-(Salt-stained scroll nailed to mast)-
The Brink was a threshold, my dear adventurers.
Above deck, the horizon bleeds with mirages. A ghost ship’s silhouette flickers in the spray while the charts shift to guide us onward.
Below, lanterns sway. Dripping robes lie discarded, and your Saint schemes toward Faithharbor (so the crew names it), where tired hunters trade tales and other treasures.
To those who’ve weathered my storms: our true voyage begins where maps rot. But worry not, my blades, I’ll keep your steel well occupied. 😇
Stay sharp, stay eager, and stay close,
– Saint Geminisel
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