A city, growing like a well manicured garden, rests on the island of Krassus. An island of little to mention other than its location. It rests three days sail east from the rocky shores of Adamanstratus along the Cressian flow that runs all the way to the sandy southern shores of the Fanim lands before turning south and departing past the untamed tangle of the Wild Land’s shores. This, in theory, would make it a wonderful port of call for trading ships that wished to take the Cressian Flow to the Fanim lands before turning north and traveling along the coast to the Andyan Flow that would take them back to Adamanstratus. Unfortunately, as Marcus Telemanus was discovering to his increasing dismay, the island was a pock mark on the face of the world with nothing to bring anyone there, and plenty to keep them away.
“No one would found a village here, much less a city, unless they were mad or stupid.” Marcus said to himself, his voice the raspy clicking that was common to all Mantis. “Or unless he had no choice.” Marcus sighed, letting the red chitin that covered his hand run along the living wood railing of the balcony of his new home. ‘I fear I may fill all three categories’ he thought wearily. He had known that his brother sending him out here, to ‘Aid the throne in a most critical task’ could mean nothing good. Marcus only wished it hadn’t been this bad.
The earth of the island of Krassus was rough and rocky, it was hard to get anything to grow here, which both limited their ability to actually build anything on the island, and made it impossible to supply themselves through farming. Water was a serious issue as well. The only source of naturally drinkable water on the island was in the damned swamp to the south. Just collecting the water from the edge was hazardous enough, but to get enough water to keep even those who had already arrived they’d have to go deeper and get some form of infrastructure built. Which promised to be nearly impossible. The water itself was filled with bone fish, horrible creatures that grew no larger than an inch. There were a lot of them, and they bit anything that moved with teeth sharp enough to gouge steel. The swamp was also constantly surrounded by the thickest mist Marcus had ever seen, the air was wet enough to put out torches. And deeper still were horrid creatures that Marcus refused to think about.
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Things were not entirely hopeless at least. A circle of Singers had accompanied him, most of them owing him one favour or another, and while they would not be here for long they could fix most of these issues before the Emperor would call them back. Or so Marcus hoped. They were already hard at work fashioning runes of True Speech that would purify the ocean water in quantities large enough to sustain them. Marcus dearly hoped they would have time to make at least part of the land usable as well, but had already scheduled a number of imports should that fail. Beyond surviving the next week or two Marcus truly had no plans.
Perhaps his brother sent him out here hoping he would just starve to death, an eventuality which was more likely than Marcus cared to admit.
For now he was still alive, and that would have to be enough. And if life had taught Marcus anything, it was that if you threw enough time at any problem, it could be solved. And so Marcus sat back in his newly grown chair, letting himself relax for what must have been the first time in weeks. He grabbed a bottle from the ground, uncorked it and sipped as he watched the sun fall across the horizon painting the sea green and the sky a shade of purple. “All we need is a bit of time, and everything will come together, and maybe a little faith as well.”
Time was unfortunately not quite as kind as Marcus hoped. By sunrise the startings of the town on Krassus would be reduced to ash before it could even be given a proper name. The people of the town would find themselves in the grave, or in chains. And those unlucky enough to be left behind would find themselves wishing for either.