The docks hadn't seen use for well over a century when the tides left and never returned. Some say a witch cursed the place while she burnt at the stake in the harbour. Others say the earth itself shifted, tilted in such a way as the bay rose too far up for the sea to meet it any more.
All that can be known for sure is that the docks died and the town fell to rot not too long after, dragging the folk with it til all that was left of a thriving community was broken nets and the wind-battered shells of their homes.
Their ships still sail, though the sailors passed long ago. They say you can never truly take a man from the sea, only delay his return and all the folk for miles around returned to the sea sooner or later. You san see them along the horizon, bobbing about where water should be and casting nets over empty, cracked ground.
It's a place not fit for the living, a place that drags you down to the ocean's floor and drowns you with water that still remembers being there. Where you can smell as much salt in the air as you can fresh blood though neither source can be found for miles around.
All that can be known for sure is that the docks died and the town fell to rot not too long after, dragging the folk with it til all that was left of a thriving community was broken nets and the wind-battered shells of their homes.
Their ships still sail, though the sailors passed long ago. They say you can never truly take a man from the sea, only delay his return and all the folk for miles around returned to the sea sooner or later. You san see them along the horizon, bobbing about where water should be and casting nets over empty, cracked ground.
It's a place not fit for the living, a place that drags you down to the ocean's floor and drowns you with water that still remembers being there. Where you can smell as much salt in the air as you can fresh blood though neither source can be found for miles around.
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