map notes
The word froze us all. Silence followed, thick and expectant, as if the iron walls themselves were listening. Swampletics’ grip slackened, though the tension in his muscles remained, coiled like a spring. Conseil relaxed too, and I, for my part, could not move from the spot, my eyes fixed on the figure that had spoken.
Slish leaned against the wall, shadows of a smile flickering over his face. His voice, when he spoke, was low and drawn-out, like smoke curling from a candle.
“Ah… the tide has shifted,” he murmured. “Even in cages, hearts wander… and sometimes meet.”
A shiver passed over me. Slish’s gaze lingered on me, and then, with the faintest tilt of his head, drifted toward Swampletics, who was still recovering from his outburst. Slish’s mysterious air seemed to warp the very light, folding the room into some intimate twilight.
And then—an aroma, unmistakable and sweet—wafted into the cell. Donkey Kong appeared at the threshold, arms laden with coconut cream pies, the golden crusts gleaming in the morning light of the ventilator. Each pie was carefully stacked, as if balancing the world itself.
“I made plenty,” he grunted cheerfully, setting them down. “For the brave, the weary, and the… romantically inclined.”
Slish’s eyes sparkled. “Ah… generosity wrapped in sweetness,” he whispered. He moved forward, picking up a pie with a delicate, almost reverent touch, and handed it to me. “Here… taste this, Professor. Life… even in iron prisons… must be savored.”
Swampletics snatched his pie with the eagerness of a man who had battled hunger itself, while Conseil, with perfect manners, accepted his portion with a bow and an approving glance. Even in the metallic belly of the Nautilus, a strange warmth had returned.
As we ate, I reflected on the odd passage of time aboard this vessel. We had fought monsters—both of the sea and of our own impatience—and yet here we were, nourished, if only for a moment, by the subtle humanity of Slish’s charm and Donkey Kong’s culinary triumphs.
It was then that the cell, still humming with the faint vibrations of the Nautilus beneath the waves, reminded me that our captivity was not only physical but also mental. And Slish, enigmatic as ever, leaned close and whispered, a curl of breath against my ear,
“Even in chains… even beneath the waves… hearts can navigate toward each other.”
I looked up from my pie, meeting his eyes, and for a brief instant, the cell felt less like a prison and more like a shared refuge against the vast and silent ocean beyond.
The moment lingered, suspended between the iron walls and the hum of the Nautilus. Then the door opened wider, and Xiamul entered, his dark eyes assessing us with the calm of a man who commands both sea and steel. Avngd’s anger stiffened into vigilance, though Settled Swampletics’ appetite had been briefly mollified by Donkey Kong’s offerings of coconut cream pies.
“Enough,” Xiamul said, his voice low and commanding, yet smooth as velvet. “There is no cause for violence here. You have been impatient, yes, but you have also been supplied.”
Slish straightened, shadows dancing along his features, and gave a slow, enigmatic nod. “Patience, Professor… patience, Avngd. Sometimes the cage itself teaches as much as the sea. But truthfully… I’d trade a whole ocean just to return to the skies of Gielinor and grind runecrafting a while longer.” His words carried both warning and romantic promise, tinged with longing.
Xiamul strode to the center of the cell. “You have been curious about the Nautilus, and I see that your curiosity grows even as hunger fades.”
Donkey Kong, ever practical even in the presence of awe, offered a pie to Xiamul. The Captain’s dark eyes softened briefly as he accepted it, lifting it with a careful hand, and then consuming it with the measured grace of a man accustomed to extremes. Slish’s lips curved into a faint, approving smile.
“And now,” Xiamul continued, “you must understand the Nautilus’ heart.” He gestured toward the stern, where the iron engine-room throbbed like a mechanical leviathan. “Here, electricity is life. It drives the screw, illuminates the cabins, renews the air, and powers all mechanisms that serve my commands.”
Avngd muttered under his breath, “All very well, but I’d rather be back at the Abyss, crafting natures and chaos runes. This… this is less fun.”
