Notes/Warnings: (Any Notes or warnings? Violence?)
The men, Rorom's regular crew plus six of whom Rorom had picked up on a coastal village off the coast north of Volta gathered round a bonfire they'd started on the deck of the Onyx Cascade. They all warmed their hands as well as they could, rubbing them together while keeping watch over the distance. They were well out to sea, but had spotted several telltale signs of ice fractures on the distance. Their ice glowed blue, sending their lights far off from the masses of their glacial structures. It was warm enough yet that they might see some of them break off. Not as bad as the risk during late Ashan, but early Zi'da shedding of ice fractures wasn't entirely unheard of.
Rorom kept his eyes on the distance, as he warmed his bare hands. The deference of the elements protected him to a certain degree, giving him warmth from the fire and shielding him from the worst of the bitter winds. Yet...
"What I wouldn't give for a pair of merwool mittens right now. Stitched and sewn taut." One of the men remarked. Mastrel perked up at that. He was stood across from Rorom, his glass eye reflecting the open flame of the bonfire. Yet, far from his genial and kind self, he stared solemnly into the flames. Rorom almost feared to ask him what the matter was. But then, Mastrel rarely let things stirring up feelings go long enough for anyone to wonder what upset him. At least before they found out what the color in his one good eye meant.
It shone green then.
"Mittens eh?" Mastrel spat into the fire.
"Let me tell ya lads..."
His glance turned to face the distant points of blue light on the horizon. These were not reflections of the moons. The moons were new. No, the darkness held beacons of cold light, signalling the ice fractures. Rorom had only heard a little about them, but spotted them often enough on his trips through the Syneffa bay and the Hollow Sea.
Mastrel took a good full few moments between breaths, during which he rubbed his hands, cupping them in his breath so that he could preserve his vocal cords.
"Them lights in the distance. Ice Fractures."
Some of the young men who'd come along, stared out to where he glanced. The brown-haired one frowned,
"I was wondering what those were, if they were stars or..."
Mastrel coughed, and sputtered in a short burst of cold laughter.
"Nay, ice fractures they be. Where all manner of beasts of ice be, and even wraiths. Not just that though..." Mastrel leaned forward toward the fire, and rubbed his hand against his closed fist.
"Strong mariners of old ventured into them frozen shores, whether by accident or in pursuit of their riches."
One of the lads, a biqaj of short stature and blonde hair, his eyes shone purple at the sound of riches.
"Treasure, of what kind?"
Rorom nearly groaned, but stifled it before it came clear of his lips. The last thing he needed was for the men to get curious about those dangerous anomalys. Stirring up U'frek knew what from their savage shelves.
The men, Rorom's regular crew plus six of whom Rorom had picked up on a coastal village off the coast north of Volta gathered round a bonfire they'd started on the deck of the Onyx Cascade. They all warmed their hands as well as they could, rubbing them together while keeping watch over the distance. They were well out to sea, but had spotted several telltale signs of ice fractures on the distance. Their ice glowed blue, sending their lights far off from the masses of their glacial structures. It was warm enough yet that they might see some of them break off. Not as bad as the risk during late Ashan, but early Zi'da shedding of ice fractures wasn't entirely unheard of.
Rorom kept his eyes on the distance, as he warmed his bare hands. The deference of the elements protected him to a certain degree, giving him warmth from the fire and shielding him from the worst of the bitter winds. Yet...
"What I wouldn't give for a pair of merwool mittens right now. Stitched and sewn taut." One of the men remarked. Mastrel perked up at that. He was stood across from Rorom, his glass eye reflecting the open flame of the bonfire. Yet, far from his genial and kind self, he stared solemnly into the flames. Rorom almost feared to ask him what the matter was. But then, Mastrel rarely let things stirring up feelings go long enough for anyone to wonder what upset him. At least before they found out what the color in his one good eye meant.
It shone green then.
"Mittens eh?" Mastrel spat into the fire.
"Let me tell ya lads..."
His glance turned to face the distant points of blue light on the horizon. These were not reflections of the moons. The moons were new. No, the darkness held beacons of cold light, signalling the ice fractures. Rorom had only heard a little about them, but spotted them often enough on his trips through the Syneffa bay and the Hollow Sea.
Mastrel took a good full few moments between breaths, during which he rubbed his hands, cupping them in his breath so that he could preserve his vocal cords.
"Them lights in the distance. Ice Fractures."
Some of the young men who'd come along, stared out to where he glanced. The brown-haired one frowned,
"I was wondering what those were, if they were stars or..."
Mastrel coughed, and sputtered in a short burst of cold laughter.
"Nay, ice fractures they be. Where all manner of beasts of ice be, and even wraiths. Not just that though..." Mastrel leaned forward toward the fire, and rubbed his hand against his closed fist.
"Strong mariners of old ventured into them frozen shores, whether by accident or in pursuit of their riches."
One of the lads, a biqaj of short stature and blonde hair, his eyes shone purple at the sound of riches.
"Treasure, of what kind?"
Rorom nearly groaned, but stifled it before it came clear of his lips. The last thing he needed was for the men to get curious about those dangerous anomalys. Stirring up U'frek knew what from their savage shelves.
The men, Rorom's regular crew plus six of whom Rorom had picked up on a coastal village off the coast north of Volta gathered round a bonfire they'd started on the deck of the Onyx Cascade. They all warmed their hands as well as they could, rubbing them together while keeping watch over the distance. They were well out to sea, but had spotted several telltale signs of ice fractures on the distance. Their ice glowed blue, sending their lights far off from the masses of their glacial structures. It was warm enough yet that they might see some of them break off. Not as bad as the risk during late Ashan, but early Zi'da shedding of ice fractures wasn't entirely unheard of.
Rorom kept his eyes on the distance, as he warmed his bare hands. The deference of the elements protected him to a certain degree, giving him warmth from the fire and shielding him from the worst of the bitter winds. Yet...
