The Shadowy Abyss (storyline)/Found items

Shadowy Abyss Found Items

06.06.2025

an antique Vornavian silk cloth

Empress Key's Sleeve

an antique Vornavian silk cloth
Smooth with a soft finish, the Vornavian silk cloth has hints of its original deep blue hue at its edges though largely it has faded to a watered azure hue.  Faint seashell patterns decorate the edge, the silver and white embroidery creating scallop shells that overlap.  Rolled silk cords aid the bundle in staying closed as needed, their ends capped in silver dolphin periapts.

a blue-tinted white vellum parchment

Letter to Tagetes from Aralinne

a blue-tinted white vellum parchment
Slightly warped in shape and displaying clear signs of damage from humidity, the fine parchment is tinted with a subtle blue hue that is almost white and yet distinctly not.  Crisp folds create precise lines in the top and bottom third of the piece, while the corners display fray signs where moisture has separated the layers.
In the Common language, it reads: the seventeenth day of Olaesta in the year 4839 Tagetes, Hopefully, we will return at the same time and all of this preparation will be for naught. The temple will have no attendants as I have figured out the missing piece to get us to Pearl.  It lies in an old Kannalan Temple to Charl.  I believe I've tracked down its former location.  I've hidden the plans in the old office at the end of the catacombs and sealed the entry. So few people know of its existence that it should be safe to travel there.  I do not think I will be gone more than a handful of days. However, as I do not trust the Mercantile Guild, with their recent decisions to create gardens and shrines to the dark pantheon, I have sealed the doorway up and hidden it.  Since you know where it is, you should have no issue finding it. There are seven keys for entry.  I've left the Empress key here, but you can easily obtain the other six by seeking the blessings of the Lover, the Mistress, the Sister, the Mother, the Daughter, and the High Priestess.  I'm sure you'll remember who these are from our past talks.  I dare not say more for fear this is found by others. Please know that some wish to see the curse spread.  Others are working hard to stop it.  Young Bristena had the idea to buy back all the jewelry from the women whose husband, lovers, and brothers searched the North Beach to obtain them.  I gave her enough coin to buy them all back. Once she has every last piece, she'll have a sailor take her out to the spot we believe the "Pearl" to be waiting in and drop them back into the water.  That should give us time to get the pieces together to free her. I used the last of the coffers to pay a crew to start the lighthouse. If I don't return...  Please let my husband and son know the depths of which I love them. By my hand, Aralinne Wynedowne

a carved golden amber acorn

Empress Key

a carved golden amber acorn
Roughly oval in shape, a carved golden amber acorn is broad and flat, providing an excellent view of its transparent interior portion.  Trapped within the golden yellow fossilized pine tree sap are several small flying insects and a dried flower.

an aged grey stone tile

The Tile

an aged grey stone tile

Your song touches the tile, and the memory begins with stillness, then the faint scrape of wood across stone. Gentle hands press close, fitting the tile snugly into place. A murmur of approval hums nearby, muffled by fabric and breath. Cool grout slides into the seams, and the air shifts. Salt lingers in the room, carried on a current scented with blossoms. Lilac and sea daisy rise together, soft and clean. A hush settles across the surface, and the tile recognizes it as belonging. Beneath the faintest sigh of sandals against stone, a woman's voice murmurs, "There. That's better." The sounds and sensations fade along with the last syllables of your song. As your song continues to caress the tile, it stirs with echoes of passing time. Soft footsteps come and go, punctuated by the rhythmic sweep of bristles and the clatter of buckets. Voices rise and fall nearby, sometimes low with grief, sometimes bright with ritual. One speaks of a sister's safe return, another offers blessings over a sailor's name. A different voice complains about a cracked basin and the need for fresh oil. Each moment blends into the next, seasons marked only by the changing cadence of heels, the weight of silence, and the gentle creak of wood in damp air. Slowly, the sensation and sounds fade, one by one, until they fall as silent as your song. Your melody draws forth a hush, and the tile remembers the scent first. Bitter and resinous, the thick smoke of funerary incense curls low to the ground. Voices follow in soft procession, cloaked in sorrow. Some weep openly, others murmur prayers with trembling breath. The weight of grief presses against the stone, heavy as tide against jetty. A name is spoken again and again, reverent and broken, until it becomes a lullaby of mourning. Between each word, silence holds vigil. The tile feels a deep stillness in the air, as if even the sea has paused to listen. A final name tumbles across your ears as your song slips into silence, "Elenne." Your song stirs the memory of disturbance. The tile feels the grit of its seams loosened, the edge of a tool scraping carefully through old grout. Pressure lifts it from the floor, just briefly, and something small is slid beneath. When the tile returns to its place, the surface meets the subfloor with an unfamiliar firmness. A hand lingers upon it, smooth and warm, resting for a long moment before giving a gentle pat. Whispered words ride the still air, close enough to touch, "Keep this safe until Tagetes finds you." An absence of warmth is the last sensation the tile imparts before your song stills. Your voice brushes the tile, and the past answers with hushed urgency. There is the soft shuffle of feet, the creak of worn boots on stone, and a sharp intake of breath. Mournful whispers crowd the silence. A voice, cracked with worry and soft with distance, murmurs, "I don't know where you are, Aralinne. I can't get into the catacombs to check on you as the Brisker's Cove bowl was broken in the latest Krolvin raids... Please come home to us. Please. Your plan for Bristena worked; she told me of it when I returned. The girls are free, but where are you? I'm going to hide my piece until it can unite with yours. Please be safe, be careful." A soft sigh blends with the ending resonance of your song. Your voice draws forth only silence at first. Time passes, measured in distant echoes. Footsteps sound too far to name, and faint shifts in the air come and go with no purpose. Old wood creaks softly where it meets damp stone. Dust settles in the seams, and salt from the sea clings to the surface. Years drift by without notice. Then, without warning, fingers press along your edges. There is a pause, a breath held just beyond hearing, and the tile feels the careful pry of something firm beneath it. A clamor of voices overlaps with each other until they blend into the fading sound of your song.

