Deatly/Logs/whisperers-raid

Deatly’s Moon-Whispers on the Raid

Deatly tilts his head back, eyes wide, lips curling into a grin too sharp to be sane. His voice cracks as he speaks, swaying between whispers and shouts.

"The raid was a storm, the ship alive, oars snapping, sails ripping, the tide frothing red with noble blood. Katamba told me the nets would fail, Xibar laughed in silver, and Yavash — Yavash roared so loud my teeth rattled in my skull. I heard them, aye, I heard them! And they sang your names through me."

He stumbles a step, dragging his shriveled hand like a broken compass, gesturing wildly to unseen constellations.

"Lasan, the keel that would not break! Vilhja, the prow, splitting through their barricades like driftwood! Zehira — hah, fire on the deck, ropes burning, shadows dancing! Echosong, your voice the gale in our sails, your blade the storm’s edge! Vashner, rowing, always rowing, dragging us deeper where the tide was thick with screams! Dioe, captain of hate for the gilded docks, steering the prow straight through their gates!"

He wheezes laughter, blood on his lips, eyes wild.

"And me, aye, Deatly the drowned navigator, spine shattered, silence broken, whispering your storm back to you! Gorteous, iron ballast, steady, unshaken, holding the ship upright when the waves tried to roll her. Ellywen, the sharp wind at our backs, unseen but filling every strike with fury! Ophilliah, the hidden reef, sudden, merciless, splintering their hulls before they even saw the rocks! Lilustra, a lantern on the mast, light in the dark when the tide threatened to blind. And Davrion — even away from the fray, a hand on the rudder, his strength pressed into ours from afar."

His voice climbs into a scream, half-exultation, half-madness.
"Do you hear it? Do you see it? The moons whispered their praises, their blessings, their hunger. The nobles choke on their gold, their harbors rot, their ships sink, and the FOE — hah! — the FOE rises with the tide. Again. Again. Again!"

He throws back his head and laughs, ragged and triumphant, as if the moons themselves are echoing the sound across the night sky.