So. You've come to me, a hermit fisherman, for a story? Fine. I'll tell you a story. One of the death of the Talmarakh. One of the death of promise.

My family's story is that of its rise and fall. My grandfather was there when the Talmarakh was founded, and served its first and second ruler with honour and dignity. My father and I were born into the rule of the second Talmar, and my father died during it. I was just a child at the time, raised with the promises of glory and plunder that the Talmarakh would bring. A city that moves with the seas, a forest of masts, the crown of Itiah herself. They don't tell you these promises anymore, because those hopes are gone. It was not long after my father's death that the second Talmar too did die, and thus ascended the third Talmar - the second's nephew.

He was not much of a Talmar, in retrospect, but at the time he had so much promise. I remember giving my son and daughter the same promises of greatness that I had growing up. We were not a noble family who had achieved much glory - no, we had very little story at all on our unlacquered prow - but we were not poor either. The Talmar had treated us well and for a time we knew some luxury, and when the third rose we knew even more. This Talmar knew only riches and luxury, and handed it out with an open hand. But he did not know how to lead men to attain such luxury. He did not know why it was forbidden for a Talmar to set foot on land. In truth, I do not know why either - it was something that the second had decreed.

The Talmar became less of a director of fleets and more its observer. Chiefs stopped participating in the plans of the Talmar because the Talmar had no plans. With the second Talmar, Marehs would be traded with or bent or burnt according to some plan, but with this one there was no such thing. The Talmarakh used to come first, but under the Third Talmar people went back to their tribes. The alliance with Benn collapsed, and so too did the wealth of the Talmarakh. It took six years before the Third Talmar lost all control, and several chiefs began proclaiming that they themselves were the true Fourth Talmar.

But then there was Talmar Larta. He claimed descent from the second Talmar too, and he was almost her spitting image. He was a whirlwind, and defeated many chiefs who attempted to usurp him - including my own. I was made a new chief for him, and would have followed him to the horizon! One by one, he began pulling the Talmarakh back together - it was only then that I understood the second's severity. He not only burned some Morekahs, but he installed inadequate chiefs as their Marehs. He did what had to be done. For a time, it looked like we would get all that hope and promise back! We would return!

Some of my fellow chiefs did not see it that way. They saw a capricious and tempestuous Talmar, who would stop at nothing and violate all taboo to attain power. They saw a threat and a menace, and they missed the days of the Third Talmar, or the days before the Talmarakh if they even remembered them. Those chiefs saw a Talmar who had forced other chiefs against their home tribes, and would undoubtedly do the same to them. In just one year - a single year - this Talmar had made his way through all the tribes of the outer sea, and had his way with them. My fellow chiefs clamored that those were their families.

So one day, half of my peers mutinied.

It was almost overnight. The fleet halved in size over the course of a week. The Talmar was furious, and assembled his war council. He would hunt them down, he told us, hunt them down and make examples of them. He did not need any lackwilled cowards who refused orders and put their tribe over their commander. Those cowards were tolerated under the Third Talmar, but not the Fourth. I believed the Talmar at the time.

So then we began hunting down the mutiniers. One by one, and if we could not find them we burned their home villages. But it was around this time that storms began getting worse. There was a reason we had those edifices of stone - so that we could weather the summer storms. But as our quarry hid, our Talmar stood firm and ordered us into a typhoon. It was then that I had my first whisper of doubt.

My family was in that fleet. But I was aboard the Talmar's ship.

The storm was worse than we expected, and Itiah's fury came in a torrent. The Talmar cried out that he would have his enemies, and that he was destined for glory. The sky snapped and cracked and roared back. The waves towered over us, and we all began begging the Talmar to turn us away. He swore curses at all of us, right until the very moment the gods chose to smite him. A crack of lightning, a splintered mast, and the Talmar was wiped overboard. We were all capsized.

I clung to a piece of wood, and promised Itiah anything for mercy. I promised her everything I had - the life of my own wife and son too - in exchange for her to spare me. I do not know how long I clung to that raft, praying that neither sharks nor sea would devour me and take me to Takinirt. Eventually, my houseboat found me, and fished me from the drink.

We made haste for the shore. I lied to Itiah about what I would give up, and I saw her righteous anger firsthand. I would not chance things such as our former Talmar.

I had wound up in Akinimod, a recluse near a village of a Morekah that I had burned. We had heard from them that the Talmarakh was completely done after that. They cursed Talmar Larta's name there, though the Mareh himself was installed by him. By me, personally. I could not show my face there, but I knew what had happened. In his vigor to change things, the last Talmar had spoiled the taste of the floating morekah for all Sasnak, and they would abide by no other leader. I had no idea what damage a year could do.

From then on, every monsoon season was worse than the last. You know the story. The rains are getting worse and the crop is getting bad. We rely only on fish and clams to fill our bellies. But howling winds are destroying our homes. At times, I thought it was Itiah coming for me, taking what she was promised. But now I see that I have only myself to blame. I was the one who took my family to the Talmarakh. I bought into the Talmar's lies. When the Talmar died, I was the one who took them to Akinimod, near a Morekah I dared not show my face in. And because of that, I was the one who year after year refused to take us to shelter there. I was the one who built our house, and I was the one who could not save my family from its collapse. How could I blame the gods? I can only blame myself.

All I had left to live for then was the burial feast of my family. I had none to share it with. The promise and hope of my youth had fully died, and I was left all alone.

That is my story. It will decorate no prow, and be passed down by no children. I have no ship, no family, no tribe. I am just a forlorn fisherman, waiting until the end of my days.