06.13.2025

a salt-stained blue leather ledger

Ledger from Niima's Temple Catacombs

a salt-stained blue leather ledger
Bound in navy blue leather, the ledger bears clear signs of repair. Patches of mismatched hide reinforce the spine and corners, and thin linen cords hold the bindings tight. Though worn smooth with age, the cover still holds the faint imprint of Niima's shell crest, long faded by handling. The pages inside are slightly bowed from moisture, but the ink has held well. Each year occupies a single page, the writing steady and small.
4816 Tidy dates and notations for each month in 4816 are aligned neatly along the inner margin. Notes reference standard morning and mid-tide services, with modest attendance throughout the year. Several deaths at sea are marked during Phoenatos and Imaerasta. There are mentions of a small fishing vessel lost in late Charlatos, and a new lantern donated by a widow named Hessa. The last quarter shows increased visits near Solstice. 4817 Entries for 4817 remain even and uneventful. Most notes concern basin cleaning, donation handling, and ribbon replenishment. Storms in Lumnea and Koaratos disrupted service for several days. A merchant's wife is mentioned repeatedly for leaving folded prayers in the offering box. One record notes an unusual number of gulls gathered at the altar during a fogbound service, marked simply with, "observed by three." 4818 Standard service records dominate the page, with annotations in blue ink appearing during spring. One comment in the margin reads, "New basin stone fitted. Shell inlay cracked but held." Three names repeat throughout the year: a retired sailor, a midwife from Marshtown, and a girl recorded only as "A.M." Several deaths at sea appear again in Eorgaen. Coastal offerings increase during the fall months. 4819 The 4819 entries continue in a narrow hand, with an unusual number of weddings noted between Charlatos and Ivastaen. Ribbons tied at the altar outnumber funerary entries this year. A brief note in Phoenatos mentions a fisherman's body returned after fifteen tides. Repairs to the vestibule door are recorded in Koaratos. A delivery of hymnals is documented without name, signed only with "N.L." 4820 Attendance patterns remain steady throughout 4820. Notations of storm disruptions in Fashanos and Koaratos are followed by increased evening services during those months. One brief note in Charlatos mentions a girl from the lower quarter beginning "training for vow," though no name is listed. Seasonal surges continue, with quiet months between. A salt-caked page corner suggests the ledger was left open during a sea spray. 4821 Small, precise entries for 4821 follow the pattern of prior years. Services remained regular, with additional rites held after a coastal storm in Charlatos. A recurring visitor is listed only as "shell-bearer" during spring months. Repairs to the west garden wall are noted in Lumnea. One entry in Eorgaen records, "child left driftwood figure at basin, no adult nearby." The handwriting becomes slightly sharper near the year's end. 4822 The year opened with colder winds and reduced attendance through Lormesta. One note in Fashanos records an elderly priestess slipping on the altar steps, resulting in no injury. Minor construction is logged in Ivastaen: "stone bench repositioned, foundation settled uneven." Gulls are again noted during a fog-heavy morning service. No deaths at sea are marked for Koaratos, which is noted as rare by the author. Extra hymn practice is recorded for Imaerasta. 4823 Faint ink along the top edge shows early signs of moisture, but the page remains legible. Most entries follow the standard pattern. A sailor's wedding in Phoenatos brought increased attendance for several days. Someone left a carved shell token in the basin and returned each week through Jastatos. No name was ever recorded. One funeral in Eoantos references burial in the lower catacomb row, name lost to smudging. Elenne's name begins to appear more frequently. 4824 Ledger entries remain orderly. Elenne is noted as presiding over full services during three major seasonal observances. A short entry in Imaerasta reads, "saltwater damaged two hymnals, copies made by hand." Several deaths at sea were recorded across Phoenatos and Jastatos. A recurring note of "candles late" appears without clarification. Winter quarter shows an increased number of widows seeking individual prayer times, as marked by initials only. 4825 The writing becomes slightly more compact along this page, possibly due to a change in hand. Services are held regularly with minor disruptions caused by harbor traffic. One early Charlatos entry reads, "path blocked by hauling rig, services delayed." Garden growth noted as "vigorous" in Lumnea. An unnamed girl from Marshtown began regular cleaning duties in midyear. Entries suggest her presence became routine, though her name is not yet recorded. Several pages show signs of ash smudging near the bottom corner. 4826 Ledger entries remain narrow and consistent. Regular service records dominate the page, with a note in Ivastaen reading, "two hymnals lost to mildew, one copied by hand." The girl from Marshtown is noted more frequently, assisting with basin preparation and entry sweeping. Elenne is recorded as leading nearly all rites this year. In Koaratos, a sailor's wife donated wax and twine following her husband's return from the reefs. 4827 A colder year, with notations of light frost in Charlatos and a decline in visitors during the first quarter. The Marshtown girl is listed by initials for the first time: "A.L.". She appears often in notes tied to daily upkeep and chant transcription. Elenne requested additional salt deliveries from the quay, suggesting higher ritual use. A short record in Imaerasta reads, "boy returned with offering candle for sister." His name is not recorded, but the action repeats in later months. 4828 Ink across this page is slightly lighter but consistent. Notes describe steady attendance and quiet observances throughout the year. "A.L." continues to serve regularly and is mentioned copying seasonal verses. A new basin cloth was donated by a widow in Phoenatos. Calen Wynedowne is noted briefly in Koaratos as assisting with deliveries. In Eorgaen, a child is recorded as tying sea glass to the offering pole, noted without comment. 4829 The handwriting tightens slightly, with some changes in wording structure. "A.L." is listed as leading chants during two minor observances. A service disruption is recorded in Charlatos: "work crew halted access to west path." Garden repairs resumed in Ivastaen, with the stone bench noted as "settled, but now cracking." Calen Wynedowne is marked present on three service dates. Elenne's name appears as usual, though one note mentions "shortness of breath in colder months." 4830 Entries shift slightly in tone this year, with more detailed notations. "A.L." is no longer referenced only by initials. Her name appears as Aralinne, recorded assisting with vespers and receiving permission to copy the coastal prayers. Elenne continues to lead services throughout. In Fashanos, a marked entry reads: "Calen Wynedowne departed aboard the Drowned Boar." A note in Imaerasta logs the visit of the High Priestess from Selanthia. Garden notes cease after Koaratos, likely due to early construction of the new temple. 4831 Entries are steady, with services held regularly in the newly expanded chapel. The original altar remains in partial use during evening observances. Aralinne is recorded as leading chants and maintaining basin duties throughout the year. A note in Charlatos reads, "Calen returned, left shell at east bench." Additional visitors marked in Phoenatos. Several Kannalan hymn fragments reviewed in Jastatos, with Aralinne listed as transcriber. No disruptions recorded. 4832 Observances continue without interruption. Aralinne is noted frequently in preparation tasks, seasonal cleanings, and the transcription of coastal rites. One record in Koaratos reads, "private service held for three widows." Increased taper use recorded in Imaerasta. No name given, but a new assistant is mentioned briefly in Lumnea. Aralinne's duties expand across multiple entries. The final note of the year: "attendance steady; records filed." 4833 Standard notations occupy most of the year. Aralinne continues in her role, listed alongside Elenne for all major observances. Her name appears independently in entries for dusk services and catacomb visits. One summer note mentions, "garden basin cleared and refilled under Aralinne's guidance." No major incidents. Early signs of leadership transition appear in Eoantos, though no formal statement is recorded. The garden bench is listed as worn, but stable. 4834 Charlatos begins with a formal entry: "Calen Wynedowne and Aralinne joined in marriage, witnessed before first bell at east altar." Both continue in regular attendance. Aralinne is recorded as leading evening services and overseeing hymn preservation efforts. Her handwriting begins to appear in later entries. Koaratos notes her inclusion in guild correspondence. The final entry in Eorgaen lists: "preparations for early solstice rites under Aralinne." 4835 Year begins quietly. Aralinne is now noted as officiating several services in early Fashanos. In Jastatos, a central entry reads: "Elenne passed peacefully in the night, fifth day of Jastatos." Her name does not appear again. Subsequent entries mark Aralinne presiding over full rites. One note reads, "transition marked with coastal hymn, basin blessing unchanged." Calen continues to appear sporadically. The final entry of the year reads: "chapel remains steady under Aralinne's care."

