Welcome to the Stryph Sea

In their promised plains, stretching far and vast, free of feral things save those that they care for, are the Kehilot. Nomadic, strange and wise in all their ways.

Nothing is remembered of them. Yet from them we came and it is believed in their forgotten promised plains, remnants of them remain. We that left were many and mighty in number, of all tribes save those of the deep; speak not their names.

Through the dry places we traveled west, eating of no unknown meat and digging no well. It was from the armored plants that we of then survived. Remembered as a sweet flesh, filled with water that had been filtered of the poison ground; we of now know of no such fruit.

If you are ever lost or stranded and starving, seek out such a fabled thing. For that is better than to consume unknown meat and commit such enormity.

Do not sing of chance as the next note in the great song plays. Remember blessed Creator’s design, even as whispers rise of an altered page in the mastery. It was not ferals, no hunger or thirst. Let a sickness of the mind or body never be blamed for that which would first be lost.

Let those who will debate, debate.

Those of us that reason, let us remember.

There were five.

Five met we who were in that final stretch of desert; where night falls just as noon would pass. Four were of the same will and design, but all of different mind. The last we will not remember. We remember the four as Serpents. Think not of the feral snakes, though these colorful quadruplets slithered on their belly’s just as their shrewd namesakes.

Sing what is remembered.

The first serpent, white and blue in scales was taken by the beauty and grace of the avion tribes. This was a serpent that yearned for wings and found admiration in the hidden pride of her chosen tribe. So she promised the avions much. Long life, the treasure of self and all the secrets of roots. All they would need to do was forsake the other tribes, journey to the north and forever rest on the Living Mountain.

Let us remember and sing of the avions that stayed; shunned by their tribe-kin, along with us, to this very day. For when the avion tribes divided, the first serpent was haughtily spurned. In vexation she swore that no avion born away from the Living Mountain would remember their natural gift of flight.

The second serpent, red and ash in scale, was taken by the strength and undying loyalty of the cold-blood tribes. This was a serpent that yearned for a following and found envy for the hidden fury of his chosen tribe. So he promised them little. Short lives, peace with other tribes and safety from one another. All they would have to do was follow him south.

When the cold bloods laughed at what they had, the serpent laughed with them. He promised they would see him again, if they only ate strange flesh. Then he would bless them with the opposite of what was first promised.

Let no tribe, cold-blood or otherwise ever partake in strange flesh.

Let no tribe, cold-blood or otherwise go looking for the serpent in the south.

The third serpent, yellow in scale and colored with every gemma looked over all the tribes. Keenly he ate their meat. Enthralled, he listened to their songs. He learned of dance. The serpent would offer them nothing, only the secret to stone would be left behind for a few. That serpent left first of the five and traveled far to the west, across all the known seas.

To those who would seek this serpent, remember such disastrous follies that song and history tells us of, again and again.

Now the fifth, acting first of all without our knowledge, acted again and made another bet. “Let those who want to stay, stay.”

It is the nature of the fifth, which is why we do not remember. We do not seek it. Whatever, it, is, we do not seek it. So we cannot understand it.

There are no songs of the fifth.

We do not remember those that stayed.

Finally, the fourth serpent slithered along with we that were left. Of green so light it appeared to be white. White so bright we thought it light. It offered nothing. It wanted nothing. And when at last the tribes came to the new endless eastern lands, they turned their backs to the serpent. For it had become a common thing.

So the fourth serpent, most calm and most wicked in all it’s ways, changed. With evergreen leaves, it wove clothing with only a forked tongue. Poison fangs used and dulled from whittling limbs. And so the fourth serpent hid it’s true self, both form and will.

Who is left to remember all that would next be lost?

~ Unknown Chronicler, from a time before Avarice