The dark relic fascinated Chantal.
It was a rod made of black, scarred adamantine, scarcely longer than her hand.
The black waters that gushed forth from its unassuming form seemed as endless as the night sky... and somehow, even deeper than the abyssal depths of her seas.
The artifact allowed her fleet to sail across the sky, amidst the clouds.
A wry smile crossed her lips.
It was... poetic.
"All my life, I have been a daughter of Murktide... and wis zis artifact, I have come to command it."
Daughter...
Because of her shite choice of words, Chantal began to think of her father.
She missed him terribly.
She knew the identity of his murderer.
Oh, how she would have loved to change course, sailing half her fleet half across the Realm to find that filth-ridden son of a bitch.
...but she was a woman ever-beholden to her duty.
--and to her father's legacy.