a small salt-stained journal

Aralinne's Journal from Niima's Temple Catacombs

a small salt-stained journal
Bound in salt-stained suede, the small journal shows signs of frequent handling. The edges of the cover have curled slightly, and faint salt residue clings to the seams. Interior pages are swollen from moisture, and many are warped or stuck together. Ink bleeds across several leaves, though a few entries remain legible. The faint scent of mildew and brine lingers between the covers.
1st day of Lormesta, 4830 The new year began in silence. No sun showed at dawn, only a pale mist rolling over the port that settled in the alleys and gutters. We opened the chapel doors late this morning. A thin crust of salt had gathered again on the threshold. Mother Elenne asked me to polish the lamp basin and check our remaining wax. She said that if the year is to bring anything, let it be steadiness. I scrubbed the copper too hard and bent the rim along one edge. She noticed but said nothing. After the evening bell, I stayed to copy the coastal prayer. My ink bled in the cold, and my fingers would not hold the quill straight. The letters blurred near the bottom of the page. I will try again tomorrow. The gulls have returned early this year. Their cries sound sharper than I remember. Faint ink marks show a date in the top right corner, though the precise date is difficult to decipher. There is an impression of repeated script beneath the date, but the parchment is too warped to decipher much of its contents. Only a few words remain distinguishable near the bottom: "...salt left from the..." "...sleeves wet from the basin..." "...ribbon placed before bell..." 16th day of Fashanos, 4830 A merchant visited the chapel yesterday. He introduced himself as Vartrien and said he represented the Mercantile Guild. His boots were polished, but they slipped on the chapel stones. He smelled faintly of tallow and wine. He spoke with Elenne behind the altar rail. I only heard part of what was said... something about extending the outer walls, adding a foyer and foyer, and pulling stone from the cliff quarry. He did not ask about the altar or the basin. Before leaving, he placed a coin in the offering basin. It was heavier than most and bore the Guild's seal. Elenne closed the doors earlier than usual and asked me to boil the cloth and clean the entry stone. She did not speak again until morning prayers. After the bell, I copied half of the sea-born hymn. I still mix the second and third lines. The gulls circled loudly over the garden. They did not land. Humidity has irrevocably damaged this page of the journal. The faint impression of a coastal flower leaves a colored stain in the center of the page. Ink bleeds across the fibers, blending so completely that all writing is beyond recognition. 3rd day of Charlatos, 4830 Rain began early and found its way in through the northern window joint again. A track of droplets marked the covers of three hymnals before I noticed. I dried them the best I could and set them near the basin to air. Mother Elenne told me I might be ready to take the vesper reading next month. I said I would do my best, though my voice still shakes when the wind comes hard off the bay. A boy from the shipyard arrived just before first bell. He brought a candle for his sister and did not speak. He nodded once and placed it on the old bench near the shell altar. It burned quickly and left a streak of wax on the wood. After evening prayers, I copied the saltwater blessing again. I continue to forget the fourth line. I will practice it aloud tomorrow when the chapel is empty. 12th day of Olaesta, 4830 The salted fog held all morning. The bells could barely be heard from the quay, and the floor stayed damp long after I wiped it. The gulls were quiet today, though I saw them gather on the breakwall at dusk. Mother Elenne allowed me to lead the midday verses. I stumbled on the refrain but kept pace. She gave no correction afterward, which I think was kindness. I will ask her to let me try again next week. The Guildman has not returned, but I saw carts from the upper quarry moving past the garden path. One of the workers spat too close to the basin. I scrubbed the stone clean before closing the gate. 27th day of Ivastaen, 4830 The High Priestess arrived again, as expected. She comes every five months, though she avoids Charlatos and Lormesta because she does not like to travel in cold weather. This time, she brought only one attendant and a thick letter sealed in white wax. She asked after the basin and walked the outer path twice before speaking. I do not know why she finds our grounds so peculiar. She always looks longer at the walls than at the altar. She complimented the order of the garden, though I had not yet swept. Her words are even and pleasant, but her eyes are always searching. I do not think she comes only for worship. Moisture has warped the page outward from the center, and a small flower is pressed into the parchment. Once white, its petals have turned a pale yellow. The edges have melted into the fibers over time, leaving a faint outline and a darker stain beneath. Ink has bled into the margins, but a few lines remain legible: "He brought it with both hands." "Said it grew from the rocks near the basin." "It smelled faintly of salt and rosemary." Written near the bottom corner, in a careful hand: Calen 9th day of Lumnea, 4830 Calen came again just after midday. He did not knock, only waited near the side path until I saw him. He brought a bloom, he said he found growing from a crack in the harbor wall. I told him it would not last, but he said that was fine. He stayed long enough to watch me refill the basin, then left without saying more. I placed the flower in the back of the book, where I thought it would keep. It did not. Mother Elenne has begun sorting the storeroom shelves again. I do not know where she plans to move everything, but she said we may have to share with the masons soon. I do not think she approves. 