Muirin
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Muirin's Orgin
As she looked over the vast horizon of the slate gray ocean, awaiting the final word from the crew as to whether or not she’d be on that ship mooring at the harbor, Muirin reflected back over the past years as to how she had gotten here.
---
It started so long ago, it was in the mists of memory. Muirin was born of catfolk parents in the thick of the first rainstorm in over 5 years. Outside of their cave like dwelling in the middle of an arid rock strewn desert, rain pelted down in torrents. Her small community had not seen the likes of rain like this in years. They had been going through one of the worst droughts that the area had ever seen, making the farming community have to urgently work together and pool all of their resources just to survive. When she was born, the rain seemed to peak and fell in buckets. The entirety of the community - other than those helping with the birth - prayed and gathered as much of the life giving liquid as they possibly could. Also trying to saturate their meager crops and soil for future harvest. The shaman overseeing the birth granted the name, Muirin. Which meant “Born of the Seas, Bringer of Rains” - normally a very odd name for a desert dweller. She would be known as the blessed child.
The years passed, and Muirin grew quickly. A catfolk child that was educated quickly in helping others in the family and community. Her parents, while knowing the prejudice and racial profiling of many races towards the rarer catfolk, harbored no animosity. Instead, they chose to become willing helpers to the community. They taught Muirin how to heal the sick and injured - quite common on the rough arid landscape amongst the miners and farmers. They taught her the value of the precious water and how to recognize emergencies that would need it. She also was taught to use the bow by her father, who was a farmer. The seeds and small sprouts were treasure to both the catfolk and the wary desert birds looking for a quick feast. A well shot arrow would keep the birds at bay, and also sometimes a wandering thief. She had a quick eye and a good aim. Their farm stayed safe. Her mother, a successful merchant, taught Muirin the art of the trade. While her mother would trade the farm’s yield for supplies and coin, Muirin would set out a small blanket of wares that she collected and trade to get more and more amazing things. She became quite deft at determining good exchanges, sometimes getting clothing or nice knives, sometimes just shiny things, or even instruments.
Muirin fell deeply in love with music. She had had the privilege of getting to see a group of wandering bards once, singing deep into the night at the small shack that carried the name of “tavern” though was more like a tiny stand near the rocky outcrops that sold one or two types of hard alcohol. So, whenever she had the opportunity to trade for musical instruments, she would jump. Muirin worked hard and became fluent in many different instruments, filling the caves and landscape with melodies to keep up the high spirits and friendliness of the community.
In addition to playing for the folk, she would also tell stories. When trading, books were in high demand, and every one that came across her path she would grab with whatever she could offer. She would read and memorize the stories. Falling in love with distant lands so lush and vibrant with flowers and gardens and jungles and forests. She could hear splashing glades with the hum of jewel toned insects, the howl of wolves on the hunt across grassy plains, and smell the tangy salt of the sea torn beaches - though she had never been to any of these places. Her creativity was extensive and she was always ready to tell a tale borrowed from a book or even made by her own mind.
While life was difficult in the desert, it was happy and filled with family and community. But, Muirin’s heart was not there. The more she read and sang and dreamt, she felt less like she could stay put. She became restless. Starting each morning with the burning sunrise staring out over the desert to the distant mountain range. They hid the seas behind them, the stories said. There were people and other worlds beyond the great rocks so far away as to almost be a mirage. But the trip across the desert was dangerous, even to the dwellers. Little food, scarce water sources, and many dangerous bandit caravans prowling. But, as the days went on, Muirin had the wanderlust come upon her. She announced to the families that she would journey out to find her fortune and more stories. She would see the world, then come back and share it with them all. There were many tears and hugs and distraught prayers. The blessed child was leaving. With dismay, she looked to them all and explained that her heart had already left, and she had to retrieve it. To fully remain here would reduce her to nothing. They begged her to reconsider.
Right as the wail began to crescendo, a distant rumble could be heard from outside. With their hearts in their throats, everyone silenced and peeked out the cave doorway. Great flashes of lightning could be seen in the distance. Stars were being snuffed out by the oncoming darkness. And the unfamiliar hiss of rain was growing louder and closer. Everyone knew that this was a sign that the blessed child must take leave. The gods were giving their blessing for her departure. The morning after the rains came, Muirin turned away from the only home she knew and went towards the mountains.
