Kulon spins an epic sailor's tale of how a sea spirit stole his wings
Surya: So, the wings. How'dja get them?"
Kulon: Most lack the nerve to ask that to my face.
Surya: What, you rather I just stare? C'mon man, I got a wooden arm. I know what it's like to get weird looks.
Kulon: Wasn't offended. Refreshed, actually.
Kulon: ...Have a seat then. Suriya, was it?
Surya: Eh, call me Surya.
Kulon: I…Did? So, my wings. These old, torn up things... Well, I was but a nestling, barely three celestial cycles old. But old enough to remember. I was accompanying my father during one of his longer routes along the Ikraan Sea, perched upon his shoulder. Against my mother's wishes, of course. Our colorful flags pierced the heavens, and my antennae memorized the crisp, salty air. The ocean’s intricate, magnetic song etched into my soul. My father would feed me minnows as he let me pretend to hold the helm with him. Tell me stories. But we were misfortunate enough to cross Sekngir, a child sea spirit who only knows grief. The same one who took countless lives from the Great Momporun ship my ancestors once sailed. Well, she was enraged that we dared cross into her waters, despite the offerings our crew left on the shore. Our clear skies darkened black in a matter of seconds. Her voice howled and snapped against our paper thin wings. Her tears of fury rained hell onto our ship, as agents of her destruction forced my father’s men into action–
Surya: Wait, what? K’k’i, I’m confused. A child spirit did all this? It sounds more like–
Surya: I’m listening, I’m listening~!
Kulon: My father and his crew desperately tried to get our vessel under control–The waves had us angled so far upward that for the first time in my young life, I understood the concept of death. Of course, my father had the sense to set me off his shoulder while he commanded. He ordered me below deck. But ice coursed through my veins, as if Sekgnir’s wails had petrified my heart. I watched as my father and his men fought her with vigor. And, well, I hadn't yet developed my sea legs, so I was... Well, I was tossed about the deck like a doll. I crashed into the mast as I grappled for footing, got sliced on fishing tools…I tried to pull myself loose, but Sekgnir ensnared me in her fishing nets! Every struggle set my nerves ablaze. Every strain turned my wings to ribbons as I felt myself being dragged closer and closer to the sea, as if the ebb of her life force itself had become entangled with my soul. Not so much as a cry for help could escape my frozen lips. But my father saw me struggling, and he came running. Another wave slammed into our boat before he could reach me, and just like that, I was gone. There was no blood. And yet the pain was unimaginable. I was not the only one who fell.
When I woke up, it was in the medical bay, miraculously back in my village. And I was in my mother's arms, quite banged up, with my father hovering overhead. I will never forget the look of relief on their faces. I was told I was lucky to be alive after my presence incurred the wrath of Sekngir. My father was scolded...severely, for allowing me on the fishing run. With the exception of my wings, as you can see, I made a full recovery. Sekngir that night, however, claimed my father’s second lifebond, Alok. Ever since that day, he…Needless to say, I am the reason small children are now banned on Paralau fishing runs. And it is the reason my mother refused to let me back on a boat at all for the longest time. Even that stubborn woman couldn't keep me off them forever. But that's a story for another time."
Surya: ....Heh. You rehearse that or somethin'?
Kulon: N-no. I–What's that supposed to mean?
Surya: Hahaha, no, I believe you! That's a hell of a story. You really remember all that?
Kulon: I was reminded of it every day I tried to leave.
Surya: What, you runnin' from home? Tch, I get that one.
Kulon: I most certainly am not. I misspoke, it seems.
Surya: Well, you got a colorful mouth on you! We could really use a sailor like you on this ship. Most of these guys are stuck up as hell. I love what I do, but fine dining? Nah. I hate serving these rich assholes.
Kulon: Mm. How did you lose your arm, then?
This is a rough script for an early moment in the longform graphic novel I'm planning! Oral storytelling is prominent in many maritime cultures, and Kulon, despite being selectively mute, is no exception to the rule. I'm embarrassingly slow when it comes to drawing, so I wanted to at least share something.
Kulon also has a habit of omitting details.
