Arnan Tyrne the Pirate Sorcerer

Alright, so the moons were melting. That’s how the night began. It's not my fault.

I knew the signs, ripples in the blood, ache in my spine where the ink had soaked too deep. I was three swigs into a flask of red aether rum, sitting astride the hull of my lovely inverted skiff, which hovered just barely above the boil line of the Charibdis Current. Thunderclaps rolled backwards. Gulls screamed shrill equations, or maybe it was the red.. The tide had turned acidic. Any way you slice it, this meant opportunity.

Behind my right eye patch, the Mapstone pulsed. My sister had buried it there during a bout of pique. It's not cheating at cards if you know I'm a sorcerer, alright.

Anyhow, it was guiding me now, to the Vault of Drowned King Gradlon of Ys, supposedly. More likely into a mouthful of sea spiders and a city made of shark teeth. Either way, it was better than heading into port.

My dowsing spell may or may not have initiated a lunar apocalypse..