[center][sub][url=http://youtubedoubler.com/?video1=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DELQEgcV2Li4&start1=&video2=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3D1rmo3fKeveo&start2=&authorName=Seolhi]♪[/url][/sub][/center]

Waves quietly rolled towards the shoreline, kicking up small clouds of gravel and shredded seaweed as they began to slowly collapse against the beach. The darker, wetter sand formed a feint border between the ocean and the land, waxing and waning with every wave. It was low tide, and for the Seolhi, low tide meant an easy meal. Every ten or twenty meters, a Seolhi woman could be seen combing the shore for washed up fish with sharpened walking sticks, carrying baskets on their backs half-filled with chunks of briny meat -- Usually, with one or two loincloth-clad children trailing closely behind, kicking water and sand at one another. The sky threatened to erupt with rain at any moment, and coupled with the chalky bodypaint covering the sparse inhabitants of the beach from head to toe, the scene seemed as if it had been painted in grey. On one side of the women gathering fish was the open sea and sky, and on the other stood the Seolhi's sole fortress.

The Sea King stood on the balcony of his castle, watching the waves as he always had. In the room directly behind him, his bard pulled a bow along the strings of his Wularüt -- a Seolhi instrument made from a gourd chamber and horsehair strings -- singing for the king in the Seolhi's traditional, guttural manner. Seagulls circled the balcony, joining the singer in shrill squawks momentarily before returning to their nest on one of the castle's crumbling towers. The castle of the Sea King was better known to the world as The Ruins of Strandheim, which stood out on the horizon defiantly, in full view of the Maod on the other side of the gulf. The current Sea King had taken it thirty years prior, and though they did not know how to repair the cracking walls or crumbling towers, they were content with the changes brought by nature. The Seolhi did not trust places seals would not willingly enter, and though the second floor was accessible by a grand staircase wide enough for their seals to pull themselves up, the third floor and towers of the castle were either too steep or two narrow for the beasts, causing them to quickly fall into disrepair.

[color=337C85]"Enough."[/color] The Sea King commanded. Immediately, the bard stopped, pulling the bow from his string mid-note, and ending the words he had been singing with a sharp inhale. Even in his old age, the Sea King was a frightful man, with a beard and set of brows too wild and bushy for clay to cover, and teeth sharpened like that of a shark. Though he trembled in his old age, he was still muscular and short-tempered, and was known for his increasing number of swings in mood. He wore nothing more than a long, sealskin coat and pair of leathery pants, exposing his sagging frame to the ocean wind. His authority was in the copper crown that had been stolen from southerners by the Seolhi centuries ago, which was now half-green from age, and the staff of driftwood in his right hand decorated with shells and thin metal rods that hung from strings of whale tendon, clattering in the wind like chimes.

The king stared at the scavengers on the shore, looking out beyond them to the churning sea, and further out at the glimmer of coast on the horizon. [color=337C85]"Does the blonde thrall still live, Lolak?"[/color] asked the Sea King, keeping his unbroken gaze at the sea. His left hand raised to his beard, trembling slightly as he stroked it into a more defined point in his contemplation.

[color=337C85]"Yes, my king. I believe so."[/color]

[color=337C85]"Send for Ifryt the Runner and Forsi the Scribe. Send for the blonde thrall as well. I wish to send our neighbors a letter."[/color]