TO MY DEAREST

I hope my words find you in good health. It has been too long since I left the shores of Tiefanue, but it should not be much longer until we are together again. The captain says that the Volantyne, the ship I am upon, is set to arrive within the day. To warm my weary bones from the chilling winds that blow across these calm waters, I keep thoughts of you close to heart. Your fondness of other cultures and their stories has been remembered as I have done my best to gather from the crew and other passengers some local tales together for you. It has taken quite some time to interact with all those who are willing to share their fables from amongst the great number of individuals aboard, too many to share with you by written word alone, but at least here are a few fleshed out about our new home.

Certainly you must wonder why an area controlled by the Sun Dragon is called the Shadow Isles. I did as well, at least until I heard of its origins. The Shadow Isles were once one large island under the sole control of the Sun Dragon. In His absence from mortal affairs, the high elves who followed Him held influence in His name and lauded it over the other inhabitants of the vast land mass that they called Dominion. By Draconic Right they ruled the island and the people upon it, enforcing their dogma that only through the light of the sun may one be guided to their true calling. Though not all within Dominion cared to follow this regime, and their imposed ideal way of living.

It is said that upon a starless, moonless night a girl was born to the shadow elves. When she first opened her eyes the celestial bodies that had once been hidden pierced their blackened veils and shined through the darkness as if to guide them. Each night thereafter, the moon appeared bigger and brighter.The shadow elves adopted this as a sign of great providence and it was then seen as a prophecy of change to come, with its mortal herald entitled “the Moon Mother”.

When eventually the aristocratic high elven ruling families heard of the child and her prophecy they saw a threat to His and thus their moral and political authority, for it was Tezoth’s Sun that kept evil from the bodies and spirits of Dominion. Though the Knights of Tezoth, who held their own concerns, pled for reason and kept any rash action at bay, for it would be gravely dishounorable to act upon unfounded assumptions when no actual threat had been laid against them. To the shadow elves, however, their absolute devotion to this regime indeed did wane as surely as the moon above them continued to rise each night, and as the child grew into adulthood their faith in her and her lunar partner were secured. They gradually took up worshiping her like she was a goddess.

Upon one early morning before dawn the Knight Commander of the Sun, at the time Tezoth’s only knightly order, awoke abruptly in a dense sweat, proclaiming a vision that had come to him: “The moon will shatter this island and sink the Sun forevermore beneath the horizon”. During that same morning these words were shared with the shadow elves, spoken by the Moon Mother, herself, as she stood before her people, though in her tellings it was the sun that would split the land and lay the moon to rest below it. Some cosmic event surely did take place as one celestial body overtook the other, though shadow elven and high elven accounts conflict as to which of them won out that day.

What is common between the two tellings is that as this phenomena occurred the earth itself shook and shattered into individual islands. Another commonality is that two volcanoes erupted around the territory of the shadow elves, but instead of magmic death overtaking them a blanket of mists spewed forth to surround the then forming isle of Nitrem, shielding them from the day’s light while providing an opening for the moon to shine in the night. The shadow elves claim that it was the Moon Mother who freed them from the sun, casting her blanket of mists and shadows around them, whereas the high elves assert that it was Tezoth, Himself, who purged the former from Dominion so as not to have their divine-like ilk fester further into His land, freeing His sun to cast its shadows without any godly threat hiding further within them.

The local ajaunti clans have a different interpretation surrounding the shattering of the island, suggesting that it was not the land breaking apart but the sea surrounding it that forced its way in. A strange people, even amongst their own, these ajaunti clans live lives quite in contrast to their ever-travelling kin as most refuse to move beyond the shores of the various Shadow Isles. A common belief amongst them centers upon the cataclysmic separation, whence their ancestors are said to have fallen into the gaping maw of the emerging sea to be consumed by its raging rapids whole. Be it fuelled through the vengeance of their lost ancestors or a yet still unknown influence, what is agreed upon across the islands’ clans is that they have all been cursed: should any of their blood attempt to leave to a land untouched by the sea their ancestors shall break free from the grasp of death and tear them down into the depths to share their watery graves. Despite their peculiar superstitions, by means of cunning and craftsmanship this race has apparently fared well in adapting to their mostly landlocked lives. Upon the island of Acasă, just shy of the shores of Zenithstrand where we are to settle, the families thereupon are renowned as masters of mercantilism, amassing such great wealth so as to be known as trade princes and princesses. These influential individuals often boast that the whole world flows to them, a mindset encompassed in their phrase: “All roads lead to Zenithstrand”. They are not wrong in this grand claim, as other cultures have elaborated upon.

