The Old Man and the Marodeen Sea
Summary
Once upon a time, long ago, before the clans had rediscovered one another, a crew of young Marodeen were sent off into the wastes upon their Trial of Passage. In those days, because each clan had to carry out the traditions on its own, they had to wait to hold the Trial until the clan had enough youths to send. This meant the crews were often much more spread out in age. Also in those days, The Blades of the Master had not yet been found, so every clan sent their crews out from wherever the clan happened to be at the time of Midwinter. A certain crew, whose oldest member was almost 20 and whose youngest member was only 13, set up a hierarchy through strength and bullying, instead of respect and competence. Its Wind Mistress would flog anyone weaker than her - including the camels and also the youngest member - for every minor mistake. One day, the youngest member, after enduring a particularly undeserved beating together with his camel, rode off into the desert on his own. "Even if we die of thirst," he thought, "it's got to be better than this." The youngest and his camel wandered for 15 days and 15 nights, out of water and delirious from thirst and exhaustion by the end of that time. Suddenly the horizon, the changeless line where blinding white salt met sneering blue sky, was broken by a dark storm cloud dropping more rain than the youth had ever seen. He summoned his last reserves of strength, and led his camel toward the downpour. Before he knew it, he was in the middle of the deluge, and the ground all around him was ankle-deep in water. The youngest and his camel both drank nearly to bursting, and just as the boy was beginning to worry he might have nowhere to sleep that night, the squall ceased and the clouds dissipated into the midday sun. He was disoriented to find that the horizon had apparently vanished - the blue sky was perfectly reflected in the water. Also perfectly reflected, a dozen yards off, was a hunched, old man wearing dark, waterlogged robes. "Young man!", the old man shouted, as he stepped forward, shattering the placidity of the reflected sky. "You must learn your fate, lest our people remain lost forever." Reaching into his robe, the man pulled out a deck of cards, which surprisingly seemed to be completely dry. "Now draw three!" The youngest, dumbfounded and still too exhausted to question, complied and showed the chosen three to the old man: "The Blade, The Scales, The Ship. Ah, young man, this is a grand fate indeed! Take up your weapon, balance the scales, and then you will captain your ship with the wisdom it has lacked. Thus is our people's birthright restored." Then the old man vanished, leaving the boy holding nothing but 3 pokemon cards and ....The tale always ends there, as if the teller fell asleep. The names and interpretations of the three cards vary widely between clans telling the story. They always end with the unexplained mention of something called "pokemon", however...
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