Atoll Legend

Atoll Legend is an Official GemStone IV Document, and it is protected from editing.

The Legend of the Tavekta Atoll

From the desk of Isienaka, Chief Scholar of Atan Irith
Our unofficial scholar of the high seas has been intrigued by the recent discovery of the atoll near Kraken's Fall and has cast her net far and wide to discover more information. I'm pleased to offer you her findings.

Introduction

Having made a career out of studying the geography and lore of Elanthia's seas, I was quite surprised at the recent discovery of an uncharted atoll near Kraken's Fall. I set sail immediately to view it myself and seek out any lore or history surrounding it. What follows is a tale unlike any other I have found before, told to me independently by several bandits in and around the Kraken's Fall area, as well as some former bandits in other ports (and a few select rumormongers on the flotilla).

The people of Kraken's Fall have mostly stayed away from the far side of the island where they live; bandits, impenetrable jungles, and fast-moving rivers all make exploration outside the general town environs less than pleasant. Couple that with unusual oceanic activity, and it leaves a section of the ocean and island relatively unexplored. However, with the coming of hearty adventurers to the town and the culling of the bandit population, the far beach and the atoll are now more readily accessible, and the remaining bandits were quick to share their tale with me.

By my hand,
Sachraika Arijaka, Sailor and Scholar of the Nathala Dai

The Legend of Tavekta Island

"We, the Outcast, serve a purpose. We may pilfer and plunder a bit here and there, but our large numbers have protected the townsfolk more than we have hindered them, if only they knew. Our numbers kept them at bay from the river and away from the only access to a terrible place. It has been our duty for decades, unknown and unappreciated. With adventurers decimating our numbers, however, the town is at risk, for these adventurers have discovered the deadly beach and its atoll, and it is only a matter of time before something terrible comes for us all. Mark my words, the town will rue the day the wholesale slaughter of me and mine was allowed." – an anonymous bandit of Kraken's Fall

Once upon a time, in the earliest days of Kraken's Fall, a group of people were outcast from the general society. They called themselves the Outcasts, but everyone else just referred to them as bandits, as their propensity for petty thievery and general hooliganism was a blight on the town's attempts at civility. Obviously, the Outcasts feel differently, claiming that their actions were the result of their exile to the far reaches of habitable ground.

Relegated to these outer areas, the bandits soon discovered a way through the heretofore inaccessible jungle, finding a path to a pristine beach on the unreachable far side of the island which quickly became a destination point for relaxation. Another island was visible in the distance, nicknamed "Jewel Island," by the Outcasts. From time to time, chanting could be heard from the island, and dark plumes of smoke rose from the depths of its jungles. Using a spyglass, hints of buildings could be seen, but the vegetation was thick and the views obfuscated. People were seen on the shores occasionally as well, but the Outcasts' curiosity extended no farther. The island was too far to swim, and even if they could get a boat here, no one wished to brave the seas.

The islanders, however, had no such qualms and an abundance of curiosity, and one day, the Outcasts found themselves interrupted in their revelries as someone noted a dozen canoes paddling quickly toward them from Jewel Island. According to the Outcasts, first contact with the islanders was a simple and pleasant affair. The islanders spoke Common as well as their own language, and while they came prepared to defend themselves, their message was one of peace. A friendship was soon struck, and the islanders and bandits met frequently upon the shore to share in drink, story, and song.

The islanders called their own island Tavekta Island and the bandits' island was known to them as Jaketha Island; the townsfolk and bandits alike had just called it Kraken's Folly if they ever deigned to speak of it with a name. They were oddly superstitious folk, prone to dreamy pontificating on their worship of the sea and some unknown, unnamed entity (according to most interviewed, the islanders formerly worshiped Nelemar, but turned to what many hypothesize was Ghezresh). It was readily apparent that they took their worship seriously; the plumes of dark smoke seen periodically over the island came from their sacrificial fires, and those chosen were giddy about the opportunity, at least as far as was told to the Outcasts. The Outcasts enjoyed their tales of warriors and battle, of drink and song, of mythical realms beneath the waves and merpeople, and they overlooked this cultural quirk to unusual extremes. Indeed, in the aftermath, survivors questioned whether or not a spell was cast upon them.

One day, a group of Outcasts went to their hidden beach and found an ancient iron chest had washed ashore. They were puzzling over how to open it when a contingent of islanders arrived. Together, they worked the rusted chest until it finally burst open, spilling old coins and jewels and other trinkets across the sand. It was an island warrior who noticed the small box left at the bottom of the broken chest. She leapt back from it, pointing and murmuring portentously in her native tongue. Had she had the wherewithal to grab the small box, had the islanders left with it, perhaps none of what next occurred would have happened. But she did not, they did not, and it happened, at least according to the Outcasts.

The next closest person was a young man from the bandits. He reached in and pulled out an ornately carved and completely undamaged wooden box inlaid with a broken trident of gleaming nacre. Others gathered round him, admiring the box and encouraging him to open it; everyone assumed what's inside must be even more precious if it was further protected by such extravagance.

An island elder spoke sharply in Common then, demanding the bandits not open the box and instead give it to the islanders to take away. It was dangerous, he promised, more dangerous than they could imagine. The Outcasts banded together and refused, they felt a pull from the box -- a need and desire they could not put into words.

A brawl hung imminent in the air, but at the last moment, the island elder snapped a command, and the islanders turned and left with just one parting word:

Beware.