"What I wouldn't give for a pair of merwool mittens right now. Stitched and sewn taut." One of the men remarked. Mastrel perked up at that. He was stood across from Rorom, his glass eye reflecting the open flame of the bonfire. Yet, far from his genial and kind self, he stared solemnly into the flames. Rorom almost feared to ask him what the matter was. But then, Mastrel rarely let things stirring up feelings go long enough for anyone to wonder what upset him. At least before they found out what the color in his one good eye meant.
It shone green then.
"Mittens eh?" Mastrel spat into the fire.
"Let me tell ya lads..."
His glance turned to face the distant points of blue light on the horizon. These were not reflections of the moons. The moons were new. No, the darkness held beacons of cold light, signalling the ice fractures. Rorom had only heard a little about them, but spotted them often enough on his trips through the Syneffa bay and the Hollow Sea.
Mastrel took a good full few moments between breaths, during which he rubbed his hands, cupping them in his breath so that he could preserve his vocal cords.
"Them lights in the distance. Ice Fractures."
Some of the young men who'd come along, stared out to where he glanced. The brown-haired one frowned,
"I was wondering what those were, if they were stars or..."
Mastrel coughed, and sputtered in a short burst of cold laughter.
"Nay, ice fractures they be. Where all manner of beasts of ice be, and even wraiths. Not just that though..." Mastrel leaned forward toward the fire, and rubbed his hand against his closed fist.
"Strong mariners of old ventured into them frozen shores, whether by accident or in pursuit of their riches."
One of the lads, a biqaj of short stature and blonde hair, his eyes shone purple at the sound of riches.
"Treasure, of what kind?"
Rorom nearly groaned, but stifled it before it came clear of his lips. The last thing he needed was for the men to get curious about those dangerous anomalys. Stirring up U'frek knew what from their savage shelves.
The men, Rorom's regular crew plus six of whom Rorom had picked up on a coastal village off the coast north of Volta gathered round a bonfire they'd started on the deck of the Onyx Cascade. They all warmed their hands as well as they could, rubbing them together while keeping watch over the distance. They were well out to sea, but had spotted several telltale signs of ice fractures on the distance. Their ice glowed blue, sending their lights far off from the masses of their glacial structures. It was warm enough yet that they might see some of them break off. Not as bad as the risk during late Ashan, but early Zi'da shedding of ice fractures wasn't entirely unheard of.
Rorom kept his eyes on the distance, as he warmed his bare hands. The deference of the elements protected him to a certain degree, giving him warmth from the fire and shielding him from the worst of the bitter winds. Yet...
"What I wouldn't give for a pair of merwool mittens right now. Stitched and sewn taut." One of the men remarked. Mastrel perked up at that. He was stood across from Rorom, his glass eye reflecting the open flame of the bonfire. Yet, far from his genial and kind self, he stared solemnly into the flames. Rorom almost feared to ask him what the matter was. But then, Mastrel rarely let things stirring up feelings go long enough for anyone to wonder what upset him. At least before they found out what the color in his one good eye meant.
It shone green then.
"Mittens eh?" Mastrel spat into the fire.
"Let me tell ya lads..."
His glance turned to face the distant points of blue light on the horizon. These were not reflections of the moons. The moons were new. No, the darkness held beacons of cold light, signalling the ice fractures. Rorom had only heard a little about them, but spotted them often enough on his trips through the Syneffa bay and the Hollow Sea.
Mastrel took a good full few moments between breaths, during which he rubbed his hands, cupping them in his breath so that he could preserve his vocal cords.
"Them lights in the distance. Ice Fractures."
Some of the young men who'd come along, stared out to where he glanced. The brown-haired one frowned,
"I was wondering what those were, if they were stars or..."
Mastrel coughed, and sputtered in a short burst of cold laughter.
"Nay, ice fractures they be. Where all manner of beasts of ice be, and even wraiths. Not just that though..." Mastrel leaned forward toward the fire, and rubbed his hand against his closed fist.
"Strong mariners of old ventured into them frozen shores, whether by accident or in pursuit of their riches."
One of the lads, a biqaj of short stature and blonde hair, his eyes shone purple at the sound of riches.
"Treasure, of what kind?"
Rorom nearly groaned, but stifled it before it came clear of his lips. The last thing he needed was for the men to get curious about those dangerous anomalys. Stirring up U'frek knew what from their savage shelves.
The men, Rorom's regular crew plus six of whom Rorom had picked up on a coastal village off the coast north of Volta gathered round a bonfire they'd started on the deck of the Onyx Cascade. They all warmed their hands as well as they could, rubbing them together while keeping watch over the distance. They were well out to sea, but had spotted several telltale signs of ice fractures on the distance. Their ice glowed blue, sending their lights far off from the masses of their glacial structures. It was warm enough yet that they might see some of them break off. Not as bad as the risk during late Ashan, but early Zi'da shedding of ice fractures wasn't entirely unheard of.
Rorom kept his eyes on the distance, as he warmed his bare hands. The deference of the elements protected him to a certain degree, giving him warmth from the fire and shielding him from the worst of the bitter winds. Yet...
"What I wouldn't give for a pair of merwool mittens right now. Stitched and sewn taut." One of the men remarked. Mastrel perked up at that. He was stood across from Rorom, his glass eye reflecting the open flame of the bonfire. Yet, far from his genial and kind self, he stared solemnly into the flames. Rorom almost feared to ask him what the matter was. But then, Mastrel rarely let things stirring up feelings go long enough for anyone to wonder what upset him. At least before they found out what the color in his one good eye meant.
It shone green then.
"Mittens eh?" Mastrel spat into the fire.
"Let me tell ya lads..."
His glance turned to face the distant points of blue light on the horizon. These were not reflections of the moons. The moons were new. No, the darkness held beacons of cold light, signalling the ice fractures. Rorom had only heard a little about them, but spotted them often enough on his trips through the Syneffa bay and the Hollow Sea.
Mastrel took a good full few moments between breaths, during which he rubbed his hands, cupping them in his breath so that he could preserve his vocal cords.
"Them lights in the distance. Ice Fractures."
Some of the young men who'd come along, stared out to where he glanced. The brown-haired one frowned,
"I was wondering what those were, if they were stars or..."
Mastrel coughed, and sputtered in a short burst of cold laughter.
