"There are some things which can be learned only when the fury of the storm surrounds you."
The tale of a priestess of Manaan, God of the Seas, Oceans and Rivers...
Fated. That is what Ovid always used to say, that she was fated to have landed here on this island alive. That the hand of Manaan had seen to her deliverance. Not the loving hand of Manaan, a deliberate omission, for there was nothing about the God of the deeps that was loving. Truly terrifyingly beautiful, yes. Vast and glorious, powerful and unforgiving. Not loving. And yet, she was alive.
But Ovid, her mentor, her teacher, her… father. He was dead. He'd been old, living here on this island for untold years, with a long life before that on the mainland. They'd lived here for years together, just the two of them, maintaining the shrine to Manaan. She'd thought she understood being alone… there were times when days would pass and they wouldn't say a word to one another, weeks between the appearance of ships that would come to this lonely rock to pay homage to Manaan, seek guidance, leave offerings.
She'd thought she had understood loneliness, from her youth living on the streets in Marienberg, desperately fighting to stay alive, hidden, when eating and being warm were the only goals she would strive for. She had stowed away on that ship, knowing it could mean her death if she was found, but it was warm, bundled as she was among the stores. Warm, and there was food she could steal.
But now, looking down upon the cold body of the man who had saved her all those years ago, found her gasping and half alive on this rock amid the wreckage of the ship she had been on, now she truly understood the depths of despair and aching loneliness a soul could reach.
The Teeth of Manaan
Ovid. Father. She had lain him at the foot of the shrine, the statue of a great, leaping merman, in exactly the same spot where she had been discovered, those many years ago. The stone of the statue was dull and grey now, but when the great gouts of waves crashed up here, up the side of the rock and around the statue, the scales would gleam with a riot of colours, more beautiful than any array of gems or metals. The rock around the base of the statue was worn smooth and even wearing away in places, and the base of the statue itself was rimed with salt, but the scales were each and every one as untouched as the day she had landed here.
A great crashing sound echoed as the first wave smashed into the base of the outcropping of stone, and she felt a few wet spatters hit her cheek. It was time to leave him, or risk being washed away herself. Crash… and water drenched Ovid, lain out so carefully on the rock, wrapped in a blanket with his hands clasping his holy symbol. He seemed so small without his priestly vestments, even more so without his armour and shield, his flail. Small, as though he'd been simply a man. This wave crashed into her hard and she stumbled under the force of it, weighed down as she was with his gathered equipment. She stepped back reluctantly, out of the reach of the spray.
A wave crashed… and the rock was bare. The body… the man, the mentor the father, was gone. Taken by the waves, into the deeps. She stood there a long while, until the crashing stopped, and the sea stilled. "Take the first ship that comes. Find the Blackhearts. You must leave this place" he had told her, urgently, over and over during the last days of his life. "The first ship." She looked down at the scroll case she didn't remember taking out, and shivered as she remembered his words, uttered in so terrified and quavering a voice that she hardly recognized it as his. "The end of tides… the end of the seas… a cold, dead ocean still as glass. Take the first ship, Edmée… the first ship."
Slowly, she walked to the statue, to touch it one last time. She reached a trembling hand out to caress the stone scales, and felt more than heard a snap... and in her hand, a perfect beautiful scale. Glistening still from the salt water. Relief flooded her; her resolve firmed.
She looked down over the island that had been her home, down to the beach… toward the longboats that were approaching from the large vessel anchored off the coast, safety away from the stones of Manaan's teeth. The first ship.
***
Edmee joined the group at the behest of her mentor Ovid, who saw a powerful vision before his death.
Her battle magics and healing has saved the party several times in the time she has travelled aboard the Wayward Derelict. In the battle with the cultists of the Red Crown, deep in the Barren Hills, it was the prayers of Edmee that turned the tide, breaking their backs with devastating strikes.
Edmee is a scion of Manaan, having survived the ritual designed to purify her soul in the sea outside Marienburg. Through her efforts to fight the taint of Chaos, she has been inducted into the Ordo Fidelis. Her devotion to the will of Manaan is unquestionable.
