Brothers and sisters of bluest blood.

Jovunn

Adept
((Abbath's voice. There is no stutter by virtue of the fact the dream does not require actual speech, but "I" and "me", when used, still seem forced.))

My name is Abbath. Sword-bringer. Hull-breaker. Crow-caller.
I speak to each of you: Krakenborn. Rustbeast. Gorerain. Osprey. Siren. I speak to you as family, as warriors, as freemen. I speak to you with the authority given me by the Albatross.

The Corsair King Fardaniel is dead. His men no longer find favor with Vaccara. None of the corsairs do.
These are strong blows. A stronger opportunity.
The corsairs in their undeath and fae magic are a scourge. They are the Vaccarans the world has known, but they are not the Vakkar. They shame us. They shame our values. They take our Mastery and Toil and Blood and drag them through the mud, dirtying all three with acts undeserving of those names.

We do not accept charity. We have been welcomed into this world, but we have not earned our place.
It is time we earned it.
It is time we eradicate the corsairs.

By the word of the Albatross, I call to you now:
We must unify. One fleet, many tribes; one goal:
Death to undeath and to those who would raise and ally with the dead.
Death to those who would draw upon the powers of the Fae who placed us in bondage.
Death to those who take but do not earn.

I know where some of them hide. It is a start.
Vaccara's Remorse rests beyond the closed borders of the Camulan Islands. Join me, and our enemy shall know the rain of blood.

To those who travel these lands:
There is room on my vessel for those who would join us. You need only ask.

I speak to Vaccara now, if she listens:
I will make good on my promise. You will learn that we, those you freed, are not ingrates. We do not accept your gift; we repay it. We repay it in the blood of your false champions, and we repay it in abundance.
I hope you will remember our conversation. I hope you will remember my words.

By my honor,
Abbath Sword-Bringer.
 
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