---
Years passed while she worked her way through the mountains. They were tall and rocky, filled with evergreens and waterfalls (much to her delight). But also the weather was harsh and cold. Snow and ice were prevalent and continuous. But, through her perseverance, she struggled through. The mountains, while very lonely, were inhabited by a few. She came upon a small city in a valley amidst the snow covered lands. She lodged there while learning to navigate and live in such a chilled climate.
In the years since leaving her family, Muirin had met different people in this city. She was surprised and a little sad to find that most of them were not catfolk, nor even familiar with her type. Most were human, some goblin, some orc, even some elven, but mostly human. To try to get away from the prejudice she seemed to receive on a daily basis, she tried to grow her hair to cover her ears, or wore hoods to shadow her face. She felt shame of her parentage. She tried to befriend some humans, but ended up in bad situation after bad situation. Her friendly trusting nature betrayed her to those that were not loyal or trustworthy. She even stopped playing music at the request of the humans. Her heart filled with a sadness that she couldn’t place, she felt trapped. But, home was not an option. She was no coward. This was an adventure, and she would live it.
Not all things were bad here. There were some that extended their arms in actual friendship. Two brothers, Zephyr and Anvil, were especially notable. She met them as they were travelling through and instantly felt like they were from her past. They were friendly and dashing in their furs and tattoos and worldly views. They told wonderful stories, sang rowdy songs, and shared their drink freely. Muirin definitely was intimidated by the brothers. Anvil was good looking and loud. He was passionate and carefree, and definitely commanded respect while seeming to enjoy life in the fullest. Zephyr was a little more stern. He was the more grounded of the two, but still had his witty quips and his suave demeanor which made him still easy to get along with. Muirin found them easy to be herself. She was happy to sing and tell stories and drink with them and just enjoy the contrasting personalities and refreshing freedom they offered. However, that perfect sense of happiness was not to last. The brothers were travellers. They promised would visit, but never for long. As the hot summer started to cool to the early harvest, they began to pack for travels. And as luck would have it, they were travelling back down the mountains, towards Muirin’s old homelands and beyond; The opposite direction of her dreams. With a heavy heart, she wished them well and wept as they left. The unfriendly city became if anything, even more unfriendly.
There were other people that came and left in her life, many different types and personalities. But, they had one thing in common, they all left. She had such amazingly vivid dreams, but nothing ever matched up. No one was ever interested in sharing her journey and her dreams. She felt her soul deflating.
After years of being beaten down and losing her sense of self, Muirin sat at a table in an inn, dejectedly daydreaming about the seas and adventures that she had hoped so much to find. A loud bang snapped her out of her thoughts as a few human strangers with weather worn clothing burst into the room and stomped off the excess melting spring slush on their boots. She could hear them all laughing as they talked about a great hunt that had occurred. She listened, eagerly hoping to hear new tales of bravery and valor. She was hungry for new stories, as no one here told them.
The rough men boasted about the numbers they had killed, the loot that they had garnered, and the patheticness of the enemies. She realized they were talking about a battle against other people, not just a hunt. One of them held out his prize that he had taken off of the carcass of one of his kills and admired it, while boasting about how the “pathetic creature” had begged for life. Muirin felt as though a sword had gone through her gut. He was holding her mother’s locket. It was a special silver locket that had been given to her at her wedding by the community. It had pictures of all of them together inside of it. And this man was displaying it like a new bauble at an auction. With a wave of dizziness, Muirin stood up and stumbled out of the inn, away from them. She braced herself up against a tree fighting back tears, and tried to think clearly. From where the town was, there was a rocky plateau that overlooked the distant desert. She would often come up there to look back towards her home and fondly dream of what they were doing. She crept up there, holding back her nausea and looked out. When she saw the thick plumes of black smoke from the general vicinity of the community, she vomited everywhere while crying. Even from her blurry vision and swollen eyes she could see many more men coming, ragtag looking motley garbed men. Mud and blood splattered, armed, and dangerous looking. It appeared the bandit mercenaries of the desert had banded together to become raiding parties, hoping for a higher profit with more loot, rape, and killing.
She vomited again, until nothing was left and her insides ached. Sobbing and scrubbing her face with her hands, she tried to figure out what to do. This mountain city was nothing. It was filled with criminals and thieves and horrible abusive people. She needed to escape and find new friends...no. An army. She would go out, like in the stories she used to tell, and find an army. She would bring it back and avenge her family and friends. Muirin would come back and all of those responsible would pay dearly for the crimes they have committed.
