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the Brine King descended into the great abyss,
making merry while his blasphemous offspring
slithered 'neath the icy waters...
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Leave her be and we can only hope that she continues to return the favour.
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But please, know that you don't have to do this. Tarkleigh and I are getting used to having you around.
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Still, you've delivered this coast from the terrors that long held sway here. We may now find some respite and that's more than any of us could have hoped for.
But please... consider this. What have you become when even nightmares fear you?
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Pirates notwithstanding, I thank you on behalf of all the fallen brethren of the waves. Now that the final cadence has been played, no one need remember Merveil's song.
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Those butchering buccaneers sailed off that way, the ones that plundered my poor Merry Gull. T'would be poetic justice if they'd stopped off for a sing-a-long with Merveil's lovely daughters on their way home.
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I sang in her echo, performing arias that had once made the Empire weep. I listened to Kalisa's lullabies in my dreams. I gave myself to her music. Mind... and body.
Daresso left me, for Sarn, with a promise to free me from Kalisa. I begged him not to go. Tried to show him the wonder of my transformation, the beautiful daughters he would soon meet. He couldn't see. None of them could see. I fled from their hatred.
When Daresso returns I will cast his cure away. I will teach him what true love is.
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Although, it is possible that my wayward slave girl fell prey to one of Merveil's slithering progeny. If that be the case, you look resourceful enough to handle a tentacled wench or two. But if Merveil herself has my flame, be very wary. That necklace of hers provides the old siren with some subtle wiles indeed.
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But then she began to change. Her mind and body twisted, as did her songs. The sweetness remained while the sanity fled. Knowing what little I do about the powers that lie dormant here in Wraeclast, I'd surmise that if you have Merveil's necklace, you have the Siren's voice.
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A butcher he was, twice as big and twice as stupid as I. I butchered the butcher and many like him, earned my way, kill by kill, out of the offal pit and into the Grand Arena.
I thought I would find wealth and glory in the arena. I was wrong. I found something far more precious. My Lady Merveil.
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Instead, I saw her. Merveil. Her beautiful eyes met mine, and I knew that she saw me too. I turned my opponent's strike and killed the man with his own dagger.
Fighting had always been about survival. The primal instinct to kill or be killed. Now the fight became about something else. Love.
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I made him shiver under every parry, striking with all my might, so that my arms felt they might snap with every impact. All the while, I studied his face, watching for that moment when he began to doubt. It took an hour, but finally it was there.
Burning with pain, empty with exhaustion, I stepped inside his faltering swing and I slit the giant's throat.
I did not take my victory bow. I knelt in the sand, looked to Merveil, and cried out for my Lady's hand in marriage.
From that day forth, I wore the Crown of Swords upon my head and a ring of eternal love upon my finger.
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Vanja: Are we talking about {the} Daresso? The Sword King?
Petarus: Seems like it. But... how did he get in there? He left Oriath about a century and a half ago, hoping to find a cure for his lady, Merveil. He would have had to fight his way through the Maraketh, but... Oyun's never mentioned anything of the sort.
Vanja: Maybe he didn't go in alive.
Petarus: What do you mean?
Vanja: We live in a land where the dead walk and {things} like Dialla live for centuries.
Petarus: You think he died somewhere else and then the Beast got hold of him?
Vanja: Could be.
Petarus: Well, if the Beast can do that, then... what bloody good was Deshret's Seal?
Vanja: Exactly.
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But why is it there? You don't think that Merveil... Never! I won't even think it. No Roth would ever fall victim to that tentacled sea-hag. Weylam must be out there somewhere. Yeah, a castaway, that's it.
For now, you'll be after safe passage to the Brine King's Reef. And there ain't no ship going to get you there faster than the Black Crest. So, as the only Roth present and accounted for right now, I hereby give you permission to burn that flag in the Beacon. Might as well see if there's some truth in that old legend about it resurrecting the wrecks of Roths past... and, other less notable vessels.
