Lake of Life
Floating towns ever rotating on a slow current
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| The night was clear, the stars sharp above the drifting rafts. Ralen sat on the edge of the planks, feet dangling just above the black water. He held a small clay cup of fermented weed, its sour bite warming his chest. Around him, the town hummed with life: children chasing each other across the lashed boards, women mending nets by lamplight, old men arguing over whose son had hauled the bigger catch. |
| From the tavern raft came the thump of drums and the rise of laughter. A major's nephew had returned from a raid with a fresh scar and a sack of iron tools, and that meant drink for everyone. |
| Ralen's grandmother sat beside him, lighting small candles one by one and setting them adrift. "For your uncle," she whispered. "And your father." |
| Ralen nodded, though he kept his eyes on the dark. Out there, beyond the lantern glow, fins cut through the surface. The sharks circled always, patient as time itself. Somewhere deeper, the sirens would be lurking, waiting for their time to strike, to kill, though tonight it was calm. |
| The lake was full of life, full of death, full of gods. Ralen raised his cup, poured the last of his drink into the water, and watched the ripples fade into the endless night. |
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| The first sound was the gull-cry, sharp and shrill in the dark before dawn. Taren sat up in his cot, heart hammering, and knew at once what it meant. He had heard it before. |
| By the time he staggered to the door, the Floaters were already in the shallows. Narrow boats skimmed the surf, their paddles dipping in perfect silence. Shadows leapt from them, bare-chested men with shields strapped tight and short spears glinting in the torchlight. |
| The watchman's horn gave one blast before he was cut down. Then the village was chaos: smoke, screams, the clash of steel. |
| Taren grabbed a pitchfork and swung wildly, driving one raider back into the waves, but another struck him with a shield edge, and he fell, gasping in the sand. From the ground he saw his neighbors dragged in ropes, saw the storerooms broken open, saw children pulled wailing toward the boats. |
| And then, as quickly as it had come, it was over. The raiders melted back into the water, their craft vanishing into the morning mist. Only gulls remained, circling overhead, their cries echoing like cruel laughter. |
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| The drums were quiet, only the creak of ropes and the lap of water against the rafts filling the night. Aila sat with her children, her eyes dry though her heart ached. Her husband's raft had burned a week ago, carried into the dark with its candles, and now came the binding. |
| Her brother-in-law, Joran, stood before her. He was already a married man, his wife watching from the shadows with her own children clutched close. Yet custom left no choice. If he turned away, Aila and her little ones would be left adrift, easy prey for hunger or worse. |
| The priest of Taryon tied their hands with braided weed-cord, as was done with any marriage, and murmured the blessing. "The cycle turns. The bond holds. The family endures." |
| When it was done, Joran gave her a weary nod. His first wife stepped forward. She placed both hands on Aila's shoulders, her touch warm, her voice gentle as she said, "You are welcome here." But when Aila lifted her eyes, she saw the woman's gaze-calm, steady, and black as the deep water beneath their feet. She had a place in Joran's bed, but she would not be welcome there. |
| Aila drew her children close, whispering that they were safe now. Above them the candles from another funeral drifted past, small lights on the water, carrying a reminder that the lake claimed husbands often, and the living had to endure. |
Description
The Lake of Life lies in the crater of a forgotten meteor, its waters shallow and restless. Warm currents keep the lake brimming with fish and weed, and its slow rotation sets the raft-towns in constant drifting motion. Outsiders call the people here Floaters, usually with contempt, but they name themselves Lakers.
Towns of the Lake
The floating towns are sprawling clusters of rafts, lashed together with ropes of seaweed and vine. They drift with the lake's rotation, their positions never quite fixed. Each town is governed by a mayor, who is less a ruler than a negotiator and keeper of peace.
Some known towns:
- Raelith's Drift: the largest and wealthiest town, famed for its taverns and for hosting great raft-markets.