She ran back to her dwelling and took all of her meager possessions, and left at dusk. She turned her back on that town, promising that the next time would be with the fury of the storms she was named for.
---
As the weeks passed continuing on her labored trek down the mountains to the other side, Muirin made friends with other beasts. They travelled with her, friendly and peaceable. They never knew or understood about what drove her, as she became very shy and secretive. How could she tell them? They were happy and peaceful, wanting her to stay with them and just be friendly and live a happy life together. Her heart ached, knowing that this could be a good life. Simple, clean, easy. But, this would not help her quest. They might know how to hunt for their food, or help each other to provide, but they would not be her army. She would never ask them to betray themselves to touch on the dark side through her revenge fueled drive. But, she would allow them to accompany her on her journey at least. She just knew that it wouldn’t last.
After months of travelling with them, the winds started to become chillier, the sunlight growing lesser and more orange. While her friends slept, she found a small path in the underbrush and wandered a bit hoping to catch something for breakfast that she could share with her small band of friendly folk. A scent on the wind caught her by surprise. With wide eyes, she inhaled deeply and a flood of stories and descriptions came pouring into her mind. That smell, it was tangy and sour, like mold and must and rotting things, but still fresh. She broke into a run along the treacherous root and leaf covered path. Breaking out of the final rush of needle lined trees, she found herself on a grassy cliffside. Panting fervently, she felt her breath catch in her throat as her vision took in the vast horizon.
She walked to the edge of the cliff and looked out. As far as the eye could see was a deep bluish silver that met the skyline in the distance. There were dancing white birds that dotted the orange tinged blue sky, and they just floated on eternity. Between the sky and silver, there was nothing. There was nothing forever. This was the sea.
Every single moment of her life cascaded through her mind, every story she had ever heard or dreamt of about the sea, every wish and hope and desire; and they all paled to the reality of how vast the sea actually was. She sat on the cliffside and lost herself in her awe for many hours. Her soul, for the first time in so many years felt peace.
When she began to come back to the present, her mind much more enthusiastic than before, Muirin began to look for the way down to this paradise. With practiced ease at traversing the woodlands - one of the only positives she had gained while living a nightmare in the snowy city - she quickly made it to the bottom of the rough cliff, her sleeping companions all but forgotten. The ground, while dotted with trees, was sandy and rough. The smells of rot and salt began to mix with the scents of wood and smoke and meat. As she emerged from the trees, she found herself on a road leading towards the ocean - and a great walled city before it.
She made the effort to avoid the city, still not feeling entirely confident after her last “civilized” experience. Instead, she wandered to the ocean side, to the harbor. Speechless, she gaped at the entire area, completely overwhelmed.
There were dozens of docks in the harbor, each with boats and ships stationed. She could not believe her eyes at the magnitude of some of the vessels that were moored. Peering out to the waters, she could even see more ships anchored in the higher depths; too big to come to the docks. There were ships of all sizes and varieties. Skiffs and clippers, small dinghies and rowboats, giant galleons and navi, even a Man of War in the far distance. She could smell the scent of fresh cut wood and resin for repairs even over the stink of the docks. So many men of all types ranged the docks, carrying wood or ropes or buckets of whatnot. Fisherman with their catch, painted women trying to vie for a sailors’ attentions, primped and proper guardsmen with tax collectors harassing captains for their fees. Everyone talking and laughing and singing. Muirin felt very small and alone.
She backed away from the busy docks, watching as crews readied their vessels for departure or unloaded them upon arrival. Many were just ragtag crews, mixed races and species and clothing varieties, but some were clearly more. They matched. They worked in unison. They looked powerful. Muirin felt her burning desire in her gut once again. But also, a sense of loneliness. These crews were more than just working together, they lived together. They fought together. They experienced everything together. They were family. A sharp twinge in her heart reminded her of the fact that not only was she here alone, but also without a family. She had no one. Wiping her face sadly, she headed towards the town, feeling slightly more confident in the acceptance of other races due to the incredible mixture that she saw here. She brushed aside sea mist, or tears, she wasn’t sure.