"Nay, ice fractures they be. Where all manner of beasts of ice be, and even wraiths. Not just that though..." Mastrel leaned forward toward the fire, and rubbed his hand against his closed fist.
"Strong mariners of old ventured into them frozen shores, whether by accident or in pursuit of their riches."
One of the lads, a biqaj of short stature and blonde hair, his eyes shone purple at the sound of riches.
"Treasure, of what kind?"
Rorom nearly groaned, but stifled it before it came clear of his lips. The last thing he needed was for the men to get curious about those dangerous anomalys. Stirring up U'frek knew what from their savage shelves.
The men, Rorom's regular crew plus six of whom Rorom had picked up on a coastal village off the coast north of Volta gathered round a bonfire they'd started on the deck of the Onyx Cascade. They all warmed their hands as well as they could, rubbing them together while keeping watch over the distance. They were well out to sea, but had spotted several telltale signs of ice fractures on the distance. Their ice glowed blue, sending their lights far off from the masses of their glacial structures. It was warm enough yet that they might see some of them break off. Not as bad as the risk during late Ashan, but early Zi'da shedding of ice fractures wasn't entirely unheard of.
Rorom kept his eyes on the distance, as he warmed his bare hands. The deference of the elements protected him to a certain degree, giving him warmth from the fire and shielding him from the worst of the bitter winds. Yet...
"What I wouldn't give for a pair of merwool mittens right now. Stitched and sewn taut." One of the men remarked. Mastrel perked up at that. He was stood across from Rorom, his glass eye reflecting the open flame of the bonfire. Yet, far from his genial and kind self, he stared solemnly into the flames. Rorom almost feared to ask him what the matter was. But then, Mastrel rarely let things stirring up feelings go long enough for anyone to wonder what upset him. At least before they found out what the color in his one good eye meant.
It shone green then.
"Mittens eh?" Mastrel spat into the fire.
"Let me tell ya lads..."
His glance turned to face the distant points of blue light on the horizon. These were not reflections of the moons. The moons were new. No, the darkness held beacons of cold light, signalling the ice fractures. Rorom had only heard a little about them, but spotted them often enough on his trips through the Syneffa bay and the Hollow Sea.
Mastrel took a good full few moments between breaths, during which he rubbed his hands, cupping them in his breath so that he could preserve his vocal cords.
"Them lights in the distance. Ice Fractures."
Some of the young men who'd come along, stared out to where he glanced. The brown-haired one frowned,
"I was wondering what those were, if they were stars or..."
Mastrel coughed, and sputtered in a short burst of cold laughter.
"Nay, ice fractures they be. Where all manner of beasts of ice be, and even wraiths. Not just that though..." Mastrel leaned forward toward the fire, and rubbed his hand against his closed fist.
"Strong mariners of old ventured into them frozen shores, whether by accident or in pursuit of their riches."
One of the lads, a biqaj of short stature and blonde hair, his eyes shone purple at the sound of riches.
"Treasure, of what kind?"
Rorom nearly groaned, but stifled it before it came clear of his lips. The last thing he needed was for the men to get curious about those dangerous anomalys. Stirring up U'frek knew what from their savage shelves.
The men, Rorom's regular crew plus six of whom Rorom had picked up on a coastal village off the coast north of Volta gathered round a bonfire they'd started on the deck of the Onyx Cascade. They all warmed their hands as well as they could, rubbing them together while keeping watch over the distance. They were well out to sea, but had spotted several telltale signs of ice fractures on the distance. Their ice glowed blue, sending their lights far off from the masses of their glacial structures. It was warm enough yet that they might see some of them break off. Not as bad as the risk during late Ashan, but early Zi'da shedding of ice fractures wasn't entirely unheard of.
Rorom kept his eyes on the distance, as he warmed his bare hands. The deference of the elements protected him to a certain degree, giving him warmth from the fire and shielding him from the worst of the bitter winds. Yet...
"What I wouldn't give for a pair of merwool mittens right now. Stitched and sewn taut." One of the men remarked. Mastrel perked up at that. He was stood across from Rorom, his glass eye reflecting the open flame of the bonfire. Yet, far from his genial and kind self, he stared solemnly into the flames. Rorom almost feared to ask him what the matter was. But then, Mastrel rarely let things stirring up feelings go long enough for anyone to wonder what upset him. At least before they found out what the color in his one good eye meant.
It shone green then.
"Mittens eh?" Mastrel spat into the fire.
"Let me tell ya lads..."
His glance turned to face the distant points of blue light on the horizon. These were not reflections of the moons. The moons were new. No, the darkness held beacons of cold light, signalling the ice fractures. Rorom had only heard a little about them, but spotted them often enough on his trips through the Syneffa bay and the Hollow Sea.
Mastrel took a good full few moments between breaths, during which he rubbed his hands, cupping them in his breath so that he could preserve his vocal cords.
"Them lights in the distance. Ice Fractures."
Some of the young men who'd come along, stared out to where he glanced. The brown-haired one frowned,
"I was wondering what those were, if they were stars or..."
Mastrel coughed, and sputtered in a short burst of cold laughter.
"Nay, ice fractures they be. Where all manner of beasts of ice be, and even wraiths. Not just that though..." Mastrel leaned forward toward the fire, and rubbed his hand against his closed fist.
"Strong mariners of old ventured into them frozen shores, whether by accident or in pursuit of their riches."
One of the lads, a biqaj of short stature and blonde hair, his eyes shone purple at the sound of riches.
"Treasure, of what kind?"
Rorom nearly groaned, but stifled it before it came clear of his lips. The last thing he needed was for the men to get curious about those dangerous anomalys. Stirring up U'frek knew what from their savage shelves.
The men, Rorom's regular crew plus six of whom Rorom had picked up on a coastal village off the coast north of Volta gathered round a bonfire they'd started on the deck of the Onyx Cascade. They all warmed their hands as well as they could, rubbing them together while keeping watch over the distance. They were well out to sea, but had spotted several telltale signs of ice fractures on the distance. Their ice glowed blue, sending their lights far off from the masses of their glacial structures. It was warm enough yet that they might see some of them break off. Not as bad as the risk during late Ashan, but early Zi'da shedding of ice fractures wasn't entirely unheard of.