2nd day of Koaratos, 4830 Rumors continue about the Guild's plans, but nothing official has been posted. One of the stone counters in the garden cracked under the weight of a builder's crate. They said it would be replaced, but no one has returned to measure. The High Priestess's letter is still sealed. Elenne has not opened it, though she moved it twice. I think she is waiting for another message, or perhaps the Guildman himself. A blue gull feather was left on the altar after the second bell. No one saw who brought it. I placed it in the ribbon box, away from the salt. 13th day of Koaratos, 4830 The stone bench in the garden has been replaced. I was not told it would happen, but when I stepped out to light the sea taper this morning, it was there. Rosewood, newly finished and still carrying the scent of cut shavings. The legs are slightly uneven, but the surface is smooth. Elenne said one of the sailors had it made for his wife. She is the one who always sits near the roses and watches the harbor light. She wept when the bench cracked beneath the masons' crate. I am glad it was rebuilt. Ink has lifted across most of the page, leaving behind only faint strokes and a few recognizable shapes. The top third is nearly blank, and the lower margin is warped from long exposure to damp air. Visible along the center fold, in pale ink, are snatches of the original message. "...asked if it would still be the same chapel..." "...carried the basin water out into the garden..." "...song lines lost in the stone dust..." 5th day of Phoenatos, 4830 Construction has begun. Dust rises even before the first bell. The builders come early and eat beside the garden wall. I do not know how they leave the crumbs behind, but the gulls are clearly happy about it. Mother Elenne and I have moved our sleeping mats into the chapel itself. There is no space left in the quarters, not since the back wall was taken down. She said it is temporary, but we must keep everything folded and out of sight during services. She reminded me that we are not bound by silence or separation, only by devotion and clarity of intent. Then she looked at me and said, "Even your Calen would agree." I nearly dropped the basin ladle. 16th day of Phoenatos, 4830 Calen returned with an oilskin pouch and handed it to me without speaking. Inside was a cloth wrapped around several dry biscuits and a folded slip of sea-blue ribbon. He said he heard the workers had overrun our stores and that I was likely too polite to complain. I thanked him, but could not find the right words. Elenne watched from the entryway. Later, she only asked if I had shared them. The builders left stone dust across the floor again. I swept until my arms ached, but it returned before the evening bell. It finds every crack. 28th day of Phoenatos, 4830 The High Priestess will return in Jastatos. Elenne received a note today. No seal this time, only a clean fold and pressed script. She read it twice, then tucked it into the ledger without comment. I asked if she thought the Guildman would be here as well. She said most likely, and that the two had likely been speaking for longer than we realized. She did not sound surprised or pleased. The rosewood bench has already dulled to a greyish tone. I tried wiping it with a damp cloth, but the color does not return. Still, the sailor's wife came today and stayed for the whole of the afternoon light. She did not speak. Only watched the water and smiled. 7th day of Imaerasta, 4830 The scaffolding now reaches above the garden wall. Boards cast a grid of shadow over the roses during morning light. One of the masons said that the new walls will block the ocean view. I had not thought of that until now. If the wall rises the way they say it will, the garden will face stone, not sea. Elenne was not surprised when I told her. She only said, "It's easier to worship what you can see than what you must remember." I wonder if the sound of the tide will carry once the last wall is raised. 18th day of Imaerasta, 4830 Mist held long into the afternoon. We lit the lamps early and brought the linens in before the sea air reached them. The dust hangs longer in the stillness. Word came that Yenterreth of the Marshtown passed in her sleep. She was one of the spirit women, always with a ribbon in her sleeve and saltwater on her boots. I remember her from before I came to live with Elenne. She called me bird girl and once gave me a braid of kelp twine. She will be interred below with the others. I carried the notice down to the stone chamber myself. Much of the page has faded due to moisture, but several phrases remain readable: "...could see the harbor lantern from the bench..." "...ribbons tied to the low branches removed..." "...the sound of chisel work does not pause for prayer..." Smudged ink across the lower edge shows where the page was touched before drying. 3rd day of Jastatos, 4830 The High Priestess arrived just after midday. She wore a dove-colored cloak and had her hair in three loops at her crown. Guildman Vartrien stood beside her beneath the scaffolding. They did not speak during the service, but both stayed until the end. Afterward, they walked the garden with Elenne. I followed at a distance, gathering petals. I overheard them speak of creating a fresco in Niima's likeness upon the foyer wall. The High Priestess said the space would command presence. No one mentioned the old altar. I swept around it that night, as a kind of apology. 