The dozen or so Outcasts present that day took little heed of the warning, gathering about instead and encouraging the young man to open the box, which he promptly did. To everyone's surprise and disappointment, no treasure appeared within. The lid folded back evenly with the rest of the box, revealing a carved set of symbols and miniscule writing inside the lid; inside the box itself were several dice, figures, and an ornate playing board of some sort, all made of polished wood and stone. It looked ancient but well kept, with just the hint of crimson stains along some of the pieces.

Groans of disappointment echoed along the beach, and it might have ended there, but one man picked up a pair of dice and rolled them. As they came up double-fives, a piece on the board moved of its own accord, snapping into place. A voice whispered, "It begins. Always finish what you start."

Like the box before it, the game itself seemed to compel them to play. Three other players were quickly chosen by games of roshambo, drinks were poured, and everyone gathered around to study the box and its contents more closely. A young girl, one of the bandit's children, had the sharpest eyes, and she was called upon to make out the tiny writing inside the lid, while still others tried to make sense of the carvings and symbols across the box – anything for a clue on how to play.

"Rules are simple," the young girl announced, "Four people each roll in turn, and at the end of the round, the consequences will be dealt. Survive for thirty rounds without lighting the Lights Four." No one knew what that meant, but the compulsion to roll and continue was strong, and each of the three remaining players rolled in turn. Like the first roll, various and sundry pieces on the board moved of their own accord, the sound of clockwork and gears assuaging any fears that something magical was at work. Each mentally reassured themselves that this was some gnomish contraption, and the islanders were just not used to such things and thus scared. No one thought to recall the islanders left before they saw the game inside.

After the first round, a stone ship piece rested near a large piece of basalt, an ivory pirate figure stood atop a broken trident symbol, a coral mermaid token moved to sit beside an inlaid sapphire storm cloud, and an onyx jaguar figure was nestled near a tree painted onto the board. As the last piece moved into place, everyone drew close to see what consequences there may be. At first, nothing happened, but then a large crash of thunder broke across the sky, sending rain pouring over the island. Grabbing the board, everyone moved beneath the protection of the trees.

An electric blue light flickered in the depths of the sapphire storm cloud on the board, and a voice whispered, "Round two begins." And so it continued for what felt like seconds or hours: rolls of the dice, pieces moving of their own accord, changes to the board, and above, a storm raged. Depending on the storyteller, other changes may have occurred to the area around them during the numerous rounds that followed, but most can only agree on the storm.

Day turned to night turned to day, and still they watched and played. Finally, the board was lit in three locations – electric blue, fiery red, and glowing yellow. A voice whispered, "Final round decides all."

One by one, the players rolled. One by one, the pieces moved into place. The air stilled, the storm momentarily quiet. Then, with a flicker, a piece of obsidian on the board began to glow. A grey-black fog rolled in, obscuring everything around, and the now-familiar voice whispered, "You have lost. We rise again."

Blinded by fog and deafened by thunder, the Outcasts panicked. The very earth beneath them and far out to sea shook mightily, and when it stopped, the fog and storm too had disappeared, along with several bandits. Those remaining found themselves in a battle for their very lives as a band of tritons swarmed ashore.

Unfortunately, while skilled in combat, the bandits were quickly overwhelmed. A few beat a hasty retreat into the surrounding jungle, hiding beneath sheets of vines and greenery. This wound up being the best course of action, as the tritons would not step farther onto the island; it was as if the jungle created an uncrossable border, and bereft of additional prey, the tritons slid back into the sea.

The survivors took one last look across the once pristine beach and saw a much different landscape. The sea was more tumultuous and where once Tavekta Island, jewel of the sea, stood, an atoll rose in its stead.

The surviving Outcasts went back to their homes and spread the word. A few enterprising bandits managed to smuggle a small canoe to the shore and paddle to the atoll. Only those most skilled in stealth and combat went. Of the islanders, none were found; remnants of what they could only assume were the islanders' buildings were found, but insofar as living creatures, only tritons remained.

The Outcasts claim they tried to tell the townsfolk about the danger but none would listen. With nowhere else to go, the bandits continued to make their homes and hideouts in the surrounding areas, and according to those I spoke with, ever since, their duty has been to keep others from finding and wandering down the jungle path to what they now call Widow's Beach.

Conclusion

The atoll is definitely a mystery, and one, it appears, not easily solved. While a fascinating story, there is little to support this tale, other than the general agreement by bandits which could be explained by a collective mythology or belief system; in other words, the story has been repeated so often as truth throughout the decades that all believe it now. And yet, there are elements of interest here. The Nelemar and triton connection for one. The remnants of a not-too-distant culture upon the atoll. The names, Tavekta and Jaketha, also warrant additional study. These aren't terms in any known language, and yet, the alleged islanders also spoke Common. How? Why?

General scholarly consensus is that the bandit population did inadvertently keep the discovery of Widow's Beach and the atoll from the townsfolk, as none wished to explore in that area until adventuring Elanthians arrived and culled the population. However, no evidence exists to support the rest of the legend. That has not kept many of my fellow scholars from adopting the name Tavekta Atoll for this atoll, in order to delineate it from the numerous other unnamed atolls upon the high seas. Perhaps, as we enter another great age of ship exploration, more information will be discovered.

OOC Information

• Written by GM Xynwen, October 2022