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It's windy out here, on top of the abandoned lighthouse. Out there in the foggy canvas dotted with grey ship masts, there is nothing but a thin layer of mist. In foggy nights like this, they say, strange things often occur.

From somewhere nearby, a harrowing scream echoes and breaks the silence of the Fishing Hamlet . Somewhere down there, amongst the crumbled houses that are claimed by the sea, a blood-drunk hunter that was unfortunate enough to be sent here has been run down by the denizens of the hamlet.

I cast my gaze to the source of the sound. A man is being dragged on the knee-deep flooded alley. A man. Not worth to make a bargain with the Fishmen. I close my twenty-seven eyes as he is being butchered by a Fishman and is going to be fed to the Phantasms . Although the Fishmen can be seen as cruel ones, I'm still allied with them. We both worship mother Kos , we have a  kinship. And those Fishmen were once human, too.

According to them, when mother washed ashore, they started to worship her and her child. But one day, the blasphemous murderers from Byrgenwerth came and slaughtered everyone. The hunters treated them like monsters, so now they behave like monsters.

Minutes later, the silence has come back, now there is only the sound of the waves against the stony beach and the raindrop against the mouldy wall of the old lighthouse. The rain gets heavier, which means another blood-drunk hunter has somehow found his way to this layer of the nightmare, and mother makes it rain harder to drive him away. But he's not my concern. 

A lightning crosses the sky and in its flashing light, I see someone moving near the Astral Clocktower. Probably that's the Fishman Mage who is still wandering and muttering his curses.  The rotten ship masts flutter continuously as the wind is blowing, and with it, the might of the sea.

When I was a human child,  looking at the sea always gives me the feeling that I'm so small and insignificant. Even though now, I'm no longer a mere mortal, I still have the same feeling. I wrap my tendrils around the old construction and slowly crawl down, Lizzie and Lucy would not very pleased if I spoil the cloak they made for me, and looking at those ship masts always reminds me of Louis - my dear brother.

When we were young, he was fond of the sea and the seamen's strange tales. Especially, he was very keen on the stories of the mentally-ill sailors who have been on the sea for too long. He said he was drawn to them. He said those stories, though choke-full of unspoken madness, have something in similar. They all contained some messages that, according to him, about something greater than a human could perceive, and that the mad sailors, though their minds were not able to withstand the knowledge, were indeed lucky ones that have had their eyes opened. To think, the Choir would be very proud to have someone like Louis, for, in its first days, the Great Ones were thought to be linked to the sea. 

I don't remember all of his stories, but I still remember some, which are less maddening and unfathomable than the rest.

One is the story about a mystery sea which is perpetually covered in a thick layer of fog, another is about a whispering sea, and the rest are about dancing lights on the horizon on an icy sea, and about giant whirlpools that could consume a whole island...