Storymaking

I don’t know how much this affects others, but when I find a Map of one type or another, I feel the need to write stories about it. So I have done that with one of the maps I have gotten via the Show Map Cheat mod.

Here is the Map:

A generated map

And here is part I of the story:

Outer Island is approximately 15.8 away from the mainland and, while originally abandoned to wild creatures and the ghosts of pirates who inexplicably buried miscellaneous trash in chests, like poor fabric and half broken bows, has recently been settled with the intent to turn it to the good of the citizens of the main. The large and commodious natural harbor well suited the observation of its first published explorer Kurii, who lived there over 19 000 turns seeking his fortune in coin and skill against the wilderness it was at the time: “Over distance be over 4 parts timber and stone, three parts deepwater, last one land again. A fine land to keep, with land for the water and water for the land.”

Let us assume were are in a commercial craft such as a xebeq, coming in to Karakaline port with some fine substances for mart on the mainland to make a profit and establish our firm’s name in this place. For some time we coasted towards the great place of commerce and culture. A few days before sighting the port, we are come upon by a cutter flying the double crowned ensign of the Treasury Patrol. Respectfully spilling our wind, we come within biscuit toss of the deck to hear an order: “Make for Outer Island quarantine…” then follows some naval jargon, effectively directions to the place “…or we’ll serve you the penalty for violationists!” Which penalty varies from port to the next, but usually entails confiscation of the cargo for public auction, burning the ship to the waterline, and varying lengths of forced employment in the civil service depending on the degree of offence.

Keeping on north by east we eventually sight a spot of broken water: this is the Centinel. The island is a totally desolate sand patch very far away from any other and is usually the first thing sighted of the archipelago, if it can be called that, and the first location for wrecks as sleepy officers and crews have gotten used to the wide waters of this world. A regular patrol to the island and back is undertaken in turns by the inhabitants to check for survivors and collect any useful wreckage. A lighthouse has been considered, but funding the effort and manning it are uncertain. What effect if the island is washed is also unknown.

Approaching towards the island but giving it a respectful distance to port we begin to see the island arising from the waterline. Two main peaks mark the two masses of stone on the land – a third lesser one stands to the right making up a little peak off the harbor. The mountains are named (l. to r.) Landhall, Mainhall and Pinchback. The supposed origins of these are that Kurii landed and lived nearest the westernmost, found the largest cave under the central and noted the “pinch” in the coast caused by the last. This pinch is indeed significant as it causes the Middle Harbor Bay. By now a fourth outcrop is visible, far away on the east of the other three. This is Centinel Hill (no connection to the Centinel) which looks over and commands the “last one land” that closes the bay to the eastern origin forces.

Off in the far west we see some more breakers. These are the Mytoscene Islands: two fertile islands apparently as slimes about to divide. These are kept for evil livers who have been placed there to reform and improve their self reliancy alone. A very little sandspot, about halfway between these islands and the lesser Bight of Outer Island, can be seen. Practically it serves no purpose and causes no hazard, sheltered from shipping by other islands around it. Miscellaneous shallow water causes whitecaps here and there, including at the western side of the entrance to the sheltered harbor. A surprizing number of craft go aground here, and plans are making to either destroy it by engineering, or extend the land out to it, also by engineering.

Coming in to the Outer Harbor we are accosted by a yawl carrying a Custom House man. He scrapes up to the side of our still craft – the sails having been lowered – and is hauled aboard. Not sure what to make of us, he tries a few languages before settling on the Default of the Sea, well enough understandable. We communicate with him in this harsh and unfamiliar working language before he inspects our proofs from the port we sailed out of – a little nothing in comparison to even this island, and certainly compared to the great port of Karakaline – the statements of honesty and of legitimacy, our various tatos and looks for any brands on us. Spyglasses on shore observe all this byplay and are ready to dispatch force if any attempts are made to attack the inspector.

While going over the hold, a second yawl arrives, this one containing two people, both from the Quarantine Office. The first, a emotionless looking woman, sharply orders us around to examine all for any weakness of health or actual presence of disease. The other who we don’t get time to see, looks for offensive cargo or stowaway creatures. Timeskitters are bad enough without importing more or worse and they have not been completely extirpated despite a bounty on dead ones, besides the Hunter’s Right.

After some dehumanizing legalities from the Customs and Quarantine, the three officials line up facing west and make peculiar arm indicias. A fire is lit and extinguished three times on the beach and the officials decamp our little xebeq, to repeat their labors untill their watch ends, or they run across something that occupies them like a smuggler or a infectious case.

Smugglers are generally handled roughly – though not as badly as if they tried to skip the island altogether – and sent back with nothing in their boat by bread and water. Infectious cases were ordered to leave and never come back in the same boat, unless they were incapable of working ship, in which case they were exlied to the little island to the north of Outer Island. There was a beach, some wood and grass and a little spring. By the time the next case arrived there was nothing left.

The pilot now is aboard and the craft moving forward as they instruct the mariners and helmsman to the assigned berth. Evidently our small size interests the authorities, so we are moored offshore right below (south of) the pinch point. Here we stay for our quarantine.