T H E    M I S S I V E    O F    T Y P H O N

FROM THE HAND OF LADY CORINE

[An annual message shared among those of the Morancaire claim in the Northeast of the Mist Isles, eventually to be trickled down to wherever [Seafarers] and Mistans of related origin would hear their news of those back home.]

I address you all through the voices of our couriers, speaking swiftly from wherever they stand, lifting this message to each and every one of you within the Morancaire claim. I pray that when you hear these words, you imagine them in not the voice of your Lady, but in the tone of your beloved sister, friend, or wife, extending her well-wishes to you as we now reside in the curl of Typhon’s wave, deep in Reflection.

My husband, Lord Cinaed, has often utilized these missives as a way of taking inventory of the state of our House - from the bonds forged and strengthened among our fellow Houses under the steady hand of the Serene Monarch, to the security of our waters, past the Candles that mark our watery borders and the great depths beyond, revealed only to our brave fishers and traders by She Who Shrouds Us, our Siren Serene. 

However, in noticing the shake of grief within his grip, struggling to script this annual message for you all, I elected to take the quill from his grasp, and to dip it in the ink of tragedy that has stained the story of each and every life in the Mist Isles this past year. The unrelenting, unforgiving Tideblight silenced numerous voices of our Siren’s choir, and forced an abnormal quietude over our cities and homes. 

This earthly family - the humble fishmonger, the spirited bard, the harrowed caretaker - forced to isolate from one another, singing a fragmented song of desperate supplication to the Siren in place of the overly triumphant hymn of gratitude for the serenity she brings. The Morancaire Household was not exempt from this nauseating silence, an affront to the Siren’s serenity, having lost two of our own Singers of Mercy at the onset of the sickness. What sickened me was my daughter’s grief, unable to raise her voice and lips to the cold brow of the mother of her oldest confidant, forced to observe the Rites of Departure from an impersonal distance.

When Queen Gwennora decreed the end of the isolation, raising her hand to conduct the tempo of normalcy, I had expected to feel relief wash over my form. But even in shaking hands with each of you, whether by meeting you by chance alongside our Harbourmaster at the Fangtip docks, or breaking bread with you at our Keep of the Divine Voice, that chill of isolation remained. Isolation, from those Mistan and Morancaire in both blood, diligence, and spirit.

I think of our brothers and sisters in Caz-on-Bord, their sweat and spirits drained to fill the coffers of a Duke; I think of our Valkian cousins, many of which who spend months away from their loved ones to fulfill the never-ending exchange of friendship, wares, and wealth across the waters. And I dare think of our counterparts in the Southern Reach, our fishers and traders daring to go beyond the Siren’s ever-present gaze in hopes of discovering lies in this unknown world. If we are quieted by the loss of our loved ones from our immediate reach, then our family beyond the Isles must feel as if they have been made mute.

In recognition of the pandemonium beyond the Isles, isolating the sailor and unsteady from the serenity of the Siren, Lord Cinead and I have sponsored a new shrine for her favor, nestled south of the Spire, the seat of the Seneschalty of the Southern Reach. In transforming a harrowing shipwreck into a refuge, we dare to take part in the Siren’s ever-changing nature to demonstrate that we too may turn catastrophe into respite. We remain grateful to our Ancaire counterpart in the region for setting the foundation of this new sanctuary on our behalf, and gladly name her as Shrinekeeper under the Morancaire name.

We pray that the Siren accepts this offering as we recognize that her claim and blessing lies not just within our reach, but within the purview of those who dare to commit to the Mistan and Morancaire tradition in other lands and other waters.

May the Siren carry these words of tidings across the winds and the waves to you and your loved ones.

LADY CORINE OF SIRENSONG