Rorom kept his eyes on the distance, as he warmed his bare hands. The deference of the elements protected him to a certain degree, giving him warmth from the fire and shielding him from the worst of the bitter winds. Yet...
"What I wouldn't give for a pair of merwool mittens right now. Stitched and sewn taut." One of the men remarked. Mastrel perked up at that. He was stood across from Rorom, his glass eye reflecting the open flame of the bonfire. Yet, far from his genial and kind self, he stared solemnly into the flames. Rorom almost feared to ask him what the matter was. But then, Mastrel rarely let things stirring up feelings go long enough for anyone to wonder what upset him. At least before they found out what the color in his one good eye meant.
It shone green then.
"Mittens eh?" Mastrel spat into the fire.
"Let me tell ya lads..."
His glance turned to face the distant points of blue light on the horizon. These were not reflections of the moons. The moons were new. No, the darkness held beacons of cold light, signalling the ice fractures. Rorom had only heard a little about them, but spotted them often enough on his trips through the Syneffa bay and the Hollow Sea.
Mastrel took a good full few moments between breaths, during which he rubbed his hands, cupping them in his breath so that he could preserve his vocal cords.
"Them lights in the distance. Ice Fractures."
Some of the young men who'd come along, stared out to where he glanced. The brown-haired one frowned,
"I was wondering what those were, if they were stars or..."
Mastrel coughed, and sputtered in a short burst of cold laughter.
"Nay, ice fractures they be. Where all manner of beasts of ice be, and even wraiths. Not just that though..." Mastrel leaned forward toward the fire, and rubbed his hand against his closed fist.
"Strong mariners of old ventured into them frozen shores, whether by accident or in pursuit of their riches."
One of the lads, a biqaj of short stature and blonde hair, his eyes shone purple at the sound of riches.
"Treasure, of what kind?"
Rorom nearly groaned, but stifled it before it came clear of his lips. The last thing he needed was for the men to get curious about those dangerous anomalys. Stirring up U'frek knew what from their savage shelves.
The men, Rorom's regular crew plus six of whom Rorom had picked up on a coastal village off the coast north of Volta gathered round a bonfire they'd started on the deck of the Onyx Cascade. They all warmed their hands as well as they could, rubbing them together while keeping watch over the distance. They were well out to sea, but had spotted several telltale signs of ice fractures on the distance. Their ice glowed blue, sending their lights far off from the masses of their glacial structures. It was warm enough yet that they might see some of them break off. Not as bad as the risk during late Ashan, but early Zi'da shedding of ice fractures wasn't entirely unheard of.
Rorom kept his eyes on the distance, as he warmed his bare hands. The deference of the elements protected him to a certain degree, giving him warmth from the fire and shielding him from the worst of the bitter winds. Yet...
"What I wouldn't give for a pair of merwool mittens right now. Stitched and sewn taut." One of the men remarked. Mastrel perked up at that. He was stood across from Rorom, his glass eye reflecting the open flame of the bonfire. Yet, far from his genial and kind self, he stared solemnly into the flames. Rorom almost feared to ask him what the matter was. But then, Mastrel rarely let things stirring up feelings go long enough for anyone to wonder what upset him. At least before they found out what the color in his one good eye meant.
It shone green then.
"Mittens eh?" Mastrel spat into the fire.
"Let me tell ya lads..."
His glance turned to face the distant points of blue light on the horizon. These were not reflections of the moons. The moons were new. No, the darkness held beacons of cold light, signalling the ice fractures. Rorom had only heard a little about them, but spotted them often enough on his trips through the Syneffa bay and the Hollow Sea.
Mastrel took a good full few moments between breaths, during which he rubbed his hands, cupping them in his breath so that he could preserve his vocal cords.
"Them lights in the distance. Ice Fractures."
Some of the young men who'd come along, stared out to where he glanced. The brown-haired one frowned,
"I was wondering what those were, if they were stars or..."
Mastrel coughed, and sputtered in a short burst of cold laughter.
"Nay, ice fractures they be. Where all manner of beasts of ice be, and even wraiths. Not just that though..." Mastrel leaned forward toward the fire, and rubbed his hand against his closed fist.
"Strong mariners of old ventured into them frozen shores, whether by accident or in pursuit of their riches."
One of the lads, a biqaj of short stature and blonde hair, his eyes shone purple at the sound of riches.
"Treasure, of what kind?"
Rorom nearly groaned, but stifled it before it came clear of his lips. The last thing he needed was for the men to get curious about those dangerous anomalys. Stirring up U'frek knew what from their savage shelves.
The men, Rorom's regular crew plus six of whom Rorom had picked up on a coastal village off the coast north of Volta gathered round a bonfire they'd started on the deck of the Onyx Cascade. They all warmed their hands as well as they could, rubbing them together while keeping watch over the distance. They were well out to sea, but had spotted several telltale signs of ice fractures on the distance. Their ice glowed blue, sending their lights far off from the masses of their glacial structures. It was warm enough yet that they might see some of them break off. Not as bad as the risk during late Ashan, but early Zi'da shedding of ice fractures wasn't entirely unheard of.
Rorom kept his eyes on the distance, as he warmed his bare hands. The deference of the elements protected him to a certain degree, giving him warmth from the fire and shielding him from the worst of the bitter winds. Yet...
"What I wouldn't give for a pair of merwool mittens right now. Stitched and sewn taut." One of the men remarked. Mastrel perked up at that. He was stood across from Rorom, his glass eye reflecting the open flame of the bonfire. Yet, far from his genial and kind self, he stared solemnly into the flames. Rorom almost feared to ask him what the matter was. But then, Mastrel rarely let things stirring up feelings go long enough for anyone to wonder what upset him. At least before they found out what the color in his one good eye meant.
It shone green then.
"Mittens eh?" Mastrel spat into the fire.
"Let me tell ya lads..."