15th day of Jastatos, 4830 A whisper has spread through the workers. One of the cart drivers said the Krolvin have been seen in Brisker's Cove. No one knows if it's true, but another said the harbor patrol was doubled this week. Elenne said we cannot shape our prayers to rumors. Still, she lit the tall tapers during evening service and left them burning until the last shadow faded from the stones. Calen has not returned since the rains began. I keep the ribbon he gave me in my prayer book. It smells faintly of rosemary, even now. 4th day of Eoantos, 4830 Elenne asked me to begin clearing the small office beside the catacombs. She said it was time someone sorted through what remains. I believe she means for me to be occupied, as Calen has not returned. She does not ask after him directly, but she notices when I forget the dusting cloth or leave the lamp wick too low. The office is colder than I remembered. The walls sweat even when the wind is dry. I found a bundle of records tied with frayed cord, and a shelf of ledgers warped from years of damp. None have dates newer than 4816. I lit a taper and marveled that its flame didn't waver. The air is rather stale. 12th day of Eoantos, 4830 Stacks of papers have begun to soften and fall apart as I move them. Some pages peel away like onion skin. Others are stuck together with mildew at the corners. There is no order left in the ledgers. Elenne gave me vinegar water to scrub the stone and showed me how to dry the parchments without tearing the ink. Her hands are steadier than mine, but she let me try alone today. No one has asked about the office in years. I wonder if anyone will again once the new temple is complete. Several blotches stretch across the center of the page, caused by ink pressed while wet. Words are smudged and fingerprints mar the lower half. Only a few lines are clear: "...wrote his name on the margin and folded it..." "...did not want to ask him not to go..." "...the sea calls more surely than words ever could..." 21st day of Eoantos, 4830 Word came that Calen has signed on with a deep-sea vessel. No one knows the name, only that it sails past the Shoals and will be gone past spring. Elenne said nothing when I told her. She simply handed me another cloth and said, "Salt dries slower than tears." I think she meant it kindly. The basin water felt colder today, though the air was still. When I poured it over the shell altar, I thought of the wives who stand at our threshold with wet sleeves and silent mouths. I begin to understand why they come. Not for answers, but for nearness. 1st day of Eorgaen, 4830 The sound of hammers has quieted. Most of the scaffolding has come down. The stones above the chapel are now smooth and white, with carved lines I cannot name. I finished dusting the office and folded what remained of the ledgers. Several were too damaged to save. Elenne said I may stack them in the catacombs for burning later, though I kept two that still held their shape. Calen's ribbon rests between the pages of one. I did not mean to place it there. It simply felt right. 19th day of Eorgaen, 4830 We moved into the new quarters today. The walls are smooth, and the ceiling curves slightly like the hull of a ship turned over. My mat fits beneath the small window, though it does not face the sea. Elenne set our candles on the narrow sill and arranged her ledgers in the cabinet with care. She has not said whether she likes the new space, but she wiped the sill twice before speaking. I kept the basin cloth. It still smells faintly of rosemary and ink. 31st day of Eorgaen, 4830 Year-end bells rang before the harbor mist had cleared. The garden is smaller now, and the altar no longer sees the ocean, but the salt wind still finds its way between the stones. I watched from the upper stairs as the tide turned. For a moment, I imagined Calen leaning over the rail of whatever vessel he's found. I do not know where he sailed, or what wind carried him out, only that the thought of him still returns like breath. I folded a ribbon into the base of the old ledger. Some things are easier to keep when hidden. 1st day of Lormesta, 4831 The High Priestess arrived at midday. She wore fur-lined gloves and spoke briefly before entering the new sanctum. Her words were softer this time. She said the white stone caught light well and that the new foyer had "clean weight." She did not linger. Elenne bowed but did not speak. I spent the rest of the day sorting a box of old hymn fragments. Some were written in Kannalan, though I can only read the titles. I have set two aside in hopes that someone might help me translate them. 3rd day of Lormesta, 4831 Calen returned today. He stood by the garden gate and waited until I saw him. He did not wave. Only smiled, the kind of smile that asks without needing an answer. I brought him a cup of water, and we sat in the shadow of the old chapel. He said nothing of the voyage, and I did not ask. I watched his hands as he spoke of the harbor and the wind near the reefs. He has a sun mark on his left wrist now, just above the bone. When he left, he pressed a shell into my palm. It was smooth and unbroken. 5th day of Lormesta, 4831 I do not know if he missed me. I do not know if he meant to see me or only came to the chapel as he once did. Still, I thought of him each time the tide turned. I imagined the shape of his boat against the horizon, wondering if he looked for birds or counted the ways salt settles into cloth. The shell he gave me rests beneath the old candle box. I did not tell Elenne. I have finished copying the Kannalan refrain. The words feel older than stone, but they sing cleanly when read aloud.