Maybe when this is all done, I'll take back the Black Crest for meself and sail out in search of me grandfather. He's too hardy an old barnacle to kill, so he'll be out there, somewhere.
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Anyways, with the Brine King gone, you've done a fine thing for us seafarers. The waters won't no longer pander to the whim of an overgrown bloody crustacean, and damn me if I don't feel a stirring in me loins. It's the ocean, calling... like a lust-starved lover.
But for now, bugger it all, I'll be sticking about Lioneye's Watch until I get me a new ship. Nah, don't feel sorry for me. With me womanly wiles as sharp they are, I'll be having Tarkleigh help me pass the time, just you see.
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It's said he build it hisself, lining its hull with the bones of some great sea beast he slew with nothing but a harpoon and a bottle o' rum. Never was there a more nimble, more ferocious vessel. Like that leviathan's spirit still lived and breathed in its timbers.
No one's sighted Rot Tooth for twenty years or more, but I know where the Black Crest is. The Ship Graveyard, no less. Seems that Weylam Roth might have had his last meal with Lady Merveil.
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She talked of the Brine King, did she? Now there's a name what can trouble the breeches off even the most jaded of poets. Though Merveil might be dead, the sea still has its seductive songs, and this time it's a big, briny baritone doing the wailing.
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This... change... she's going through, this curse the so-called 'Brine King' has put on her... it can be broken. I know it!
You've got to keep going, follow her trail before it gets any colder. Make your way along the Coast, the Ship Graveyard, even Merveil's Cave if you must.
By my reckoning, this King's not the sort to venture far from his briny bed.
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In that case, you'll have to pass through Prisoner's Gate, follow the mountains, and make your way back to the sea by way of Merveil's Caverns.
From the sound of it, Nessa's in no condition to venture far from the coast, so she has to be around there somewhere.
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No, she's not one of us anymore, but at least she's not like Merveil either. Can't overlook a mercy like that. Who knows, perhaps Nessa is better off this way. Not like this is much of a home to come back to, anyway.
Look, I know you did what you could, and for that, you'll always have my thanks.
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Thought I could return to the golden days, you know? Be a terror of the high seas like in me youth. Problem was, they'd all forgotten me. Those young blighters sailing about, they had no clue who I even were! Figured if I could complete another great feat, like slaying that sea-bitch Merveil, maybe that'd earn me my respect back.
Arr, suppose I don't need to tell you; that girlie's stronger than she looks. All it took were one slip of the old hands and next I knew, the Black Crest were wrecked against the coast and I'm getting meself eaten alive by that hag.
Peeled each separate muscle from my bones, she did. I'll tell you, it weren't pretty.
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Before I was exiled, I was romantically involved with a man from a very good family. We kept it secret while he tested the waters with his mother and father -- it's not exactly ideal for the nobility to be fraternising with the 'uncouth', as they say. Less than a week before I was heaved overboard and my exile began in earnest, he proposed.
I know it's crazy, and I know it's almost certainly impossible, but I want so desperately to marry that man. Just taking his name would wash clean my past, and I know I could find happiness.
So I need a dress. When Merveil and Daresso wed, they held a most elaborate ceremony. Merveil was said to be the most beautiful visage ever to walk down the Basilica aisle. It took six people to carry the train on her dress. I want that dress. I need that dress. My beloved deserves to see me in that dress. So you're going to help me get it, got it?
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I appreciate your help on this matter. I'll add you to our invitees. No plus-ones.
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Thank you for your help, and your discretion. I'm keeping that dress, by the way. Lady Merveil's? That's mine now.
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No? Not a fan of the theatre, I suppose? That's-... That's fine. That act of my story has drawn to a close anyway, but I'm always looking for the next great role. Nothing's quite so thrilling as immersing oneself among the people, and seeing if you can, in fact, pass for the real deal.
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