beyond. My eyes were greeted by an impressive pyramid set amid a moat of water. The sun statue at its apex forfeited its origins; this was an Ithwen monument from long ago, spared from the wrath of the ancient dragon Far-Loradain likely by its fortunate location. A closer look at the moat also revealed the tops of smaller structures beneath the water's surface. Set somewhere among this mystical setting, seemingly near yet far as well, was a melodious and feminine voice.

The voice did not speak to me but seemed to chant some long lost hymn of the Ithwen elves. I could not understand the tongue but the beauty of the rhythm drew me in insouciantly. I carelessly meandered to the edge of the water and stepped one foot in. The dagger-like cold of the water sparked my awareness again. I wandered the outside of the cavern in search of the voice but could not find a source. No matter where I walked, it was never any softer nor louder but always seemed to come from some place further still.

After walking far enough about the outside of the cavern, a structure unlike the rest of the Ithwen buildings revealed itself behind the pyramid. I knew at once that here is where Garroth Dagon lost his soul from his body, and I was afraid. I could hardly bring myself to come closer, but the hymn seemed to grow louder once my eyes had found this structure. The reverberation now crashed all about me, a beautiful strata of melody and cacophony. I left immediately after the sound became to much to think against.

I write this now from the safety of the Mages Guild in Sanguine, and in my reflection I wonder if I could have seen more. If the fear I felt had not gripped my courage so tightly, perhaps I could have taken a few more steps and understood a few more details. I must always remind myself, however, that to know less and live to speak of it is better than to die with unshared knowledge. Now I will set about to decipher this Ithwen hymn, and perhaps better understand the fall of the Ithwen people.

The Second Return of Garroth Dagon

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The dark clouds above Sweetwater seemed to gather with the crowds for his arrival.

It was only the second time in twenty six years that Garroth Dagon would return home from his travels, and his stories were always grand. He had walked the grounds of the temples of Yssam and seen the great nest of Shorax on Cairn. He had passed through the sand storms of Rubaiyat and stood atop the spiral peak of Mount Eyrkla on Niflheim. But something about this day struck silence into the people, forging a bitter sweetness from the day.

All the city held their breath as Garroth's boat approached the Sweetwater dock from the Eidogal sea between southeast Agon and Cairn. According to the infrequent messages that came from Garroth, his final destination before returning would have been the Mouth of the Shadow on Yssam. From there, his vessel would travel south through the Eidothean ocean on its voyage home. The daunting ship would come to port as majestic and victorious as it always had, its white sails effortlessly catching the inward breeze and its crew standing triumphant on its deck.

As the ship came into view, the collective heart of Sweetwater sank as if capsized by a crashing sadness. With sails sloppily painted black, the signal was as clear as any word; the captain was dead. No crew could be seen waving from the deck. No fanfare greeted the ship on the dock or the crew as it entered the city. The majesty of the day turned to grief, the victory to defeat, and the triumph to failure as the vessel put in, and the makeshift coffin of drift wood was carried down the gangway and to the heart of the city.

According to the tale recounted to me by Garroth's grandson Maeron Dagon, they had made it to the Mouth of the Shadow as planned. Unsure of what they were looking for, they entered the cavern and came upon a stepped pyramid. Though most of the crew were afraid of such hidden and undocumented monuments, Garroth, in his infinite wonder, approached and climbed the steps to the top. When Garroth reached the top, he continued further and disappeared behind the pyramid. Once the crew had gathered their wits and courage about them, they followed. Upon reaching the top of the pyramid themselves, they could only see the body of Garroth lying at the foot of a portal behind the pyramid.

To this day, no one can say for certain what happened to Garroth. There were no wounds on his body and his face seemed to be of a man resting peacefully. In the reverberant cavern, no sound or cry was heard, neither a confrontation nor struggle.

Garroth Dagon's second return was that of a body without a soul. I've heard before, though, that souls cannot be lost, only displaced from their return to Auros. The body has long since been devoured by the ocean, a sea captain's final rest, but perhaps some sentience of him remains in this world. I can only imagine the stories he could tell...

The Ghost of Savaril

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The abandoned villa of Savaril was not always so empty.

