Intemperate Seas

5

Rook wandered the streets of South Garde, his mind occupied by thoughts he couldn't quite shake. The city was alive with the bustle of the spring holiday, a celebration of the sea and its bounty, though the spring effects of the seasonal change would not hit this region for another few weeks and frost still kissed the road signs, dripping in unison with the clacking of feet and wheels on cobblestone. Stalls lined the streets, selling all manner of seafood and marine-themed trinkets. Despite the festive atmosphere, Rook's mood remained somber, his gaze distant as he moved through the crowds. He tried to keep his face passive, no one needed to recognize him in this dump of a city. In the way a dolphin glides through the sea, his movements fluid and unnoticed amidst the vibrant tide of life, Rook made his way through the buildings flanked by rotten canals.

Ducking into a corner, he leaned against a patch of grey coral and got out his short black pipe. Moving so as to appear distracted, he pulled his stash of herbs from a pocket and packed his pipe, lighting it with a swift swipe. He puffed, relief filling the anxious cavity in his chest; settling in, smoke curling around him as a protective cloak. Tens of people passed, each one logged in his mind. Rook could never quite forget a face. It wasn't until he glimpsed scurrying feet that he thought he might be in the right place. Taking the chance, Rook began to tail a cloaked figure already disappearing into the mist. The amount of people around began to thin, weeding out average homely people until the air turned cold and harsh lights bounced off the cobblestones. The warm festival light had long since passed. As the figure turned corner after corner, Rook noticed the same garb become more common around him. Not too far in the distance, a bell rung three times. He fell back, and others wearing the same dark, plain cloak spurred on. The first person in the distance slipped through a gray wood door in the middle of the street, with a sign above the door. Others in normal and even festival wear also entered the door, trickling in one at a time. He crouched in the shadow for a moment, considering options, then decided to enter on a whim. Plenty of others seemed to have done so. Striding forward, wishing for another draw of his pipe, he approached the door and entered.

As he took in the room, the first thing Rook noticed was a podium in the corner. A group of people gathered in various areas of the room, speaking in hushed tones, holding pieces of paper. A time-teller dinged and people began to sit, the cloaked figures toward the front. Rook took a seat near the back, keeping an extra eye on the cloaked. Who knows what weapons they could fit under those. As one of the cloaked figures- a woman- stood up in front of the podium, and another took up a stringed instrument and sat behind her. Rook nearly groaned with frustration. This is a damned poetry reading. He thought. The man holding the veolet began to play a mournful tone. Maybe this is the time to sneak in a nap? No, not around so many people. Rook blinked and sat straighter in his seat. He had slept through plenty of artistic performances before. Better not to around a bunch of kooks. The other cloaked individuals in the room began to hum with a staccato, and it sounded almost as if someone were sobbing into a pillow. His skin turned cold as the woman gently began her refrain.

"In the fathomless deep where darkness reigns supreme, 

Lies Qokona, goddess of seas, in a watery dream. 

Her task, to churn and twist the ocean's endless tide,

 Ancient power, she wields far and wide 

From her hidden grotto, unseen by mortal sight,

Her heart yearns to glimpse the stars' celestial light.

Warned by her sire, a god of paramount might,

To the surface, she must not venture, day or night.