Anno Domini 1487. The first verses of this chronicle are penned by Master Silas Blackwood, a scholar of forgotten lore and a man haunted by the murmurs of the sea. He sought to understand the enigma that was Thicklips, a being spoken of only in hushed tones amongst the coastal villages of the Azure Coast. It was said he possessed an unnerving grace, a silence deeper than the ocean itself, and a connection to the currents that defied mortal understanding.
The Serpent’s Kiss, as the elders called it, was not merely a name, but a lineage. It spoke of an ancient pact, a bargain struck with a creature of immense power dwelling in the abyssal plains. This creature, they believed, granted Thicklips his unnatural abilities – the ability to manipulate water, to vanish into the spray of the waves, and to communicate with the denizens of the deep.
Silas, after weeks of observation, documented a series of peculiar events. Fishermen returning from the south reported seeing a figure – a man, appearing and disappearing amongst the waves, seemingly unaffected by the tempest. The nets would be found emptied, not by the work of men, but by a current that seemed to flow with purpose. The seagulls, normally boisterous and demanding, would fall silent whenever Thicklips was near, as if holding their breath in reverence.
“’Tis as if the sea itself bows before him,” Silas wrote, “a testament to a power that surpasses all comprehension.”
Further investigation revealed a series of intricate markings carved into the coastal rocks – symbols that matched those found etched onto the scales of a monstrous eel, rumored to inhabit the darkest recesses of the seabed. These markings, Silas theorized, were a form of warding, a desperate attempt by the villagers to contain the influence of Thicklips.
Years passed, and the encounters with Thicklips became more frequent, more deliberate. He began to appear during the darkest hours of the moon, often near the crumbling ruins of an ancient temple dedicated to Poseidon. Villagers whispered that he sought knowledge – knowledge of forgotten rituals, of the secrets held by the tides, of the nature of reality itself.
It was during one of these meetings, witnessed by a lone sailor named Gareth, that Thicklips revealed his true nature. He did not speak in words, but communicated through images – visions of swirling currents, of monstrous shapes lurking in the abyss, and of a profound loneliness that resonated with an unsettling force.
“’The sea remembers all things,” Gareth later recounted, “and Thicklips is but a vessel, a conduit for its unending sorrow.’”
Ultimately, Thicklips vanished. Not with a dramatic departure, but with a gradual fading, as if the sea itself was reclaiming its own. The villagers, weary of his presence and fearful of his power, abandoned their attempts to understand him. The markings on the rocks disappeared, the strange currents ceased, and Thicklips became a legend, a cautionary tale whispered around campfires. Yet, even now, some claim to catch a glimpse of him – a fleeting figure amidst the waves, a reminder of the mysteries that lie beneath the surface of the world.
The final entry in Silas Blackwood’s chronicle reads: “’The sea never truly relinquishes its secrets. And Thicklips… Thicklips remains.’”