June 06, 2013
Rumors of the Warrior Women
Dage's Scorn Saga 1: The Femme Fatalities!
All right, all right, settle down now and take a knee. Grandad’s gonna tell you young’uns a story, so sit down and shut up. Especially you, Alfred. I’ve got my eye on you. Now this story isn’t gonna be like the other ones that I tell. That’s ‘cause this one is true. Or as close to truth as you can get from rumors and hearsay and what not.
You might not think it to look at me now, but I used to be young too. I grew up in Lolosia. My father was a sailor, as was his father, and his father’s father. Sailin’ is in your blood.
Anyhow, living in a port town, you hear plenty of rumors and other bric-a-brac from all around Lore. We got all sorts of tales. Sea creatures from the black depths of the oceans, big as islands, or lands across the sea with grown men and women no taller than your pinkie finger.
These stories are told with loud, boisterous voices in the seaside taverns and inns. These stories are told when a man, or woman for that matter, wants to bring up the mood in the inn. That’s how you know that they’re lies. The true tales are told when the wind is high, and the thunderstorms roll into the coast.
On those black nights, when sailors huddle together with their shipmates around the inn’s fireplace, they speak in hushed tones of the dangers and mysteries at sea. They speak of the Isle of Fotia.
No, Albert, you can’t ask questions, Grandad’s talkin’. Now, where was I? Ah yes. Fotia.
Not a lot of people talk about Fotia. There’s a good reason for that. No one who has sailed close to the Island has ever returned. The Isle is populated only by women, to hear the sailors tell it. Unlike island-sized sea monsters or pygmies, no one could deny the many disappearances of ships around that area for no apparent reason.
But that’s not the strangest thing. Only ships without a woman on board disappear in the waters around Fotia. Actually I –
Alfred, so help me... if you interrupt me one more time... No! No! I don’t care if you have to go to the bathroom, I’m telling a story. You know what? Fine. You’re adopted. There, bet that makes goin’ to the bathroom a whole lot less important, huh?
Ahem. As I was saying before I was cut off, I actually have a little somethin’ that isn’t rumor. One morning, my father didn’t return from his usual merchant run. My mom and I waited for days, but there was no word of him, until, six days later, my father’s ship drifted onto the shore. It was a miracle the thing was still floating. The hull was riddled with holes. The sails were torn to shreds. It looked like it was attacked by a dragon.
No one was on board except my father’s first mate, who we found hiding in the cargo hold, gibbering like a lunatic. His responses to our questions were more or less unintelligible gobbledy-gook, until we asked who had done this. It was his only lucid answer. He whispered it at first, his voice rising with each repetition of the name until he was screaming it without pause or restraint. Femme Fatalities. Femme Fatalities. Femme Fatalities.
Alright, that’s Grandpa’s story. You kids should go toddle off to bed now. And would someone get Alfred to stop crying? He’s givin’ me a headache.
Hi! I'm Notsgnal, AQWorlds' newest writing intern and freelance henchman. I'll be helping out this Summer, and there's a good chance you'll see more story Design Notes from me!
We're on track for release tomorrow... unless the tornado blows the Lab off-course! But if it doesn't, you'll get the first release in the four-part Dage Scorned Saga! Reward previews and more news (like the gear for Dage's Artist Showcase shop) are coming in tomorrows Design Notes from Beleen!