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The Village of Tempesta
🕑 Added 2020-11-19 12:48:09 +0000 UTCIsolated in the northern reaches of The Talons Archipelago, in the stormy waters of The Writhing Sea, the village of Tempesta clings to bleak island of Gurmarda.
A small fishing village in its inception, the folk that inhabit this tempestuous polis, brave the ferocious sea in small boats for a chance to profit from the bounty of fish that lie beneath the dark waves. Many however do not return, whether individuals swept overboard or whole ships lost to storms or the horrors of the deep.
One local took me to the so-called Widow’s Point, an ancient oak tree atop a bluff overlooking the cove in which the village sits, telling me that the families of those lost, carve their names in the bark so they will be remembered. Though many were faded with age, many more were fresh, hundreds of names, thousands even. A memorial not only to the dead but to the hardiness of though you chose to remain in such a place.
Though possessing little in the guise of government, the villagers seemed to defer to the word of a man they call ‘The Baron’, a large fisherman, with a heavy grey beard and piercing eyes. Owning several fishing boats and having spent many decades sailing the dangerous seas he has seemingly garnered great respect amongst the townsfolk. In my brief encounter with him I found him to be an agreeable sort, keen to swap stories of his adventures over a mug of ale in the local tavern, favouring his (in my opinion fictional) encounter with a Dragon Turtle many years ago.
Though certainly quaint, Tempesta has little that one could describe as unique. That is if one were to overlook a great statue that sits within the harbour. Seemingly of some long forgotten Sea God, the locals merely refer to it affectionately as ‘The Old Man’. Superstitious fishermen will insist on touching the ancient stone as their ships leave harbour to secure safe passage. None knows you sculpted such a magnificent edifice or why, the tradition holds that ‘The OId Man’ has always been there and always will be, watching over the folk of Tempesta.
I confess, though I try not to indulge in local folklore, I myself touched the statue as my own craft made sail from the port.
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Extract from ‘My Travels Across Taritha’, written by Farea Lutz
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George - The Reclusive Cartographer