The tale of a priestess of Manaan, God of the Seas, Oceans and Rivers...
Fated. That is what Ovid always used to say, that she was fated to have landed here on this island alive. That the hand of Manaan had seen to her deliverance. Not the loving hand of Manaan, a deliberate omission, for there was nothing about the God of the deeps that was loving. Truly terrifyingly beautiful, yes. Vast and glorious, powerful and unforgiving. Not loving. And yet, she was alive.
But Ovid, her mentor, her teacher, her… father. He was dead. He'd been old, living here on this island for untold years, with a long life before that on the mainland. They'd lived here for years together, just the two of them, maintaining the shrine to Manaan. She'd thought she understood being alone… there were times when days would pass and they wouldn't say a word to one another, weeks between the appearance of ships that would come to this lonely rock to pay homage to Manaan, seek guidance, leave offerings.
She'd thought she had understood loneliness, from her youth living on the streets in Marienberg, desperately fighting to stay alive, hidden, when eating and being warm were the only goals she would strive for. She had stowed away on that ship, knowing it could mean her death if she was found, but it was warm, bundled as she was among the stores. Warm, and there was food she could steal.
But now, looking down upon the cold body of the man who had saved her all those years ago, found her gasping and half alive on this rock amid the wreckage of the ship she had been on, now she truly understood the depths of despair and aching loneliness a soul could reach.
The Teeth of Manaan
Ovid. Father. She had lain him at the foot of the shrine, the statue of a great, leaping merman, in exactly the same spot where she had been discovered, those many years ago. The stone of the statue was dull and grey now, but when the great gouts of waves crashed up here, up the side of the rock and around the statue, the scales would gleam with a riot of colours, more beautiful than any array of gems or metals. The rock around the base of the statue was worn smooth and even wearing away in places, and the base of the statue itself was rimed with salt, but the scales were each and every one as untouched as the day she had landed here.
A great crashing sound echoed as the first wave smashed into the base of the outcropping of stone, and she felt a few wet spatters hit her cheek. It was time to leave him, or risk being washed away herself. Crash… and water drenched Ovid, lain out so carefully on the rock, wrapped in a blanket with his hands clasping his holy symbol. He seemed so small without his priestly vestments, even more so without his armour and shield, his flail. Small, as though he'd been simply a man. This wave crashed into her hard and she stumbled under the force of it, weighed down as she was with his gathered equipment. She stepped back reluctantly, out of the reach of the spray.
A wave crashed… and the rock was bare. The body… the man, the mentor the father, was gone. Taken by the waves, into the deeps. She stood there a long while, until the crashing stopped, and the sea stilled. "Take the first ship that comes. Find the Blackhearts. You must leave this place" he had told her, urgently, over and over during the last days of his life. "The first ship." She looked down at the scroll case she didn't remember taking out, and shivered as she remembered his words, uttered in so terrified and quavering a voice that she hardly recognized it as his. "The end of tides… the end of the seas… a cold, dead ocean still as glass. Take the first ship, Edmée… the first ship."
Slowly, she walked to the statue, to touch it one last time. She reached a trembling hand out to caress the stone scales, and felt more than heard a snap... and in her hand, a perfect beautiful scale. Glistening still from the salt water. Relief flooded her; her resolve firmed.
She looked down over the island that had been her home, down to the beach… toward the longboats that were approaching from the large vessel anchored off the coast, safety away from the stones of Manaan's teeth. The first ship.
***
Edmee joined the group at the behest of her mentor Ovid, who saw a powerful vision before his death.
Her battle magics and healing has saved the party several times in the time she has travelled aboard the Wayward Derelict. In the battle with the cultists of the Red Crown, deep in the Barren Hills, it was the prayers of Edmee that turned the tide, breaking their backs with devastating strikes.
Edmee is a scion of Manaan, having survived the ritual designed to purify her soul in the sea outside Marienburg. Through her efforts to fight the taint of Chaos, she has been inducted into the Ordo Fidelis. Her devotion to the will of Manaan is unquestionable.