Walking through the big city normally would have overwhelmed her, but right now she was only focusing on the sadness in her chest. That was something she had never thought about when telling stories or dreaming. Trying to get into or form an army would not be easy, it required dedication and a drive. Muirin thought to herself of course she had the drive, but others? What motivation would they have to join her? Or to allow her to join them?
Suddenly she crashed to the ground, a large weight on top of her. Was her bow ok? Am I being attacked? Is it someone from the murderous bandits that stalked her? So many thoughts flashed through her mind and she braced herself fearfully for what would happen. A happy laugh penetrated her panicked through process. With a slight hesitation, she winced and looked up at her attacker. Another catfolk, a male. He chucked and rolled off of her and sat beside her in the dust of the streets. He apologized and helped her stand up, smiling and offering her help dusting off.
Catfolk being so rare even in a port like this, he had been so excited to see another of his race that he pounced. He was a little excitable. His name was Psyava. He was unfamiliar with the desert cats where she hailed from, but knew of the mountains. He knew that they were treacherous and unfriendly, filled with people that didn’t venture out of their area. He walked with her and they chatted. Gaining a few stares from some locals. One catfolk was unusual, two was rare. He explained that he was a deckhand on one of the large ships that was out in the harbor and his crew was here for a while. He saw the longing on her face, and took her hands in his. He excitedly started to go on about how wonderful it has been on the ship so far, how the crew just treats him like one of them and how he loved travelling and being with them. His eyes lit up and he begged her to come too.
Muirin thought about her life since she left the desert. How this catfolk in front of her reminded her about how things had used to be, happy and free. She thought about the need for revenge, but swallowed that with the reality which would be needing to have those to help her on her goals. To do so, she needed to be accepted. He was offering that to her with the tales of family and camaraderie. Over the week, she got to know him. She even met some people that he sailed with, and they were all just as friendly and excited as he was.
While walking about the city the day before they were to set sail once again, Muirin decided to come out with her wish: she expressed interest in joining the crew to Psyava. He jumped with joy and ran off, nearly tripping over a gaggle of people in the road. Turning and calling back that he’d be right back, he would get me the chance to see the seas with them.
Now, she waited. She watched the ocean again, and felt that excitement she had once felt while looking out over the desert landscape under the black velvet starry skies. Now, the wanderlust and desire for adventure had returned. All she had to do was be patient.
---
It started so long ago, it was in the mists of memory. Muirin was born of catfolk parents in the thick of the first rainstorm in over 5 years. Outside of their cave like dwelling in the middle of an arid rock strewn desert, rain pelted down in torrents. Her small community had not seen the likes of rain like this in years. They had been going through one of the worst droughts that the area had ever seen, making the farming community have to urgently work together and pool all of their resources just to survive. When she was born, the rain seemed to peak and fell in buckets. The entirety of the community - other than those helping with the birth - prayed and gathered as much of the life giving liquid as they possibly could. Also trying to saturate their meager crops and soil for future harvest. The shaman overseeing the birth granted the name, Muirin. Which meant “Born of the Seas, Bringer of Rains” - normally a very odd name for a desert dweller. She would be known as the blessed child.
The years passed, and Muirin grew quickly. A catfolk child that was educated quickly in helping others in the family and community. Her parents, while knowing the prejudice and racial profiling of many races towards the rarer catfolk, harbored no animosity. Instead, they chose to become willing helpers to the community. They taught Muirin how to heal the sick and injured - quite common on the rough arid landscape amongst the miners and farmers. They taught her the value of the precious water and how to recognize emergencies that would need it. She also was taught to use the bow by her father, who was a farmer. The seeds and small sprouts were treasure to both the catfolk and the wary desert birds looking for a quick feast. A well shot arrow would keep the birds at bay, and also sometimes a wandering thief. She had a quick eye and a good aim. Their farm stayed safe. Her mother, a successful merchant, taught Muirin the art of the trade. While her mother would trade the farm’s yield for supplies and coin, Muirin would set out a small blanket of wares that she collected and trade to get more and more amazing things. She became quite deft at determining good exchanges, sometimes getting clothing or nice knives, sometimes just shiny things, or even instruments.
Muirin fell deeply in love with music. She had had the privilege of getting to see a group of wandering bards once, singing deep into the night at the small shack that carried the name of “tavern” though was more like a tiny stand near the rocky outcrops that sold one or two types of hard alcohol. So, whenever she had the opportunity to trade for musical instruments, she would jump. Muirin worked hard and became fluent in many different instruments, filling the caves and landscape with melodies to keep up the high spirits and friendliness of the community.