The body of water that surrounds the islands is known colloquially as the Ghost Sea for its deathly calm nature, yet to neighboring Acasă’s benefit its current flows towards Zenithstrand alone. Many a seaborn tragedy have been first discovered upon the beaches of Zenithstrand by what remains of a ship’s last moments: shattered wreckage, waterlogged cargo, and at rare times the mangled corpses of some of the individuals aboard. In spite of the peaceful demeanor of the sea, a number of vessels that have traversed these waters have been reported missing without trace. Those few survivors that wash up ashore can recall little of the details of their suffered voyage. Pirates are often accused for these sudden disappearances though the unexplainable amnesia that tends to follow the reported encounters lead others to hold taller tales as truth.

The riff raff of Bileostrov who most frequently take to this sea warn of an unnatural element beneath its surface, guiding its current to the cursed island, as they call Zenithstrand. Should a ship fail to follow the lead of the sea when its current picks up it will not last for another voyage, or so the salty crewmen aboard say. Some swear to have witnessed upon open ocean a fleet of silhouetted ships, but no source has gotten close enough to uncover any markings of their allegiances. Though these stories are considered by many of the Coalition to be the flights of fancy of scurvy-ridden sailors too long at sea, what has been noted is that upon each new claim of having encountered this spectral fleet the number of vessels within it increases and is shortly accompanied by a littering of refuse brought upon the beaches of Zenithstrand by what little waves lick at its shores.

I seem to be running out of parchment so I will have to wrap up these stories shortly. One last tale that I will leave you with, though, concerns the most recent attempts at civilization to settle Zenithstrand. The einher of Mjoll have for time immemorial been threatened by their northern neighbors, the Ice Elves of Jormungar. It should not come as a surprise then that a few particularly daring individuals took the initiative to seek a means to arrest the assaults of their racial enemy before they arrive to their borders. Around five years ago a contingent of einher warriors, both young and veteran, established an outpost upon Zenithstrand, in an effort to take advantage of the flow of the Ghost Sea: when Ice Elves take to their raiding ships to attack the western coast of Mjoll, they must first follow the current to this island. The Helgard Vanguard, as they called themselves, dedicated their time and resources to scouting the sea and acting as counterinsurgents to Jormungar advances. Each was willing to die for their people and cause, having sworn their body and soul to duty. Accordingly, it was taken as extremely uncharacteristic of these honourable men and women when upon one early morning einhish scouts returned to their outpost to find it entirely abandoned: fires still burning, food left in their pots, yet no trace of conflict or sudden departure could be found. All that was left out of place were a series of words, as if a poetic stanza, etched lightly into the sands on which the scouts had docked. One learned in the scholarly arts managed to record its fine markings before the oddly overactive waves washed their meanings away:

‘What lurks above or lies beneath? What waits beyond or wakes within?

With eyes that watch with lidless wonder is One who tears each soul asunder.

No hope to escape that which draws you near. It is fate and I am here.

From greatest glory to speechless sand, all roads end in Zenithstrand.’

I hope these stories fuel your passion and intrigue rather than stifle your excitement for the future as it is bright. Certainly a few bits of haunting folklore pale in comparison to the horrors that we have endured in Tiefanue against the Black and His undead horde. Our love guided us through those darkest of days and have brought our paths, at last, together, to this ancient island, to our new lives. I look forward to the days to come, to see and be with you again.

The sailors’ bells ring. I can see a shape breaching the boundary of the sea and sky. It must be a vessel come to greet our arrival. Eerie how the wind picks up as I dot the last line.

Until next we meet and forever yours,

- A letter found in a bottle upon the beaches of Zenithstrand. Its author’s signature has been smudged out to illegibility from apparent water exposure.


((CONTRIBUTORS: Bryce Robinson))