Not long ago, a Mahirim named Falnryn Ulyn-dan lived there. Falnryn was a Mahirim of the sea but in no way a pirate. A fisherman by trade, he would sit on the dock and cast his line or venture out into the western Eurybian ocean for a certain intrinsic peace he only gained from the waves. On days his heart yearned for the western waters, which was most days, he would set out just as the sun rose over the eastern hills and return as it sunk in the horizon waters to the west.

His wife, Mirra Ulyn-dan lived with him as well. When Falnryn would leave for the western ocean, Mirra would patiently await his return by the dock. The dawn-to-dusk pattern was as certain to Mirra as the three moons of Agon. Falnryn always wanted Mirra to join him on his adventure but Mirra was deathly afraid of the water. She could not swim, and the sway of a boat on water never did well by her stomach.

He always returned with fish to cook, mostly cod and bass, though they often were in need of spices for their meals. Trade ships from Ul'Sulak that serviced the western cities would often dock at Savaril to rest their crew, and Mirra would trade homespun clothes and robes for a few spices when it came. Falnryn would swap stories of the water with captains of the trade vessels, he of leisurely delight and the captains of battle and commerce.

A strange thing happened one evening as Mirra waited at the dock; Falnryn did not return. The moons passed in their normal phase, the sun sank in its normal place, but the fishing vessel of Falnryn was nowhere to be seen. Concerned by this asynchronous event, Mirra moved to the eastern shore of Savaril and looked out upon the water. Nothing.

For several hours, Mirra paced the eastern shoreline, eyes always to the open ocean. Only the worst thoughts came to her; pirates or monsters. In her hysteria, Mirra walked into the ocean determined to find Falnryn and bring him home.

But Mirra could not swim, and Falnryn never returned.

On nights when the moon of Neith hangs low in the sky and the wind blows cold over the village, a ghost can be seen pacing the eastern shore of Savaril.

Secret of the Eastern Shores

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I've pored over countless scrolls, tomes, and accounts of the Third Alberian Fleet of Alberworth, but whatever secret their captains held still eludes me. All texts seem to agree on only one point; the Third Alberian Fleet sought fortune in the eastern Eidothean ocean. On all other points, multiple theories have surfaced but none have been confirmed.

According to the various texts, the Third Alberian Fleet consisted of anywhere from six to fifteen ships, each with a crew of nine to twelve men. It is believed by most that they left from port Alberworth, headed east through Brenner Bay, and turned south once they reached the Eidothean ocean. Some accounts suggest they headed north once they reached the open. I've dismissed this northern theory, however, on account of the fact that no record exists from Blood Bilge showing any ship sighting around the time of the voyage. There wouldn't be so much confusion around this matter had port Alberworth not been burned to the ground seven times since, port records included.

The first major point of contention is the fate of the Third Alberian Fleet. It has been well documented that the southern region of the Eidothean ocean is home to an enormous sea creature recently identified as a kraken. Some speculate that the fleet was wholly destroyed by this monstrosity but such a claim cannot be confirmed. This theory is both helped and hindered by the fact that no wreckage is said to escape the Kraken's hunger. There are no reports of driftwood credited to the Third Alberian Fleet anywhere along the eastern shores of Cairn or Agon. Other theories suggest they were overcome by mermaids, coaxed by sirens, or simply never set sail at all.

The second major point of contention is the nature of the fortune they sought. This is where the hearsay and speculation abound. The guesses range from fountains of youth to mountains of theyril. Some suggest they went forth to slay the Kraken. Others think they had a map that marked the locations of the word-stones themselves. The only thing the scholars and drunkards have in common is a shroud of ignorance on the matter.

There is one particular scroll to which I've returned several times as I've studied this event. Though it appears quite rudimentary compared to other related texts, the faded signature that adorns it is of "G. L. Rannek", a respected Alberian captain of the time. Most have dismissed the note as a forgery. All who have attempted to find a history on this mysterious "Balin" have come about it empty handed. The scroll reads:

           Balin, 

           I cannot say for certain when, or if, I will return. The chart has been divided with each captain holding one piece of it. Should misfortune befall our cause, we all have sworn to bottle our piece and toss it to the ocean so the secret remains hidden but not forgotten. If e'er the time comes that you feel I've been taken by traitorous waters, you must walk the eastern shores and recover what I've lost. I pray what I write now is only precaution and not instruction. Stay vigilant. 

                                                                                                   G. L. Rannek