Spirit of the Wind

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The day dawned clear. The few ribbons of cloud shone gold as the sun pushed itself up over the horizon. It was not quite full summer, and morning’s cool breeze bore the salty tang of the sea. Gulls shrieked and squalled as the dove into the water, coming up with gleaming silver fish that they swallowed in quick gulps. The surf crashed against the cliffs of the Goodlund peninsula, exploding in bursts of crimson spray.

In years past, before the world changed, superstitious folk had come up with many tales of the Blood Sea of Istar. Some said it was the blood of the thousands who had perished in the Cataclysm that gave the waters their sanguine hue. Others claimed the scarlet color came from a gateway to the Abyss itself, where the gods’ fiery mountain had smashed the Kingpriest in his Temple. Those who made their living from the Blood Sea, however, had scoffed at such notions, calling them landlubber’s nonsense.

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