Unfortunately, Rook’s positioning would turn out to be tremendously disadvantageous. Boldly planted at the edge of the deck, examining the oppressive swirl of storm clouds, the ship’s groaning was accompanied by a sinking feeling in his stomach. THAROS. Squinting between cords of windswept hair and fighting against the torrential downpour, he managed to isolate a figure at the helm.
“BRING HER STERN TOWA-”
The Caelin’s Hand suddenly rose as if being plucked from the Earth from a colossal deity. In his last moments of consciousness, Rook felt his foot slide, followed by the dreadful sensation of awaiting inevitable impact. A fleeting bout of despair—and to his extreme dismay, a second one, as he tipped backwards not onto the floor, but into the lower deck. He caressed the bottommost step violently with his cranium, and with the world around him blurring, was flung by the forces of nature down the entrance to the oar deck.
Rook found himself in a dark unfamiliar room. Five hooded figures suddenly materialized around him, and they began chanting an incomprehensible mantra:
“Post in togav… post in togav…”
They drew closer to Rook. He dropped to his knees, begging for the madness to end, but the chanting was ceaseless. Months later, Rook felt a newfound conviction rising in his heart. I must post in Togav.
“I MUST POST IN TOGAV”
A bright light emanated from his chest and engulfed the entirety of the universe. It was now time to rook n’ roll. Down in the oar deck of The Caelin’s Hand, the man’s eye twitched.