a faded off-white vellum

Letter to Aralinna from Tagetes

a faded off-white vellum

22 Fashanos 4839 Hi Aralinne, You are going to sputter when you read this, but I found something I think might actually help. I've been haunting the lower rooms of the Rest's old archive, the one that smells like mushrooms and lamp oil, and you would not believe the number of ledgers that don't even belong there. Some trader scribbled a note in the margin of a shipping contract, and I have no idea why, about a Hermit of Charl. Not a priest. Not a sailor. A hermit. The strange part is, he wasn't written about like some bedraggled man on a rock. He had followers. Or at least people who carried his words. The note said he held something powerful, something that could "turn back the tide and lay bare the seabed, if placed with care and faith at the high edge." That's what it actually said. The relic doesn't have a name, which is frustrating, but it is always connected to cliffs or high ridges. I spent the last two days chasing the reference backward, and I think it's Kannalan. Most of the names line up with the way they spell things when they want to make them sound more official. The good stuff always hides behind fancy lettering. Anyway, I asked around, and there's a guide here who knows the Karazja ruins. He's agreed to take me inland starting next week. I'll be careful. I promise. But if I'm right, that relic might still be out there. Imagine what it would mean if we could part the sea. More soon, Tagetes P.S. Tell Marris not to let the acolytes into the tide closet again. I know it was them. The shells were rearranged. Again.

Seaborne Hymnal

Loose Papers from the Office in Nima's Temple Catacombs

a thread-edged faded parchment

Parchment the color of drifted sand bears faded blue script in a careful, even hand. The edges have frayed into soft waves, and the lower corner is discolored where dampness clings to the page. A watermark in the upper left shows a simple wave crest superimposed over a scallop shell. Salt has left faint flecks across the surface, and one line of ink has bled slightly with age. Despite wear, the script remains fully legible, framed by a border of pressed gull feathers and hand-tied seasilk thread. In the Common language, it reads: Instructions for the Seaborne Hymnal To be spoken daily, often at morning tide or before the first sail departs. The Seaborne Hymnal is a spoken blessing offered to all who live by the rhythm of the sea. It honors those who make their living from its bounty, those who voyage upon it, and those who wait at its edge. The ritual is led by a priestess and joined by those gathered, using a call and response pattern. It is not sung, but spoken clearly, with steadiness and intent. There are no physical offerings required. However, each response is accompanied by a hand gesture to mark the tide's reach and the release of prayer. The priestess stands facing the gathered. Congregants may form a semicircle or remain as they are, whether in chapel or along the shore. The ritual may be performed indoors or outdoors, provided the sea is visible or near. At each response, the right hand is placed palm-down over the heart, then extended outward, fingers spread as if forming the crest of a wave. This gesture is slow and deliberate. At the final line, the gesture is held outward a moment longer before lowering the hand. The hymnal is: Priestess: Who wakes with the wind and walks with the tide? Congregation (with gesture): Those with the sea in their soul. Priestess: Who casts the net and bears the storm? Congregation (with gesture): Those with the sea in their soul. Priestess: Who waits at the window and sings to the dark? Congregation (with gesture): Those with the sea in their soul. Priestess: Who names the stars and trusts the wave? Congregation (with gesture): Those with the sea in their soul. Priestess: Bless those who leave and those who remain. Bless those who labor and those who pray. Bless those who remember. Congregation (final gesture): And those who return no more. The rite is complete after the final line. There is no need for benediction. Let silence follow for a breath or two before the next act begins.

Ribbon Vigil

Loose Papers from the Office in Nima's Temple Catacombs

a watermarked pearly white parchment

Faint mildew spots darken the four corners of the parchment, which has a pearly white finish created by the waxy finished worked into its fibers. An azure watermark of a scallop shell superimposed over cresting waves can be seen beneath the indigo ink that spread across its surface. In the Common language, it reads: The Ribbon Vigil is a quiet, sacred tradition observed by sailors and their loved ones before voyages that lead them beyond the protection of the bay. It is deeply personal, often unspoken, and performed in silence atop the temple's Widow's Walk. The rite is not scheduled by the temple, nor does it require direct guidance, but all priestesses, acolytes, and attending staff should understand its nature and how to offer quiet support when needed. The vigil begins when a sailor and a significant companion, whether spouse, sibling, friend, or beloved, ascending to the rooftop of the temple. Together, they bring a ribbon, which may be carried openly or hidden in the hand, sleeve, or pocket until the moment it is needed. Upon reaching the rail that faces the open sea, they tie the ribbon to the ironwork together. There is no formal color or material required. While many choose white, blue, or sea green, others may bring a scrap of sailcloth or a woven charm. The meaning lies in the bond, not the fiber. No spoken words are required, though some murmur names or prayers as the knot is tied. The act itself is the offering. It binds the hope of return between two people and entrusts that bond to the sea. At times, when a ship is long overdue or the sea has turned cruel, the one who remained ashore may return to the Widow's Walk alone. There, they loosen the knot they once tied. The ribbon is not taken down but left slack in the wind. This act is a plea to Niima, asking her to seek the one who has not come home. It is believed that if the ribbon is taken by the wind and reaches the sea, Niima will find the sailor and guide them to safety. That safety may not bring them home to Solhaven, but it will bring them to a shore. If the ribbon tangles, falls, or clings to the stone, some believe it is a sign that the soul it represents has already passed from Niima's reach. Temple staff must not disturb those who come to perform this rite. Acolytes may observe from a distance and quietly light a sea taper at the stairwell when a ribbon loosening is witnessed. The gesture is enough to mark the moment. Comfort should be offered gently, without promise or correction. Never assure a safe return. Instead, remind them that Niima knows every name whispered to the tide and that no soul is ever truly lost to her. Ribbons left on the Widow's Walk should be observed weekly. Those that have clearly loosened and not flown may be carefully removed and burned in a salt-fire by the priestess or her assistant. This should be done with solemnity and without comment, allowing the sea to receive what it could not carry. Priestesses may speak of the vigil during public blessings, particularly on days when many ships prepare to depart. However, no individual should be named or pointed to. Let the ribbon be a silent prayer, seen by the sea and felt by those who wait.