In addition to playing for the folk, she would also tell stories. When trading, books were in high demand, and every one that came across her path she would grab with whatever she could offer. She would read and memorize the stories. Falling in love with distant lands so lush and vibrant with flowers and gardens and jungles and forests. She could hear splashing glades with the hum of jewel toned insects, the howl of wolves on the hunt across grassy plains, and smell the tangy salt of the sea torn beaches - though she had never been to any of these places. Her creativity was extensive and she was always ready to tell a tale borrowed from a book or even made by her own mind.
While life was difficult in the desert, it was happy and filled with family and community. But, Muirin’s heart was not there. The more she read and sang and dreamt, she felt less like she could stay put. She became restless. Starting each morning with the burning sunrise staring out over the desert to the distant mountain range. They hid the seas behind them, the stories said. There were people and other worlds beyond the great rocks so far away as to almost be a mirage. But the trip across the desert was dangerous, even to the dwellers. Little food, scarce water sources, and many dangerous bandit caravans prowling. But, as the days went on, Muirin had the wanderlust come upon her. She announced to the families that she would journey out to find her fortune and more stories. She would see the world, then come back and share it with them all. There were many tears and hugs and distraught prayers. The blessed child was leaving. With dismay, she looked to them all and explained that her heart had already left, and she had to retrieve it. To fully remain here would reduce her to nothing. They begged her to reconsider.
Right as the wail began to crescendo, a distant rumble could be heard from outside. With their hearts in their throats, everyone silenced and peeked out the cave doorway. Great flashes of lightning could be seen in the distance. Stars were being snuffed out by the oncoming darkness. And the unfamiliar hiss of rain was growing louder and closer. Everyone knew that this was a sign that the blessed child must take leave. The gods were giving their blessing for her departure. The morning after the rains came, Muirin turned away from the only home she knew and went towards the mountains.
---
Years passed while she worked her way through the mountains. They were tall and rocky, filled with evergreens and waterfalls (much to her delight). But also the weather was harsh and cold. Snow and ice were prevalent and continuous. But, through her perseverance, she struggled through. The mountains, while very lonely, were inhabited by a few. She came upon a small city in a valley amidst the snow covered lands. She lodged there while learning to navigate and live in such a chilled climate.
In the years since leaving her family, Muirin had met different people in this city. She was surprised and a little sad to find that most of them were not catfolk, nor even familiar with her type. Most were human, some goblin, some orc, even some elven, but mostly human. To try to get away from the prejudice she seemed to receive on a daily basis, she tried to grow her hair to cover her ears, or wore hoods to shadow her face. She felt shame of her parentage. She tried to befriend some humans, but ended up in bad situation after bad situation. Her friendly trusting nature betrayed her to those that were not loyal or trustworthy. She even stopped playing music at the request of the humans. Her heart filled with a sadness that she couldn’t place, she felt trapped. But, home was not an option. She was no coward. This was an adventure, and she would live it.
Not all things were bad here. There were some that extended their arms in actual friendship. Two brothers, Zephyr and Anvil, were especially notable. She met them as they were travelling through and instantly felt like they were from her past. They were friendly and dashing in their furs and tattoos and worldly views. They told wonderful stories, sang rowdy songs, and shared their drink freely. Muirin definitely was intimidated by the brothers. Anvil was good looking and loud. He was passionate and carefree, and definitely commanded respect while seeming to enjoy life in the fullest. Zephyr was a little more stern. He was the more grounded of the two, but still had his witty quips and his suave demeanor which made him still easy to get along with. Muirin found them easy to be herself. She was happy to sing and tell stories and drink with them and just enjoy the contrasting personalities and refreshing freedom they offered. However, that perfect sense of happiness was not to last. The brothers were travellers. They promised would visit, but never for long. As the hot summer started to cool to the early harvest, they began to pack for travels. And as luck would have it, they were travelling back down the mountains, towards Muirin’s old homelands and beyond; The opposite direction of her dreams. With a heavy heart, she wished them well and wept as they left. The unfriendly city became if anything, even more unfriendly.