I followed, my mind still tinged with the sweetness of Donkey Kong’s pies and the lingering mystery of Slish’s gaze. Consciovs and Avngd trailed closely, while Slish lingered, brushing the cool metal of the walls with fingers that seemed to trace invisible patterns, whispering, “Every line… every shadow… every pulse… tells a story. Yet some stories… are only for hearts that dare to glance between the cracks of the world—or, say, a runecrafting altar at night.”
We reached the engine-room. The hum of the machines was deafening yet rhythmic, almost like the beating of a great mechanical heart. Xiamul’s hands moved deftly across the controls. “Observe,” he said. “Every wheel, every lever, every dial… each is part of a whole, and all are governed by electricity. The screw beneath us turns with precision. The Nautilus does not drift—it commands the currents, as I command it.”
Slish’s presence beside me was a strange comfort. “Even in this vast, iron leviathan,” he whispered, “one can find… connection. One can find… a glance that becomes a compass… a touch that becomes a map… and yet, one still longs to return to the Gielinor skies, to grind runecrafting by candlelight.”
Avngd growled softly, distracted by both awe and nostalgia. “I swear, I’ll take fifty more pies from Donkey Kong before I’ll ever get used to this,” he said, glancing at the massive ape who had already baked enough coconut cream pies to feed a small army. “But after that… back to the Abyss. Back to crafting runes.”
Donkey Kong placed yet another pie on the bench, as if grounding us in simple pleasures while the grandeur of the deep threatened to overwhelm. Slish let his hand linger on the glass of the observation window, gazing out at the luminous fish and swaying coral. “Yes… but even here, the currents of the sea remind me of the currents of my heart… though I would trade them all to return to a dark altar and perfect my runecrafting.”
Settled Swampletics rubbed his hands together, eyeing the glowing coral outside the window. “Enough talk of pies and mysteries… let’s get back to grinding. The Abyss waits, and those runes won’t craft themselves.”
And I, caught between fear, awe, the subtle intrigue of Slish’s attentions, and Avngd’s impatient fantasies of RuneScape, realized that life aboard the Nautilus was no longer simply about escape or curiosity—it was about navigating the currents of trust, loyalty, desire… and the endless longing to grind runes, even beneath the ocean’s crushing depths.
Slish leaned against the wall, shadows of a smile flickering over his face. His voice, when he spoke, was low and drawn-out, like smoke curling from a candle.
“Ah… the tide has shifted,” he murmured. “Even in cages, hearts wander… and sometimes meet.”
A shiver passed over me. Slish’s gaze lingered on me, and then, with the faintest tilt of his head, drifted toward Swampletics, who was still recovering from his outburst. Slish’s mysterious air seemed to warp the very light, folding the room into some intimate twilight.
And then—an aroma, unmistakable and sweet—wafted into the cell. Donkey Kong appeared at the threshold, arms laden with coconut cream pies, the golden crusts gleaming in the morning light of the ventilator. Each pie was carefully stacked, as if balancing the world itself.
“I made plenty,” he grunted cheerfully, setting them down. “For the brave, the weary, and the… romantically inclined.”
Slish’s eyes sparkled. “Ah… generosity wrapped in sweetness,” he whispered. He moved forward, picking up a pie with a delicate, almost reverent touch, and handed it to me. “Here… taste this, Professor. Life… even in iron prisons… must be savored.”
Swampletics snatched his pie with the eagerness of a man who had battled hunger itself, while Conseil, with perfect manners, accepted his portion with a bow and an approving glance. Even in the metallic belly of the Nautilus, a strange warmth had returned.
As we ate, I reflected on the odd passage of time aboard this vessel. We had fought monsters—both of the sea and of our own impatience—and yet here we were, nourished, if only for a moment, by the subtle humanity of Slish’s charm and Donkey Kong’s culinary triumphs.
It was then that the cell, still humming with the faint vibrations of the Nautilus beneath the waves, reminded me that our captivity was not only physical but also mental. And Slish, enigmatic as ever, leaned close and whispered, a curl of breath against my ear,
“Even in chains… even beneath the waves… hearts can navigate toward each other.”