His glance turned to face the distant points of blue light on the horizon. These were not reflections of the moons. The moons were new. No, the darkness held beacons of cold light, signalling the ice fractures. Rorom had only heard a little about them, but spotted them often enough on his trips through the Syneffa bay and the Hollow Sea.
Mastrel took a good full few moments between breaths, during which he rubbed his hands, cupping them in his breath so that he could preserve his vocal cords.
"Them lights in the distance. Ice Fractures."
Some of the young men who'd come along, stared out to where he glanced. The brown-haired one frowned,
"I was wondering what those were, if they were stars or..."
Mastrel coughed, and sputtered in a short burst of cold laughter.
"Nay, ice fractures they be. Where all manner of beasts of ice be, and even wraiths. Not just that though..." Mastrel leaned forward toward the fire, and rubbed his hand against his closed fist.
"Strong mariners of old ventured into them frozen shores, whether by accident or in pursuit of their riches."
One of the lads, a biqaj of short stature and blonde hair, his eyes shone purple at the sound of riches.
"Treasure, of what kind?"
Rorom nearly groaned, but stifled it before it came clear of his lips. The last thing he needed was for the men to get curious about those dangerous anomalys. Stirring up U'frek knew what from their savage shelves.
The men, Rorom's regular crew plus six of whom Rorom had picked up on a coastal village off the coast north of Volta gathered round a bonfire they'd started on the deck of the Onyx Cascade. They all warmed their hands as well as they could, rubbing them together while keeping watch over the distance. They were well out to sea, but had spotted several telltale signs of ice fractures on the distance. Their ice glowed blue, sending their lights far off from the masses of their glacial structures. It was warm enough yet that they might see some of them break off. Not as bad as the risk during late Ashan, but early Zi'da shedding of ice fractures wasn't entirely unheard of.
Rorom kept his eyes on the distance, as he warmed his bare hands. The deference of the elements protected him to a certain degree, giving him warmth from the fire and shielding him from the worst of the bitter winds. Yet...
"What I wouldn't give for a pair of merwool mittens right now. Stitched and sewn taut." One of the men remarked. Mastrel perked up at that. He was stood across from Rorom, his glass eye reflecting the open flame of the bonfire. Yet, far from his genial and kind self, he stared solemnly into the flames. Rorom almost feared to ask him what the matter was. But then, Mastrel rarely let things stirring up feelings go long enough for anyone to wonder what upset him. At least before they found out what the color in his one good eye meant.
It shone green then.
"Mittens eh?" Mastrel spat into the fire.
"Let me tell ya lads..."
His glance turned to face the distant points of blue light on the horizon. These were not reflections of the moons. The moons were new. No, the darkness held beacons of cold light, signalling the ice fractures. Rorom had only heard a little about them, but spotted them often enough on his trips through the Syneffa bay and the Hollow Sea.
Mastrel took a good full few moments between breaths, during which he rubbed his hands, cupping them in his breath so that he could preserve his vocal cords.
"Them lights in the distance. Ice Fractures."
Some of the young men who'd come along, stared out to where he glanced. The brown-haired one frowned,
"I was wondering what those were, if they were stars or..."
Mastrel coughed, and sputtered in a short burst of cold laughter.
"Nay, ice fractures they be. Where all manner of beasts of ice be, and even wraiths. Not just that though..." Mastrel leaned forward toward the fire, and rubbed his hand against his closed fist.
"Strong mariners of old ventured into them frozen shores, whether by accident or in pursuit of their riches."
One of the lads, a biqaj of short stature and blonde hair, his eyes shone purple at the sound of riches.
"Treasure, of what kind?"
Rorom nearly groaned, but stifled it before it came clear of his lips. The last thing he needed was for the men to get curious about those dangerous anomalys. Stirring up U'frek knew what from their savage shelves.
The men, Rorom's regular crew plus six of whom Rorom had picked up on a coastal village off the coast north of Volta gathered round a bonfire they'd started on the deck of the Onyx Cascade. They all warmed their hands as well as they could, rubbing them together while keeping watch over the distance. They were well out to sea, but had spotted several telltale signs of ice fractures on the distance. Their ice glowed blue, sending their lights far off from the masses of their glacial structures. It was warm enough yet that they might see some of them break off. Not as bad as the risk during late Ashan, but early Zi'da shedding of ice fractures wasn't entirely unheard of.
Rorom kept his eyes on the distance, as he warmed his bare hands. The deference of the elements protected him to a certain degree, giving him warmth from the fire and shielding him from the worst of the bitter winds. Yet...
"What I wouldn't give for a pair of merwool mittens right now. Stitched and sewn taut." One of the men remarked. Mastrel perked up at that. He was stood across from Rorom, his glass eye reflecting the open flame of the bonfire. Yet, far from his genial and kind self, he stared solemnly into the flames. Rorom almost feared to ask him what the matter was. But then, Mastrel rarely let things stirring up feelings go long enough for anyone to wonder what upset him. At least before they found out what the color in his one good eye meant.
It shone green then.
"Mittens eh?" Mastrel spat into the fire.
"Let me tell ya lads..."
His glance turned to face the distant points of blue light on the horizon. These were not reflections of the moons. The moons were new. No, the darkness held beacons of cold light, signalling the ice fractures. Rorom had only heard a little about them, but spotted them often enough on his trips through the Syneffa bay and the Hollow Sea.
Mastrel took a good full few moments between breaths, during which he rubbed his hands, cupping them in his breath so that he could preserve his vocal cords.
"Them lights in the distance. Ice Fractures."
Some of the young men who'd come along, stared out to where he glanced. The brown-haired one frowned,
"I was wondering what those were, if they were stars or..."
Mastrel coughed, and sputtered in a short burst of cold laughter.
"Nay, ice fractures they be. Where all manner of beasts of ice be, and even wraiths. Not just that though..." Mastrel leaned forward toward the fire, and rubbed his hand against his closed fist.
"Strong mariners of old ventured into them frozen shores, whether by accident or in pursuit of their riches."
One of the lads, a biqaj of short stature and blonde hair, his eyes shone purple at the sound of riches.
"Treasure, of what kind?"
