Thunder #4: Glimmeroc

“To wear the Red, you must become the Red.”  The words ring in a not too distant land.

Due south, as the trade winds blow, at about a westerly heading of 40 degrees north from the southwestern most tip of Umbria, round the Estrella Isles and the horn of Biskin Quay, and across the rough of the Musewind Sea — there lies a plot of green in the middle of blue, a land still known to many around the Thunderlands as the prongs of Triton.  A land as varied as any found among the seven realms, except… more.

Her name is Wey — and as beautiful as was the fair maiden that is her namesake — she is unsurpassed in the beauty she offers.  Her vistas are jaw dropping, and that for an island nation only 1000 miles long and 202 miles wide.  And her landscapes are practically a must-see for any serious enthusiast with a weakness for seeing the world’s wonders.

Wey holds the Healerwood: a forest of trees of unnatural size, made up almost entirely of giant whitewood– some of which would make a full-grown Mgrak mountain troll look puny, or at least on a hunger strike, and Mgrak mountain trolls easily peak at 10 foot-two and have bellies round enough to fill the pants of five men.

The Corona Backs are mountains surely worth seeing: climbing and spiking up the middle of the isle’s interior like the ridges on the back of a Basigul’s spine, piercing the heavens to the north with a mighty upheaval of rock and stone, with a crescendo that is Echoes Reach, said to be the dormant finger of the Gods.  The Ring of Fire abides in Sarass, as most people know.  But history places the greatest Thunderland eruption here, along the handle of Poseidon’s fork.  Many have died beneath her flows, as the decay of those burned alive would tell you, and much has her coastline changed and been extended.  Yet the Reach has been asleep an age.  No longer does lava run and ash rise.  She stands silenced by ice and snow, while those who live within her shadow thrive and do business with no concern but for the howl of her winds and the rumble of her avalanches.  But do not make the mistake of thinking the Reach tame.  She is not.  She merely bides her time, as do all things that wait to have their voices heard again.

Further south you have Rainbow Bay, Lava Harbor further north, and Oysters Wharf east.  The fishing in these waters are truly teaming with life: the sum of which is said to fill the nets to feed half the countries found in this hemisphere.  Fish galore!  And shrimp… and crabs… and shells…

There’s Nis — with her quaint alleyways and gas-powered street lamps that burn pink.

And Keelaroo Farms, renowned for growing Gonzo Cucumbers the length of most cords of wood, and the glow off their Moon Melon fields is so bright they’ve become a regular nighttime attraction.

Then there’s her three Prongs, mild and temperate, poking into the crystal waters found to her south like the trident of a seaking, from which the Wey, not-so-coincentally, derived her original name — Triton.  But names like Triton easily change where bravery is concerned, and the Lady Wey stepped in when no one else would.  The weight of her sacrifice still ripples through the minds of most Islanders, both young and old: they remember how one girl gave up all she knew so that others might live,   More on the life of the late, great Serafina Wey can be found in the great hall of the Weyean Library, prominently located on Remembrance Row of the First Prong, with hours of operation between 10 and 2 p.m , Mondays through Saturdays.  But get there early!  Lines usually start forming an hour before.

And how about the Village of Vent?  Certainly she deserves mentioning!  Her tiled red roofs against the purple skies of a Musewind sundown are the things of postcards!  Why else would hawkers sale them with the look of easy money in their eyes as far away as the Winterange?  Probably doesn’t hurt that the red roofs are backdropped by a chiseled mountain of granite that gleams like a lion caught in moonlight, and her name is Glimmeroc.

Glimmeroc — the home of the Fourth — alabaster white, glorious, born from stone and from stone she rises, and like her foundations, immovable, bannered by a hundred red flags that beat in the wind.  She is the great citadel, the bastion of the Men of Skin, of Sense, of Soar, towering atop a bluff, and as unlikely a place for her to reside.  For rarely are the small places of the world ever seen as anything but small, and too often are they dismissed.  But not Wey, not while Glimmeroc stands above her shores.  She is the jewel, the most desired of the Thunders.  And she is singular in the knowledge she provides: flyers, proficients of the sky, warriors of the wide and blue.  Her cadets are Airjocks, and wearers of the Aeriatis, from which their ability to fly is derived.  To be a Airjock is to attack the heavens, wings pinned back, to roll as only eagles dare.  Swift, nimble, they rush the winds with no equal but dragons.  Oh but they are more!  Iron rests in an Airjock’s hands, iron that is their sting.

For Four Winds blow,
And Fourthers rise,
Unfurling wings,
Assailing skies,

A griffon’s gift,
To men extend,
Encased in skin,
Of Leviathan,

Pierced not with sword,
Nor drowned nor burned,
Flits, flutters, soars
Of danger learns,

O Aeriatis,
Great gift bestowed,
To you who fly,
And Fourthers hold,

That sons of earth,
Can then defend,
What trouble lies,
And aims to rend,

On one condition,
Their capes be Red,
The color triumph,
The Gods have said.

Inkling #30:
What is the Seven Thunders?  It is the great Glimmeroc, and its Wielder the Aeriatis — on Wey, of the Third Prong, where Airjocks are made.  Fierce is the Fourth of Seven!  The heavens sing it and declare it loud.  For to wear the Red, you must become the Red.  And if Red opposes you, it will be their blade that bleeds red.