There were other people that came and left in her life, many different types and personalities. But, they had one thing in common, they all left. She had such amazingly vivid dreams, but nothing ever matched up. No one was ever interested in sharing her journey and her dreams. She felt her soul deflating.
After years of being beaten down and losing her sense of self, Muirin sat at a table in an inn, dejectedly daydreaming about the seas and adventures that she had hoped so much to find. A loud bang snapped her out of her thoughts as a few human strangers with weather worn clothing burst into the room and stomped off the excess melting spring slush on their boots. She could hear them all laughing as they talked about a great hunt that had occurred. She listened, eagerly hoping to hear new tales of bravery and valor. She was hungry for new stories, as no one here told them.
The rough men boasted about the numbers they had killed, the loot that they had garnered, and the patheticness of the enemies. She realized they were talking about a battle against other people, not just a hunt. One of them held out his prize that he had taken off of the carcass of one of his kills and admired it, while boasting about how the “pathetic creature” had begged for life. Muirin felt as though a sword had gone through her gut. He was holding her mother’s locket. It was a special silver locket that had been given to her at her wedding by the community. It had pictures of all of them together inside of it. And this man was displaying it like a new bauble at an auction. With a wave of dizziness, Muirin stood up and stumbled out of the inn, away from them. She braced herself up against a tree fighting back tears, and tried to think clearly. From where the town was, there was a rocky plateau that overlooked the distant desert. She would often come up there to look back towards her home and fondly dream of what they were doing. She crept up there, holding back her nausea and looked out. When she saw the thick plumes of black smoke from the general vicinity of the community, she vomited everywhere while crying. Even from her blurry vision and swollen eyes she could see many more men coming, ragtag looking motley garbed men. Mud and blood splattered, armed, and dangerous looking. It appeared the bandit mercenaries of the desert had banded together to become raiding parties, hoping for a higher profit with more loot, rape, and killing.
She vomited again, until nothing was left and her insides ached. Sobbing and scrubbing her face with her hands, she tried to figure out what to do. This mountain city was nothing. It was filled with criminals and thieves and horrible abusive people. She needed to escape and find new friends...no. An army. She would go out, like in the stories she used to tell, and find an army. She would bring it back and avenge her family and friends. Muirin would come back and all of those responsible would pay dearly for the crimes they have committed.
She ran back to her dwelling and took all of her meager possessions, and left at dusk. She turned her back on that town, promising that the next time would be with the fury of the storms she was named for.
---
As the weeks passed continuing on her labored trek down the mountains to the other side, Muirin made friends with other beasts. They travelled with her, friendly and peaceable. They never knew or understood about what drove her, as she became very shy and secretive. How could she tell them? They were happy and peaceful, wanting her to stay with them and just be friendly and live a happy life together. Her heart ached, knowing that this could be a good life. Simple, clean, easy. But, this would not help her quest. They might know how to hunt for their food, or help each other to provide, but they would not be her army. She would never ask them to betray themselves to touch on the dark side through her revenge fueled drive. But, she would allow them to accompany her on her journey at least. She just knew that it wouldn’t last.
After months of travelling with them, the winds started to become chillier, the sunlight growing lesser and more orange. While her friends slept, she found a small path in the underbrush and wandered a bit hoping to catch something for breakfast that she could share with her small band of friendly folk. A scent on the wind caught her by surprise. With wide eyes, she inhaled deeply and a flood of stories and descriptions came pouring into her mind. That smell, it was tangy and sour, like mold and must and rotting things, but still fresh. She broke into a run along the treacherous root and leaf covered path. Breaking out of the final rush of needle lined trees, she found herself on a grassy cliffside. Panting fervently, she felt her breath catch in her throat as her vision took in the vast horizon.
She walked to the edge of the cliff and looked out. As far as the eye could see was a deep bluish silver that met the skyline in the distance. There were dancing white birds that dotted the orange tinged blue sky, and they just floated on eternity. Between the sky and silver, there was nothing. There was nothing forever. This was the sea.
Every single moment of her life cascaded through her mind, every story she had ever heard or dreamt of about the sea, every wish and hope and desire; and they all paled to the reality of how vast the sea actually was. She sat on the cliffside and lost herself in her awe for many hours. Her soul, for the first time in so many years felt peace.