Rorom nearly groaned, but stifled it before it came clear of his lips. The last thing he needed was for the men to get curious about those dangerous anomalys. Stirring up U'frek knew what from their savage shelves.
The men, Rorom's regular crew plus six of whom Rorom had picked up on a coastal village off the coast north of Volta gathered round a bonfire they'd started on the deck of the Onyx Cascade. They all warmed their hands as well as they could, rubbing them together while keeping watch over the distance. They were well out to sea, but had spotted several telltale signs of ice fractures on the distance. Their ice glowed blue, sending their lights far off from the masses of their glacial structures. It was warm enough yet that they might see some of them break off. Not as bad as the risk during late Ashan, but early Zi'da shedding of ice fractures wasn't entirely unheard of.
Rorom kept his eyes on the distance, as he warmed his bare hands. The deference of the elements protected him to a certain degree, giving him warmth from the fire and shielding him from the worst of the bitter winds. Yet...
"What I wouldn't give for a pair of merwool mittens right now. Stitched and sewn taut." One of the men remarked. Mastrel perked up at that. He was stood across from Rorom, his glass eye reflecting the open flame of the bonfire. Yet, far from his genial and kind self, he stared solemnly into the flames. Rorom almost feared to ask him what the matter was. But then, Mastrel rarely let things stirring up feelings go long enough for anyone to wonder what upset him. At least before they found out what the color in his one good eye meant.
It shone green then.
"Mittens eh?" Mastrel spat into the fire.
"Let me tell ya lads..."
His glance turned to face the distant points of blue light on the horizon. These were not reflections of the moons. The moons were new. No, the darkness held beacons of cold light, signalling the ice fractures. Rorom had only heard a little about them, but spotted them often enough on his trips through the Syneffa bay and the Hollow Sea.
Mastrel took a good full few moments between breaths, during which he rubbed his hands, cupping them in his breath so that he could preserve his vocal cords.
"Them lights in the distance. Ice Fractures."
Some of the young men who'd come along, stared out to where he glanced. The brown-haired one frowned,
"I was wondering what those were, if they were stars or..."
Mastrel coughed, and sputtered in a short burst of cold laughter.
"Nay, ice fractures they be. Where all manner of beasts of ice be, and even wraiths. Not just that though..." Mastrel leaned forward toward the fire, and rubbed his hand against his closed fist.
"Strong mariners of old ventured into them frozen shores, whether by accident or in pursuit of their riches."
One of the lads, a biqaj of short stature and blonde hair, his eyes shone purple at the sound of riches.
"Treasure, of what kind?"
Rorom nearly groaned, but stifled it before it came clear of his lips. The last thing he needed was for the men to get curious about those dangerous anomalys. Stirring up U'frek knew what from their savage shelves.
The men, Rorom's regular crew plus six of whom Rorom had picked up on a coastal village off the coast north of Volta gathered round a bonfire they'd started on the deck of the Onyx Cascade. They all warmed their hands as well as they could, rubbing them together while keeping watch over the distance. They were well out to sea, but had spotted several telltale signs of ice fractures on the distance. Their ice glowed blue, sending their lights far off from the masses of their glacial structures. It was warm enough yet that they might see some of them break off. Not as bad as the risk during late Ashan, but early Zi'da shedding of ice fractures wasn't entirely unheard of.
Rorom kept his eyes on the distance, as he warmed his bare hands. The deference of the elements protected him to a certain degree, giving him warmth from the fire and shielding him from the worst of the bitter winds. Yet...
"What I wouldn't give for a pair of merwool mittens right now. Stitched and sewn taut." One of the men remarked. Mastrel perked up at that. He was stood across from Rorom, his glass eye reflecting the open flame of the bonfire. Yet, far from his genial and kind self, he stared solemnly into the flames. Rorom almost feared to ask him what the matter was. But then, Mastrel rarely let things stirring up feelings go long enough for anyone to wonder what upset him. At least before they found out what the color in his one good eye meant.
It shone green then.
"Mittens eh?" Mastrel spat into the fire.
"Let me tell ya lads..."
His glance turned to face the distant points of blue light on the horizon. These were not reflections of the moons. The moons were new. No, the darkness held beacons of cold light, signalling the ice fractures. Rorom had only heard a little about them, but spotted them often enough on his trips through the Syneffa bay and the Hollow Sea.
Mastrel took a good full few moments between breaths, during which he rubbed his hands, cupping them in his breath so that he could preserve his vocal cords.
"Them lights in the distance. Ice Fractures."
Some of the young men who'd come along, stared out to where he glanced. The brown-haired one frowned,
"I was wondering what those were, if they were stars or..."
Mastrel coughed, and sputtered in a short burst of cold laughter.
"Nay, ice fractures they be. Where all manner of beasts of ice be, and even wraiths. Not just that though..." Mastrel leaned forward toward the fire, and rubbed his hand against his closed fist.
"Strong mariners of old ventured into them frozen shores, whether by accident or in pursuit of their riches."
One of the lads, a biqaj of short stature and blonde hair, his eyes shone purple at the sound of riches.
"Treasure, of what kind?"
Rorom nearly groaned, but stifled it before it came clear of his lips. The last thing he needed was for the men to get curious about those dangerous anomalys. Stirring up U'frek knew what from their savage shelves.
The men, Rorom's regular crew plus six of whom Rorom had picked up on a coastal village off the coast north of Volta gathered round a bonfire they'd started on the deck of the Onyx Cascade. They all warmed their hands as well as they could, rubbing them together while keeping watch over the distance. They were well out to sea, but had spotted several telltale signs of ice fractures on the distance. Their ice glowed blue, sending their lights far off from the masses of their glacial structures. It was warm enough yet that they might see some of them break off. Not as bad as the risk during late Ashan, but early Zi'da shedding of ice fractures wasn't entirely unheard of.
Rorom kept his eyes on the distance, as he warmed his bare hands. The deference of the elements protected him to a certain degree, giving him warmth from the fire and shielding him from the worst of the bitter winds. Yet...