I looked up from my pie, meeting his eyes, and for a brief instant, the cell felt less like a prison and more like a shared refuge against the vast and silent ocean beyond.
The moment lingered, suspended between the iron walls and the hum of the Nautilus. Then the door opened wider, and Xiamul entered, his dark eyes assessing us with the calm of a man who commands both sea and steel. Avngd’s anger stiffened into vigilance, though Settled Swampletics’ appetite had been briefly mollified by Donkey Kong’s offerings of coconut cream pies.
“Enough,” Xiamul said, his voice low and commanding, yet smooth as velvet. “There is no cause for violence here. You have been impatient, yes, but you have also been supplied.”
Slish straightened, shadows dancing along his features, and gave a slow, enigmatic nod. “Patience, Professor… patience, Avngd. Sometimes the cage itself teaches as much as the sea. But truthfully… I’d trade a whole ocean just to return to the skies of Gielinor and grind runecrafting a while longer.” His words carried both warning and romantic promise, tinged with longing.
Xiamul strode to the center of the cell. “You have been curious about the Nautilus, and I see that your curiosity grows even as hunger fades.”
Donkey Kong, ever practical even in the presence of awe, offered a pie to Xiamul. The Captain’s dark eyes softened briefly as he accepted it, lifting it with a careful hand, and then consuming it with the measured grace of a man accustomed to extremes. Slish’s lips curved into a faint, approving smile.
“And now,” Xiamul continued, “you must understand the Nautilus’ heart.” He gestured toward the stern, where the iron engine-room throbbed like a mechanical leviathan. “Here, electricity is life. It drives the screw, illuminates the cabins, renews the air, and powers all mechanisms that serve my commands.”
Avngd muttered under his breath, “All very well, but I’d rather be back at the Abyss, crafting natures and chaos runes. This… this is less fun.”
I followed, my mind still tinged with the sweetness of Donkey Kong’s pies and the lingering mystery of Slish’s gaze. Consciovs and Avngd trailed closely, while Slish lingered, brushing the cool metal of the walls with fingers that seemed to trace invisible patterns, whispering, “Every line… every shadow… every pulse… tells a story. Yet some stories… are only for hearts that dare to glance between the cracks of the world—or, say, a runecrafting altar at night.”
We reached the engine-room. The hum of the machines was deafening yet rhythmic, almost like the beating of a great mechanical heart. Xiamul’s hands moved deftly across the controls. “Observe,” he said. “Every wheel, every lever, every dial… each is part of a whole, and all are governed by electricity. The screw beneath us turns with precision. The Nautilus does not drift—it commands the currents, as I command it.”
Slish’s presence beside me was a strange comfort. “Even in this vast, iron leviathan,” he whispered, “one can find… connection. One can find… a glance that becomes a compass… a touch that becomes a map… and yet, one still longs to return to the Gielinor skies, to grind runecrafting by candlelight.”
Avngd growled softly, distracted by both awe and nostalgia. “I swear, I’ll take fifty more pies from Donkey Kong before I’ll ever get used to this,” he said, glancing at the massive ape who had already baked enough coconut cream pies to feed a small army. “But after that… back to the Abyss. Back to crafting runes.”
Donkey Kong placed yet another pie on the bench, as if grounding us in simple pleasures while the grandeur of the deep threatened to overwhelm. Slish let his hand linger on the glass of the observation window, gazing out at the luminous fish and swaying coral. “Yes… but even here, the currents of the sea remind me of the currents of my heart… though I would trade them all to return to a dark altar and perfect my runecrafting.”
Settled Swampletics rubbed his hands together, eyeing the glowing coral outside the window. “Enough talk of pies and mysteries… let’s get back to grinding. The Abyss waits, and those runes won’t craft themselves.”
And I, caught between fear, awe, the subtle intrigue of Slish’s attentions, and Avngd’s impatient fantasies of RuneScape, realized that life aboard the Nautilus was no longer simply about escape or curiosity—it was about navigating the currents of trust, loyalty, desire… and the endless longing to grind runes, even beneath the ocean’s crushing depths.
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