(1310-09-08) Exiled to Marsilikos
Summary: Gregoire writes in his journal about arriving to Marsilikos
RL Date: 09/08/2018
Related: None

09/08/1310 — Port Marsilikos

The natural bay has had its curved shores sharpened into straight edges bolstered with ridges of heavy stones on which the tides have left long mark when the waters are low, algae and barnacles hung onto the rugged stones. Then stone foundations have been piled out into the harbor to hold up wide wooden pillars and the great treated slats of the piers and boardwalks which extend into the bay, now at wider intervals for massive trading vessels, now at shorter intervals for private fishing and pleasure yachts.

The southern arm of the bay is reserved for the great southern fleet of the Terre D'Angan Navy, which is headquartered here in Marsilikos, and is ever a hub of activity, the giant slips outfitted to haul the massive warships up into the air for repairs, while further inland on the southern peninsula a forest of masts rises into the air where new ships are being built and old ones repaired in full drydock. Between the naval slips and the drydock rises the stately edifice of the Southern Naval Headquarters, glistening with huge latticed windows on the upper floors. Beyond the headquarters rises the massive fortified promontory of the Citadel, with bleached-white parapets and fluttering banners.

It is a summer night. The weather is hot and stormy.

Year 1310, Month of September, 8th Day

It's hot…everywhere I turn around it's hot and sticky. I can smell the salt coming from the waters. There are no mountains to greet me. No chill in the air. Just humidity drenching my undershirt, bringing beads of sweat to my brow. Louna has already snapped at me once while they unloaded our trunks, the weather has done nothing to improve her attitude. If anything I think she's pursing her lips more like she's sucking a lemon. Or maybe it's just my stench. Fresh water was lax towards the end of our journey so I bathed in the ocean. But the salt just clings to my skin, gets into my pores, clogging them. Elua and Companions, what I would not give for a clear mountain stream.

It's starting to rain as they pull off our trunks. My wife is furious that her precious cargo is getting soaked, demanding that they put a tarp over them least a small crack in her lid leads to her finery getting wet. She calls out to me to join her in the carriage. But I refuse. I stand there and let the fresh water renew my skin, drench my clothes, give me some relief from the stifling heat. I bellow in laughter as she shouts out that I shall be riding on the outside since she can't stand to have her precious gown drenched by my choices. It's fine. I like the storm that rages outside on the docks. It fits how I am feeling within.

My new home, Marsilikos. It feels more like exile. It's so different than the mountains that I grew up in. The smells, the sights. Nothing is familiar. I doubt I'd be able to track anything with all the scents mingling together. I don't see why we couldn't stay on the estate. I could hunt there with my hounds, ride in the forests. I could stretch my legs without running into anything more than a servant. Lure my wife back to bed and give her something more pleasurable to moan about. I could breathe there. But oh no, we have to go and mingle. Be social. Every time I hear that word, I shudder for the boredom that follows on its heels.

A stranger in a strange land. A warrior who now wears finery and pretends to be civil. I am nothing like these people. Why do I even pretend?

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