"What I wouldn't give for a pair of merwool mittens right now. Stitched and sewn taut." One of the men remarked. Mastrel perked up at that. He was stood across from Rorom, his glass eye reflecting the open flame of the bonfire. Yet, far from his genial and kind self, he stared solemnly into the flames. Rorom almost feared to ask him what the matter was. But then, Mastrel rarely let things stirring up feelings go long enough for anyone to wonder what upset him. At least before they found out what the color in his one good eye meant.
It shone green then.
"Mittens eh?" Mastrel spat into the fire.
"Let me tell ya lads..."
His glance turned to face the distant points of blue light on the horizon. These were not reflections of the moons. The moons were new. No, the darkness held beacons of cold light, signalling the ice fractures. Rorom had only heard a little about them, but spotted them often enough on his trips through the Syneffa bay and the Hollow Sea.
Mastrel took a good full few moments between breaths, during which he rubbed his hands, cupping them in his breath so that he could preserve his vocal cords.
"Them lights in the distance. Ice Fractures."
Some of the young men who'd come along, stared out to where he glanced. The brown-haired one frowned,
"I was wondering what those were, if they were stars or..."
Mastrel coughed, and sputtered in a short burst of cold laughter.
"Nay, ice fractures they be. Where all manner of beasts of ice be, and even wraiths. Not just that though..." Mastrel leaned forward toward the fire, and rubbed his hand against his closed fist.
"Strong mariners of old ventured into them frozen shores, whether by accident or in pursuit of their riches."
One of the lads, a biqaj of short stature and blonde hair, his eyes shone purple at the sound of riches.
"Treasure, of what kind?"
Rorom nearly groaned, but stifled it before it came clear of his lips. The last thing he needed was for the men to get curious about those dangerous anomalys. Stirring up U'frek knew what from their savage shelves.
The men, Rorom's regular crew plus six of whom Rorom had picked up on a coastal village off the coast north of Volta gathered round a bonfire they'd started on the deck of the Onyx Cascade. They all warmed their hands as well as they could, rubbing them together while keeping watch over the distance. They were well out to sea, but had spotted several telltale signs of ice fractures on the distance. Their ice glowed blue, sending their lights far off from the masses of their glacial structures. It was warm enough yet that they might see some of them break off. Not as bad as the risk during late Ashan, but early Zi'da shedding of ice fractures wasn't entirely unheard of.
Rorom kept his eyes on the distance, as he warmed his bare hands. The deference of the elements protected him to a certain degree, giving him warmth from the fire and shielding him from the worst of the bitter winds. Yet...
"What I wouldn't give for a pair of merwool mittens right now. Stitched and sewn taut." One of the men remarked. Mastrel perked up at that. He was stood across from Rorom, his glass eye reflecting the open flame of the bonfire. Yet, far from his genial and kind self, he stared solemnly into the flames. Rorom almost feared to ask him what the matter was. But then, Mastrel rarely let things stirring up feelings go long enough for anyone to wonder what upset him. At least before they found out what the color in his one good eye meant.
It shone green then.
"Mittens eh?" Mastrel spat into the fire.
"Let me tell ya lads..."
His glance turned to face the distant points of blue light on the horizon. These were not reflections of the moons. The moons were new. No, the darkness held beacons of cold light, signalling the ice fractures. Rorom had only heard a little about them, but spotted them often enough on his trips through the Syneffa bay and the Hollow Sea.
Mastrel took a good full few moments between breaths, during which he rubbed his hands, cupping them in his breath so that he could preserve his vocal cords.
"Them lights in the distance. Ice Fractures."
Some of the young men who'd come along, stared out to where he glanced. The brown-haired one frowned,
"I was wondering what those were, if they were stars or..."
Mastrel coughed, and sputtered in a short burst of cold laughter.
"Nay, ice fractures they be. Where all manner of beasts of ice be, and even wraiths. Not just that though..." Mastrel leaned forward toward the fire, and rubbed his hand against his closed fist.
"Strong mariners of old ventured into them frozen shores, whether by accident or in pursuit of their riches."
One of the lads, a biqaj of short stature and blonde hair, his eyes shone purple at the sound of riches.
"Treasure, of what kind?"
Rorom nearly groaned, but stifled it before it came clear of his lips. The last thing he needed was for the men to get curious about those dangerous anomalys. Stirring up U'frek knew what from their savage shelves.
The men, Rorom's regular crew plus six of whom Rorom had picked up on a coastal village off the coast north of Volta gathered round a bonfire they'd started on the deck of the Onyx Cascade. They all warmed their hands as well as they could, rubbing them together while keeping watch over the distance. They were well out to sea, but had spotted several telltale signs of ice fractures on the distance. Their ice glowed blue, sending their lights far off from the masses of their glacial structures. It was warm enough yet that they might see some of them break off. Not as bad as the risk during late Ashan, but early Zi'da shedding of ice fractures wasn't entirely unheard of.
Rorom kept his eyes on the distance, as he warmed his bare hands. The deference of the elements protected him to a certain degree, giving him warmth from the fire and shielding him from the worst of the bitter winds. Yet...
"What I wouldn't give for a pair of merwool mittens right now. Stitched and sewn taut." One of the men remarked. Mastrel perked up at that. He was stood across from Rorom, his glass eye reflecting the open flame of the bonfire. Yet, far from his genial and kind self, he stared solemnly into the flames. Rorom almost feared to ask him what the matter was. But then, Mastrel rarely let things stirring up feelings go long enough for anyone to wonder what upset him. At least before they found out what the color in his one good eye meant.
It shone green then.
"Mittens eh?" Mastrel spat into the fire.
"Let me tell ya lads..."
His glance turned to face the distant points of blue light on the horizon. These were not reflections of the moons. The moons were new. No, the darkness held beacons of cold light, signalling the ice fractures. Rorom had only heard a little about them, but spotted them often enough on his trips through the Syneffa bay and the Hollow Sea.
Mastrel took a good full few moments between breaths, during which he rubbed his hands, cupping them in his breath so that he could preserve his vocal cords.
"Them lights in the distance. Ice Fractures."
Some of the young men who'd come along, stared out to where he glanced. The brown-haired one frowned,
"I was wondering what those were, if they were stars or..."