- Kelbar's Chain: a fierce raiding town, feared along the Yelthari coast. Its people wear shark teeth as charms.
- Lanith's Rest: more peaceful, known for its skilled fishers and fine dried seaweed.
- Tharo's Lash: notorious for sometimes raiding other Laker towns, a place of hard men and cruel traditions.
- Deyru's Net: a wandering flotilla that often breaks apart and reforms, said to be half pirates, half outcasts.
Religion
The faith of the Lakers is woven into the waters. They do not build temples, but each town keeps small shrines aboard a dedicated raft, where offerings are made.
Major Gods:
- The Drowning Goddess, Seriyne: Hungry and capricious, she claims the wicked and the unwanted. Sacrifices are given to her bound and inverted, so that the first taste of water is their last breath.
- The Bounty Goddess, Naeva: Gentle but fickle, she fills the nets with fish. A portion of every catch is offered back to her, usually by tossing live fish into the waves.
- The God of Cycles, Taryon: Lord of the rotation, the rains, and the years. He is said to dwell in the black cliffs of the central island. Each year, at the turning of the season, a festival is held in his honor.
- The Devourer, Maorath: A vast monster at the mouth of the channel, its hunger explains why ships that try to leave are swallowed. Songs warn that even mentioning its name too often can draw its gaze.
Other Gods and Spirits:
- The Child in the Reed: A small spirit said to guard children from drowning. Mothers tie reed-charms around their babies' wrists in its honor.
- Father Current: Blamed when a raft breaks loose or drifts astray. A small bowl of oil is poured onto the water to calm him.
- Lady of Lights: Invoked during funerals, said to guide the candles across the water into the beyond.
- Shark-Mother: Feared and respected, her priests wear teeth on strings and sometimes feed criminals directly to the sharks in her name.
Rituals
- The Circle Feast: Once a year, towns hold a great festival and host a grand market. This honors Taryon, the god of cycles.
- Blood in the Net: Before a dangerous raid, a fisherman cuts his palm and lets blood drip into the water, ensuring Naeva will not abandon them.
- The Silent Dive: When a child comes of age, they are made to dive alone and bring up a stone from the lakebed. If they succeed, they are welcomed as adults. If they fail, they are said to have been claimed by Seriyne.
Culture
Life among the rafts is close and communal. Families share meals, strangers are soon known by name, and gossip drifts faster than the current. Marriage is normally monogamous, but the rule of widow-remarriage bends this. When a man dies on a raid or at sea, his widow is wed to his closest male relative, even if that man already has a wife. This ensures she and her children remain cared for and that her household does not drift into poverty. This binds families tightly together and often results in complex webs of kinship, and a frequent source of family intrigue and friction.
Drinking is common, with each town brewing its own fermented seaweed or fish-spirit. Storytelling, especially tales of raids, takes the place of theater. Songs are short and rhythmic, echoing the slap of waves against wood.
Criminals are dealt with harshly. Theft, murder, or betrayal always earns the same fate: drowning to Seriyne.
Raids
The raids are brutal and swift. They use small, shallow craft that can dart up rivers and vanish again before ships or soldiers can respond. Armor is shunned, for to fall in the water wearing mail is to die. Spears, curved knives, and short bows are common weapons. They strike before dawn, screeching like gulls to terrify their victims.
Some towns avoid raids altogether, living only on trade and bounty, but most send raiding parties at least once or twice a season, lest their warriors grow restless.
Dangers of the Lake
The waters teem with sharks, their fins slicing the surface. Sirens lure in the seaweed, attacking swimmers. There are stories of luminous jellyfish that burn flesh with a touch, and of an eel longer than any ship that sometimes surfaces at night.
At the center, the rocky island of Karyth's Fang looms black against the sky. Its cliffs are knife-edged, and its reefs chew apart any boat that dares approach. None who sought its secrets have returned. Lakers say it is the home of Taryon, and only the dead may walk its stones.