Excerpt from Volume 5 of F.M-P’s folklore anthologies. The author’s notes have been preserved.

To describe the town of Ryncebud with a handful of words, I would use “strange but warm”. I was fascinated from our arrival by the architecture: there were stone pillars everywhere, pillars holding up arches framing windows so large, they had to make space for another layer of the building to keep them together. Each wall of these buildings was made from anywhere from two to twelve materials, which provided color within color that I saw nowhere else, and the structural play between symmetry and asymmetry allowed for a giddiness of structure that I adored. The weather was quite warm, as if it were the middle of summer, which was a great relief for us¹ (although I worry how it would feel for them five months later during the actual summertime). They welcomed our unexpected arrival with open arms, giving us somewhere to stay for the low price of making ourselves useful.

On a foggy evening near the great slabs of carved stone that served as the docks, I was propositioned by an elven fisherman who had bound his long, dark hair up in a bun, missing more than a few fingers from his choice of trade: word had gotten around of my repair skills, and I agreed to re-tie his fishing nets for coin. Dusk was settling as I balanced in a rickety yellow dingy which may have belonged to the man’s parents, making decent (but not great) progress on repairing the net, when the wind began to pick up. I was climbing back out of the water for either the fourth or fifth time when I spotted them: strange vessels with bulbous growths on their sails floating off in the distance, flying no flags I was familiar with. In that moment, I feared I would have to confront my past sooner than expected.

I debated whether to warn the town or stand as their shield; fortunately, one of the other stowaways spotted them as he was moving to, erm, feed the fish from his stomach. With him sounding the alarm by the shore, I resolved to at least try to finish the fisherman’s task before the great fleet arrived: an easy task, and quite relaxing once I realized the ships were headed out to sea.

Upon my return at dawn to where we’d agreed to meet, my compatriot’s initial concern about having been scammed was quickly overtaken by embarrassed concern at the boot-squelching of my approach.

“My friend,” he told me once I was safely and comfortably positioned in front of the hearth at the local tavern with some rather delicious black tea, “did it not occur to you that the panic of a drunken man is oft-overlooked? Although we know those ‘ships’ were merely the seed pods of Dock Ness², were it something more serious we would have been caught off guard.” With this, he sighed, tanned skin from sun and from birth wrinkling upon his face. “You’re too trusting in the good will and wit of others. Truth is, not everyone has your best interests at heart, and even if they do, people get complacent. You say you collect stories, right? Listen to this, and take it to heart: it was written as a prophecy by a man known as Dhethall the Dark.”

Said the Carp to the Sailors #

There will be a group of sailors, trapped at sea as the land grows slick with blood. In an hour among many when their needs are greatest, their cries will be answered: not by gods or heroes as one might expect, but by carp with iridescent scales. They will come up out of the water, speaking and breathing as we might, bearing great parcels wrapped with twine.

”We have gifts for you,” they will declare, “gifts of fine timber and tallow, for we love you so.” Although the sailors will accept these gifts with immense gratitude, the following will be whispered below deck:

”Although the carp are friendly for now, they are not to be trusted, for we cannot know their full intent; although it is easy to follow this flow, we must remember how to swim against it.”

With this, all would agree, except perhaps the greatest of fools. Thus, lives spared by the mercy of the carp, those sailors would grow to forget the shore, and their children would take their few dim memories as myths. Indeed, the only things those children will know to be real are the sway of the ship, the family forged by those aboard, and the fact they would never meet anyone else upon the waves. In an hour among many when their loneliness is greatest, their cries will once again be answered; not by luck’s fickle fortune, but by the carp with iridescent scales. They will come up out of the water, speaking and breathing as we might, bearing a host of lovely maidens at their side.

”We have gifts for you,” they will declare, “gifts of kind spouses who can be the companions you crave, for we love you so.” At this, many of the sailors will rejoice, but the wise among them will say:

”Although the carp are friendly for now, they are not to be trusted, for we cannot know their full intent; although it is easy to follow this flow, we must remember how to swim against it.”

With this, there will be great arguments, with many choosing to marry the carp’s brides and birthing the fish-children. These fish-children will carry on their parent’s legacy, thriving under the carp’s care and scolding all who try to teach them reason. Eventually, the fish-children will have children of their own, who will be even greater fools than their parents, hunting for anything to keep them entertained. In an hour among many when their boredom is greatest, their cries will once again be answered; not by any form of satisfaction from a job well done, but by the carp with iridescent scales. They will come up out of the water, speaking and breathing as we might, bearing large and ancient tomes.

”We have gifts for you,” they will declare, “gifts of mystic secrets and fun folly, because we love you so.” At this, only the ship’s carpenter will even bother with resistance for the sake of tradition, telling his apprentice:

“Although the carp are friendly for now, they are not to be trusted, for we cannot know their full intent; although it is easy to follow this flow, we must remember how to swim against it.” With this, as the carpenter turns to leave, his apprentice will tug on his shirt.

”Then teach me,” asks the apprentice, “for I wish to learn.” The carpenter, shocked his apprentice does not wish to join the other fish-children, will nevertheless sit down smiling. He will tell his apprentice everything he knows of wisdom from his parent’s many ill-fated warnings and his own foolish misfortunes. These lessons will go on for many years, with the apprentice gleaning further fragments of wisdom from whatever he gets involved in.

Eventually, the ship will fall into a great whirlpool of calamity, unavoidable only due to lack of will to do so. Many of the fish-children, knowing only their own folly, will find first the rocks, then from the rocks pain, then from pain the waiting arms of ruin. Yet the carpenter’s apprentice, knowing this flow could be resisted, will swim as fast as his limbs will let him, grasping onto driftwood. He alone will find respite on a sandy beach, thrust into a world as foreign to him as wisdom to a fool.

With this, the elven fisher paid me my due (2 pieces of the queen’s gold), and made sure I was well fed and had supplies enough to reach Iffel. As I left, I couldn’t help but hear him mutter to himself:

“Don’t go fishing for fools; they will eat the hook and leave you the worm”.

One last thing I must mention about my time in Ryncebud: once I reached Iffel and began my hunt for tales there, every single person I encountered had an unfalsifiable face of bewilderment any time I mentioned the town. At one point, when I tried to show someone the path I had taken, all I found was an unnaturally overgrown mass of nettles. Dhethall the Dark, in contrast, was someone I managed to get a few leads on […]