Song of Return

Loose Papers from the Office in Nima's Temple Catacombs

a worn and faded scrap of vellum

In the Common language, it reads: Song of Return A blessing for safe voyage and reunion Go forth with the tide and return with the swell, Let the waves bear you gently, where ever you dwell. May your sails know the whisper, not the wail of the sea, And the stars hold your course where your heart longs to be. Let the wind be your witness, the foam be your guide, Let the deep pass beneath you and never divide. By the light of Niima, by the calm of her grace, May your path find the harbor, your soul find its place. Those who love you will wait with the shore in their eyes, Watching dawn rise in silence and dusk fill the skies. So go forth with the tide and return with the swell, You are known to the sea, and she knows you well.

Saltwater Blessing

Loose Papers from the Office in Nima's Temple Catacombs

a an azure-tinted and waxed ivory vellum

The Saltwater Blessing To be performed at the start of each day and before any service that opens the temple doors to those in need. Begin the Saltwater Blessing before the tide bells. The basin must be clean, dry, and still. Saltwater is to be drawn at dawn, and it must come from a living source. Water taken from a canal or well is not suitable. If the sea cannot be reached due to weather or flood, postpone the ritual. Light a sea taper in its place and record the reason with care. The acolyte assisting you should stand to the left of the basin. Instruct her to place both hands on the rim and begin to turn it slowly in a clockwise motion. This movement must remain steady and deliberate. The spiral that forms at the center of the water represents the cycle we serve: cleansing, healing, prayer, and return. You will pour the saltwater into the basin as it turns. Keep the vessel low and the stream even. Pour as the tide pours, without haste and without pause. Do not speak until the water touches the basin. As the water flows, recite the blessing aloud: Salt drawn from tide, gift of the sea, Wash clean these hands, this heart, this hour. Heal what is broken, quiet what clings, Let all who pass find peace in thee. In Niima's name, let the water remember mercy, and the sea cradle what we cannot carry. When the blessing is complete, step back and allow the basin to settle. Do not stir the water again unless it has been fouled. Each person who enters the chapel should approach the basin. Some will speak, others will not. It is not your task to correct their silence. If they ask what to say, teach them this: Salt and sea, carry this from me. At day's end, empty the basin unless the tide is near enough to reclaim it directly. Never let water stand overnight. Do not allow the salt to cloud or crust. If the sea cannot receive it, return it to the earth with reverence. The blessing is working when even the restless linger at the threshold.

