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The Calm Before


Valannor
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Fresh, crisp air. That is what greeted the mariners of the southern seas, as for the first time in what felt like decades, the years-long storm finally gave way…

 

But something was wrong.

 

The air and sea held a distinct gloom about it, the likes of which sullied the spirit and inspired some forlorn depression in the hearts of sturdy men. The ocean blues had turned to faded gray, as if polluted with mountains of salt and ash in volumes untold- grey as the thunderheads which formerly roared and shrieked overhead. To a certain folk however?

 

This suited them just fine. The once-abandoned harbor of Freeport was abuzz with activity, strange figures in cloaks grey and red alike swarming the fallow hamlet like maggots on a carcass left in the summer sun to rot. What had happened? Why was the sea turned to ashen hues? None could say, truly, for there was no answer to find itself on the tongue of a mortal man.

 

If one were to venture to this place, stygian ichor painted the walls of houses, the blackened paint scrawled in the likeness of entangled roots. 

 

Blessed be the Widu.

 

Spoiler

[!]

 

Slotted Seers are advised to contact SquakHawk.

 

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"Ah swear t' Gods ah'm gonna smear **** int' their eyes" Mutters a Stern faced grey-man as he dusts the road dirt from his trousers, catching rumors upon the wind

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