Tyrial felt the sense of relief wash of over him, the likes of which he had never known. After nine months drifting at sea, he had all but given up hope of survival. His skin had been burned to the colour of clay and his hair the colour of bone. But today… Today he saw land! And his boat was drifting right for it!
It had been a routine trip from Nujelm, one he had made hundreds of times to sell his sand to the alchemists of Magincia. This trip had started like any other but for a faint, almost electrical crackle that could be felt in the air… like the tension before a lightning storm… but no clouds were in sight.
Just as Nujelm passed out of sight, a roaring sound erupted, as if the air itself was being torn asunder. To Tyrial’s surprise, a flaming fist slammed through what seemed to be the very reality of the world. With a scream of triumph, the blazing creature burst through the tear and, after short pause to orient itself, unleashed a deafening roar and called down a flaming pillar where Tyrial’s mast had once stood.
As the pillar rapidly consumed Tyrial’s sail and began to engulf the rest of the ship, a violent boiling could be heard from the opposite side of the boat. Terrified, Tyrial hid in the hold amongst the containers of sand and, to his amazement, saw a huge wave surge from the ocean and entirely extinguish the pillar of flame. As the wave crashed across his boat, it began to slowly form up into a swirling manlike shape.
The fire elemental’s snapped its attention away from Tyrial’s small craft as in unleashed a new attack upon the slowly forming water elemental. As the primordial battle raged, Tyrial’s boat slowly drifted away from the violent, steam-ridden melee. From that day onwards, without his sail, Tyrial had been adrift to the mercy of the wind and sea.
Each time when Tyrial was sure that he would perish of hunger or thirst, a seemingly random event would give him another lease on life. First, when thirst was sure to overcome him, Tyrial heard a knocking noise against the side of his craft. Dragging himself to the edge, he noticed a mid-sized barrel floating against the bow of his ship. With his last ounce of strength, he dragged the cask onboard and found it to be nearly half full of fresh drinking water! From that point forward, Tyrial found he could trust something to come. Whether it was a freak rain shower with which he could refill his barrel or the fish that would jump from the ocean, or the birds that would fall from the sky until the deck.
Even with this apparent supernatural support, there did not seem to any end in sight for Tyrial’s journey. Weeks became months and still, Tyrial floated on. To repel the torture of boredom, Tyrial studied what he could and maintained his strength and dexterity through whatever physical exercise would fit within the confines of the ship.
After reaching land, Tyrial pitched a small camp from which to recover his strength and begin to explore his new location. From his months of training at sea, Tyrial was no longer the sand merchant he had once been. Knowing that his friends must assume had had died, and with no interest in returning to his old life on Nujelm, Tyrial set out to find the meaning of the miracle of his survival.
Personal history of Tyrial Darkmoon
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