When she began to come back to the present, her mind much more enthusiastic than before, Muirin began to look for the way down to this paradise. With practiced ease at traversing the woodlands - one of the only positives she had gained while living a nightmare in the snowy city - she quickly made it to the bottom of the rough cliff, her sleeping companions all but forgotten. The ground, while dotted with trees, was sandy and rough. The smells of rot and salt began to mix with the scents of wood and smoke and meat. As she emerged from the trees, she found herself on a road leading towards the ocean - and a great walled city before it.
She made the effort to avoid the city, still not feeling entirely confident after her last “civilized” experience. Instead, she wandered to the ocean side, to the harbor. Speechless, she gaped at the entire area, completely overwhelmed.
There were dozens of docks in the harbor, each with boats and ships stationed. She could not believe her eyes at the magnitude of some of the vessels that were moored. Peering out to the waters, she could even see more ships anchored in the higher depths; too big to come to the docks. There were ships of all sizes and varieties. Skiffs and clippers, small dinghies and rowboats, giant galleons and navi, even a Man of War in the far distance. She could smell the scent of fresh cut wood and resin for repairs even over the stink of the docks. So many men of all types ranged the docks, carrying wood or ropes or buckets of whatnot. Fisherman with their catch, painted women trying to vie for a sailors’ attentions, primped and proper guardsmen with tax collectors harassing captains for their fees. Everyone talking and laughing and singing. Muirin felt very small and alone.
She backed away from the busy docks, watching as crews readied their vessels for departure or unloaded them upon arrival. Many were just ragtag crews, mixed races and species and clothing varieties, but some were clearly more. They matched. They worked in unison. They looked powerful. Muirin felt her burning desire in her gut once again. But also, a sense of loneliness. These crews were more than just working together, they lived together. They fought together. They experienced everything together. They were family. A sharp twinge in her heart reminded her of the fact that not only was she here alone, but also without a family. She had no one. Wiping her face sadly, she headed towards the town, feeling slightly more confident in the acceptance of other races due to the incredible mixture that she saw here. She brushed aside sea mist, or tears, she wasn’t sure.
Walking through the big city normally would have overwhelmed her, but right now she was only focusing on the sadness in her chest. That was something she had never thought about when telling stories or dreaming. Trying to get into or form an army would not be easy, it required dedication and a drive. Muirin thought to herself of course she had the drive, but others? What motivation would they have to join her? Or to allow her to join them?
Suddenly she crashed to the ground, a large weight on top of her. Was her bow ok? Am I being attacked? Is it someone from the murderous bandits that stalked her? So many thoughts flashed through her mind and she braced herself fearfully for what would happen. A happy laugh penetrated her panicked through process. With a slight hesitation, she winced and looked up at her attacker. Another catfolk, a male. He chucked and rolled off of her and sat beside her in the dust of the streets. He apologized and helped her stand up, smiling and offering her help dusting off.
Catfolk being so rare even in a port like this, he had been so excited to see another of his race that he pounced. He was a little excitable. His name was Psyava. He was unfamiliar with the desert cats where she hailed from, but knew of the mountains. He knew that they were treacherous and unfriendly, filled with people that didn’t venture out of their area. He walked with her and they chatted. Gaining a few stares from some locals. One catfolk was unusual, two was rare. He explained that he was a deckhand on one of the large ships that was out in the harbor and his crew was here for a while. He saw the longing on her face, and took her hands in his. He excitedly started to go on about how wonderful it has been on the ship so far, how the crew just treats him like one of them and how he loved travelling and being with them. His eyes lit up and he begged her to come too.
Muirin thought about her life since she left the desert. How this catfolk in front of her reminded her about how things had used to be, happy and free. She thought about the need for revenge, but swallowed that with the reality which would be needing to have those to help her on her goals. To do so, she needed to be accepted. He was offering that to her with the tales of family and camaraderie. Over the week, she got to know him. She even met some people that he sailed with, and they were all just as friendly and excited as he was.
While walking about the city the day before they were to set sail once again, Muirin decided to come out with her wish: she expressed interest in joining the crew to Psyava. He jumped with joy and ran off, nearly tripping over a gaggle of people in the road. Turning and calling back that he’d be right back, he would get me the chance to see the seas with them.
Now, she waited. She watched the ocean again, and felt that excitement she had once felt while looking out over the desert landscape under the black velvet starry skies. Now, the wanderlust and desire for adventure had returned. All she had to do was be patient.