Tayde Martolod
Theme (and voice)
Age: 18
Race: Nua Sidhe
Culture: Mistan
Appearance:
A young man, tall and slim, often clad in blue and green as it reminds him of the sea. His shoulder-length hair, unkempt more often than not, is jet black, as is his budding goatee.
Story
Spoiler
The rhythmic lull of hoofbeats are a marching drum to the small group of pioneers and variety of folk you have found yourself amongst, packed into a wobbling wagon. The rolling plains of the Southern Reach and a clear sky stretch out all around you, the buzz of excited chatter a dull wash in your ears as your mind strays to your former life and what has led you here to new lands.
“Nervous?”
You blink, returning to the present moment. A kindly older woman sat near you is smiling warmly with a crinkle to her eyes.
“I can tell it’s your first time. Still remember mine,” she flashes a grin and leans in.
“Tell me my dear, why have you come to the Reach?”
“Is it that obvious? Well, I guess I still have salt in my hair,” I say with a returning smile.
“It feels like I just disembarked at Mariza, and now I’m almost at the Wall. But as soon as I find my uncle, I’ll make him take me to see the Spire. If I ever find him. He’s supposed to be with the Walljacks—or so they say. I’ve never met the man, and all I have is a name. I’m not even sure I’m pronouncing it right. Oh, and one other clue—he should be a Mistan, like me.”
My smile fades as I realize just how vast the unknown ahead of me truly is—and that this random woman, kind as she seems, won’t suddenly produce a list of every Mistan in the Reach, complete with their precise addresses.
“To be honest, I hardly feel like a Mistan anymore. When they sent me away—my in-laws—they boarded me on an old, creaky balinger. After I’d spent a year building my own sloop, they made sure I wouldn’t be anywhere near it. I guess it worked. I wouldn’t feel at home back in the Siren Serene’s waters.
"Not everyone makes the voyage. But I wanted to. I felt like I needed to—on my own ship, on my own terms. To bring back stories to tell when the Typhoon closes the ports. It should’ve completed me, in a way. But now, I feel like some foreign pieces fell into a place where salt should’ve been."
I shake my head, trying to clear the gloom.
"I feel bad for the folks who helped build her, too. The entire village lent a hand. Or a plank. She was just a few nails away from being finished—a beauty made of the finest Hardwood. I hope they won’t let her rot in the sand."
"But what if I never find my uncle? For all I know, my brother-in-law could’ve made the name up and sent me on a wild goose chase. Even if that’s the case, I’m not going back to the Isles. He can choke on the inheritance, for all I care.”
"If nothing else, I can join some Falstoner caravan and disappear into the sunset. Do you know if Fey's tongue is hard to learn?”
Forced from his homeland by greedy relatives, Tayde's search for his Uncle ensues. A valuable ally or a man who never existed? The answer lies in the Reach.