Elenne's (?) Papers

Loose Papers from the Office in Nima's Temple Catacombs

a pale slip of vellum bearing a rust-tinged watermark
Rust-toned watermarks bloom across the lower half of the parchment, forming uneven, organic shapes. The ink has faded but remains legible throughout. The surface is rough to the touch, with several shallow indentations along the right margin, as if pressed against the corner of a writing board. Mild mildew spotting is visible near the top, and the parchment carries a faint metallic scent. In the Common language, it reads: 15th day of Fashanos, 4830 Master Vartrien of the Mercantile Guild visited the chapel before midday service. He spoke of expanding the grounds and building a larger temple to better serve Solhaven's growing population. I reminded him that the chapel predates the coastal road and holds its own rhythm. He seemed unconcerned but polite. Left a coin marked with the Guild's seal in the basin. I placed it with the others and marked his visit in the side register.
a raw-edged and water-spotted page
Uneven edges suggest this piece was torn hastily from a larger sheet. Faint ruling marks hint at its origin in a ledger or bound volume. A diagonal streak of indigo ink mars the surface, likely transferred from damp contact with another page. Most letters remain legible, though a few near the top right have blurred. Mildew traces the lower edge, and the parchment carries the scent of damp stone and old wax. In the Common language, it reads: 17th day of Lumnea, 4830 Widow Carlan returned today, still unable to bear the final words. Her husband was taken last autumn in the reef churn near a southern cay. It has been added to our charts. I gave her the ledger entry of his loss to hold and read aloud as part of the Benediction for Final Rest. She left a net of white knotted cord, said it was the last he made, but did not stay. I've placed it on the altar before the midday rites. As a note, fog rolled in not long after service, and only three stayed for evening psalms.
a salt-ringed scrap of curled parchment
In the Common language, it reads: 2nd day of Ivastaen, 4831 Three fisher wives from the southern quay came before the early bells. Their husbands sail north this season, past Glaoveln's reach. Each requested prayer and sat quietly through the morning hymn. I gave silver ribbons to bind with their kerchiefs and lit the sea taper for calm waters. The chapel was nearly full by midmorning, though many arrived late, likely due to the spring fog that clung to the harbor paths.
a ink-streaked torn vellum sheet
Uneven edges suggest this piece was torn hastily from a larger sheet. Faint ruling marks hint at its origin in a ledger or bound volume. A diagonal streak of indigo ink mars the surface, likely transferred from damp contact with another page. Most letters remain legible, though a few near the top right have blurred. Mildew traces the lower edge, and the parchment carries the scent of damp stone and old wax. In the Common language, it reads: 29th day of Koaratos, 4832 Two merchant wives came bearing cloth bundles for the shrine. Each held swaddled sea stones tied with bits of silk, blue and pale. They asked no questions, gave no names. I placed the stones in the vessel below the sanctum basin and poured saltwater as they requested. Both stayed for the midday chant, though neither sang. After, they left through the garden gate without speaking further. I noted no marking on the silk. I hope they found comfort.
a mold-speckled soft parchment note
Softened by age and wear, the edges of the parchment curl inward, and pale mold speckling appears across the lower third of the sheet. A faint line suggests it was once folded and tucked into a ledger or personal book. The ink remains legible but has lightened near the corners. Moisture warping has created a slight upward curl in the body, and the parchment carries the scent of aged paper and damp wool. In the Common language, it reads: 3rd day of Eorgaen, 4832 Widow Ellin came before the first bell and asked to sit in the quiet. She brought a folded scrap of ribbon from her husband's net bag and said she'd found it behind a dresser while cleaning for winter. I lit the sea taper and left her undisturbed while preparing the outer basin. She stayed through first prayers, then rose and placed the ribbon beneath the shell altar. She asked for no words today, but returned a missing bench cushion before leaving.
a smudged and warped journal page
Uneven ripples in the parchment surface indicate long exposure to moisture. Several pale smudges appear along the right margin, likely left by ink-stained fingers. Fading is most visible at the top, though the handwriting remains legible throughout. A faint scent of old wool and oil clings to the fibers. Abrasions across the back suggest the page rested for some time against a coarse surface. In the Common language, it reads: 7th day of Charlatos, 4833 Three girls from Marshtown arrived just after first bell. None had formal instruction, but all carried the tunes well enough to follow the second line. We worked them through the basin hymn and the low chorus of the coastal prayer. They were assigned tunics from the eldest priestess, who sent them to scrub before vespers. We will continue twice weekly with them. If they remain steady, they may be ready for the Midyear Blessing. We've noted their names in the side book.
a creased parchment page
Creases stretch diagonally across the page, likely from folding while still damp. Several ink lines have run downward from the upper half, creating faint trails along the grain. Edges have darkened with age, and water damage has left a soft waviness across the surface. Handwriting remains legible, though uneven in places. The scent of mildew is stronger here, with a faint trace of fish oil soaked into one corner. In the Common language, it reads: 23rd day of Imaerasta, 4834 Fleets pushed off beneath a red sky this evening. Wind held warm along the rise, and I watched from the upper path as the sails moved out past the bay mouth. I counted twenty-seven before I lost the line. I wrote their names as I remembered them, though some are just family names passed around. We did not ring the bell, but kept the flame lit through dusk. Sunset lingered long enough to finish the basin cleaning by natural light.
an ink-blotched paper fragment
Near the lower edge, signs of delamination are evident where prolonged exposure to moisture has lifted the parchment fibers. Ink blotches cover the upper left corner, though the writing beneath remains legible. Faint blue guidelines run horizontally across the surface, now nearly faded from view. All corners are softened from repeated handling, while the light scent of damp plaster and crushed chalk clings to the page. In the Common language, it reads: 18th day of Ivastaen, 4835 Workers paused their efforts near the east colonnade due to a broken pulley. Several wandered into the chapel while the foreman spoke with a guild agent outside. One left a handful of copper on the basin rim. I noted no offering ribbon, but took it with the rest before lighting the salt lamp. Held afternoon prayers with two elders and one child. No hymn today. Breezes through the north wall joints have grown stronger since the scaffolding went up.

a jute-strung seashell necklace suspending a sapphire dolphin

Necklace Found in Nima's Temple Catacombs

a jute-strung seashell necklace suspending a sapphire dolphin
It is a small item, under a pound. It is estimated to be worth about 100 silvers. It is predominantly crafted of organic material.

a discolored albatross feather quill

Quill Found in Nima's Temple Catacombs

a discolored albatross feather quill
It is a small item, under a pound. It is estimated to be worth about 30,000 silvers. It is predominantly crafted of organic material.

a faded off-white letter

Letter from Tagetes to Aralinne

a faded off-white letter

18 Charlatos 4839 Hi Aralinne, I found it. Or at least, half of it. It wasn't hidden exactly, more like forgotten. The locals knew about the ruins but never thought to poke around in them because they're mostly buried under vines and heavy stone. It took three days and a few close calls with hornets, but tucked behind a collapsed pillar I found a stone cradle. And in it, wrapped in sea-worn cloth, was a broken staff. I knew it as soon as I touched it. It smells like the shore and there's a hollow ring when you hold it upright. It's not made of anything I recognize, but it hasn't rotted or split, except where it broke in two. One half was resting in the cradle. The other, according to a tablet near the ruins, was sent to a temple of Charl along the cliffs. Which temple is the problem. There used to be dozens, all dotting the coastline, and many of them have fallen into the sea. The writing didn't say which. Just "to a brother's altar." I've wrapped and sealed the piece I found and sent it with this letter. I figured if anyone can figure out where the other part ended up, it's you. If we're right, and this thing really can part the water, maybe we can put the ship to rest. Maybe the girls will stop slipping away like the others have. I won't be back right away. I broke my leg two days ago trying to cross a ravine after a rainstorm. The guide helped set it but the nearest empath is still a few days out and I can't move far. I'll return as soon as I'm able, once I can walk without screaming. Hold the staff. Let me know what it feels like. All my strength, Tagetes P.S. Tell the boy not to put shells in the font again. It's not funny. Well, it is, but don't tell him that.