Editing Maric Buries-Bones (section)

=History=
The child of a fisherman, Maric was orphaned at an early age when his father vanished at sea and his mother died soon after of a wasting grief. He spent his late childhood and early adolescence doing odd jobs for enough money to get by, occasionally supplementing this by extorting trinkets and treats from the children of the wealthier families on the island. The wealthy mostly kept the poor fishermen in line because they owned the leases on the fishing boats, but having no particular attachment to the fishing industry, Maric remained out of their sway, and soon gained a reputation for being something of a bully. All that changed when an enlightened sailor, whose ship was berthed at Maric's nameless village for resupply, saw him picking on other children, abusing his greater physical prowess. This man, known to his friends as Ishmael Barrel-Broacher for his mighty fists, was an exponent of Seafaring Hero Style, and soon beat the young Maric senseless after calling him a coward.

When Maric came to, he was on his back on a wooden deck, feeling the sway of the ocean beneath him with the sun on his face. He had been taken on board Ishmael's vessel as a deckhand. The grizzled seaman had seen talent in Maric, and was determined to train him. For years, Maric sailed with the crew, growing in strength and wisdom under Ishmael.

One day a mighty storm blew up and sank Maric's ship. Ishmael was killed in the initial accident, impaled by a broken spar, but Maric fought to hang on to him. Determined to bury the man he loved like a father and instead of leaving his body to the mercy of the elements, Maric bound a cord under Ishmael's arms, which he then gripped between his teeth. He began to swim, striking out in a random direction. He swam until his limbs grew leaden and the dead weight of Ishmael's corpse seemed to weigh as much as the whole world. He swam until his vision grew dark. He swam and swam and swam until the cold and the damp and the burning salt of the sea had snuffed almost every last spark of life in his body.

He woke up with sand on his face, the cord still clenched between his teeth, but slack now, its precious burden gone. Frantic, Maric forced himself to his feet, only to see a pyre already set, dry wood stacked and primed with tinder, with a torch thrust into the sand close to hand. He applied flame to the pyre and prayed for Ishmael's soul. Applause disrupted his prayers, and he furiously rounded on the interloper, only to stop and stare at the apparition before him. A woman with a beauty that was far beyond anything a simple boy like Maric could even begin to relate to, slender and deadly in gleaming silver armour, a mighty silver spear in hand, seated on a rock and clapping, smiling with uninhibited warmth.

"Did you save me?" Maric asked.

"No. I just watched you save yourself," she replied, still smiling. "Although I thought I'd help you with the pyre. You mightn't have found enough wood around here, otherwise."

In silence they watched until Ishmael's mortal form had been dispersed to the winds, and then Maric followed her back to her camp, where they ate fresh-caught swordfish, which the huntress had speared. With precious fresh water she washed the salt from Maric's hair and beard. With trembling hands, at her bequest Maric helped her remove her accoutrements. With her touch she eased Maric's raw grief. He drank purpose from her mouth and she taught his hands animal cunning and gentle savagery, and in the aftermath of their passion Maric discovered himself born anew, filled with new power and new purpose. 

The woman pointed off to the west. "That way, by the ruins of sunken Luthe, you will find one who may guide you for a little time, until you find your own way."

He glanced off to the side, following her pointing finger; when he looked back, she was gone, and the full moon cast its light down from a formerly-empty sky.