Mastrel coughed, and sputtered in a short burst of cold laughter.
"Nay, ice fractures they be. Where all manner of beasts of ice be, and even wraiths. Not just that though..." Mastrel leaned forward toward the fire, and rubbed his hand against his closed fist.
"Strong mariners of old ventured into them frozen shores, whether by accident or in pursuit of their riches."
One of the lads, a biqaj of short stature and blonde hair, his eyes shone purple at the sound of riches.
"Treasure, of what kind?"
Rorom nearly groaned, but stifled it before it came clear of his lips. The last thing he needed was for the men to get curious about those dangerous anomalys. Stirring up U'frek knew what from their savage shelves.
The men, Rorom's regular crew plus six of whom Rorom had picked up on a coastal village off the coast north of Volta gathered round a bonfire they'd started on the deck of the Onyx Cascade. They all warmed their hands as well as they could, rubbing them together while keeping watch over the distance. They were well out to sea, but had spotted several telltale signs of ice fractures on the distance. Their ice glowed blue, sending their lights far off from the masses of their glacial structures. It was warm enough yet that they might see some of them break off. Not as bad as the risk during late Ashan, but early Zi'da shedding of ice fractures wasn't entirely unheard of.
Rorom kept his eyes on the distance, as he warmed his bare hands. The deference of the elements protected him to a certain degree, giving him warmth from the fire and shielding him from the worst of the bitter winds. Yet...
"What I wouldn't give for a pair of merwool mittens right now. Stitched and sewn taut." One of the men remarked. Mastrel perked up at that. He was stood across from Rorom, his glass eye reflecting the open flame of the bonfire. Yet, far from his genial and kind self, he stared solemnly into the flames. Rorom almost feared to ask him what the matter was. But then, Mastrel rarely let things stirring up feelings go long enough for anyone to wonder what upset him. At least before they found out what the color in his one good eye meant.
It shone green then.
"Mittens eh?" Mastrel spat into the fire.
"Let me tell ya lads..."
His glance turned to face the distant points of blue light on the horizon. These were not reflections of the moons. The moons were new. No, the darkness held beacons of cold light, signalling the ice fractures. Rorom had only heard a little about them, but spotted them often enough on his trips through the Syneffa bay and the Hollow Sea.
Mastrel took a good full few moments between breaths, during which he rubbed his hands, cupping them in his breath so that he could preserve his vocal cords.
"Them lights in the distance. Ice Fractures."
Some of the young men who'd come along, stared out to where he glanced. The brown-haired one frowned,
"I was wondering what those were, if they were stars or..."
Mastrel coughed, and sputtered in a short burst of cold laughter.
"Nay, ice fractures they be. Where all manner of beasts of ice be, and even wraiths. Not just that though..." Mastrel leaned forward toward the fire, and rubbed his hand against his closed fist.
"Strong mariners of old ventured into them frozen shores, whether by accident or in pursuit of their riches."
One of the lads, a biqaj of short stature and blonde hair, his eyes shone purple at the sound of riches.
"Treasure, of what kind?"
Rorom nearly groaned, but stifled it before it came clear of his lips. The last thing he needed was for the men to get curious about those dangerous anomalys. Stirring up U'frek knew what from their savage shelves.
The men, Rorom's regular crew plus six of whom Rorom had picked up on a coastal village off the coast north of Volta gathered round a bonfire they'd started on the deck of the Onyx Cascade. They all warmed their hands as well as they could, rubbing them together while keeping watch over the distance. They were well out to sea, but had spotted several telltale signs of ice fractures on the distance. Their ice glowed blue, sending their lights far off from the masses of their glacial structures. It was warm enough yet that they might see some of them break off. Not as bad as the risk during late Ashan, but early Zi'da shedding of ice fractures wasn't entirely unheard of.
Rorom kept his eyes on the distance, as he warmed his bare hands. The deference of the elements protected him to a certain degree, giving him warmth from the fire and shielding him from the worst of the bitter winds. Yet...
"What I wouldn't give for a pair of merwool mittens right now. Stitched and sewn taut." One of the men remarked. Mastrel perked up at that. He was stood across from Rorom, his glass eye reflecting the open flame of the bonfire. Yet, far from his genial and kind self, he stared solemnly into the flames. Rorom almost feared to ask him what the matter was. But then, Mastrel rarely let things stirring up feelings go long enough for anyone to wonder what upset him. At least before they found out what the color in his one good eye meant.
It shone green then.
"Mittens eh?" Mastrel spat into the fire.
"Let me tell ya lads..."
His glance turned to face the distant points of blue light on the horizon. These were not reflections of the moons. The moons were new. No, the darkness held beacons of cold light, signalling the ice fractures. Rorom had only heard a little about them, but spotted them often enough on his trips through the Syneffa bay and the Hollow Sea.
Mastrel took a good full few moments between breaths, during which he rubbed his hands, cupping them in his breath so that he could preserve his vocal cords.
"Them lights in the distance. Ice Fractures."
Some of the young men who'd come along, stared out to where he glanced. The brown-haired one frowned,
"I was wondering what those were, if they were stars or..."
Mastrel coughed, and sputtered in a short burst of cold laughter.
"Nay, ice fractures they be. Where all manner of beasts of ice be, and even wraiths. Not just that though..." Mastrel leaned forward toward the fire, and rubbed his hand against his closed fist.
"Strong mariners of old ventured into them frozen shores, whether by accident or in pursuit of their riches."
One of the lads, a biqaj of short stature and blonde hair, his eyes shone purple at the sound of riches.
"Treasure, of what kind?"
Rorom nearly groaned, but stifled it before it came clear of his lips. The last thing he needed was for the men to get curious about those dangerous anomalys. Stirring up U'frek knew what from their savage shelves.
Renown: (how much and for what?)
Wealth Points: (how many and for what?)
- If you are claiming Wealth Points, please link to your Wealth Thread for this season, as Wealth Points can not be awarded before this is completed:
Collaboration: (Yes/No)
Magic Experience?: (Yes/No)
Local Language Thread? (Yes - Name of Language / No)
