I started writing this story and character about three years ago;

He opened the door to a whole new realm and level of my fantasy reality.

I have, however, stopped writing, because I struggle to find a point for his story.

Someday, Kayrnun Graysky will get his own story, but until then this is his first and only piece.

He stood at the wheel of his beloved ship, the Réyferth, gazing ahead into the swirling gray mists. Two days ago he and the Réyferth had set out from the foul shores, if shores they could be called, of the Black-tree Swamp. Since that time he had stood as they left him with his hands bound to the wheel spokes, the biting iron fetters still clasped to his ankles as they rusted in the heavy salt-laden air.

It had taken them long enough, the fiends, to decide on a sentence for this supposed traitor. Their lies had been well-crafted, Káyrnün would allow them that much, but lies they had been nonetheless. As the banished ex-Vigilant guided his ship through the thick mists his mind wandered back to that day, almost two months ago, when he had been arrested by three members of his own Eyrie. Lenton, Maroth and Firral – the poor lads – newly graduate apprentices, they had looked more surprised and frightened than he. It would have been easy, had Káyrnün wished, to escape, but not without hurting one or all of them. Káyrnün would never do that; they were his lads. Hadren – the newly appointed Vigilant Commander and Káyrnün's nemesis – had known this all too well. It had been five days in the City prison for Káyrnün before he was carted off to the putrid, serpent-infested dungeons of the ancient Glainorian stronghold Driegert. The snakes and other roommates hadn't been any more than a passing nuisance. As a Senior Hawk Káyrnün had gone through much worse and while raw snake-meat and odorous mushrooms mayn't have improved his temper, he hadn't starved either.

Now, as the Réyferth glided slowly, like a great sleepy seabird, through the sluggish waters of the Forgotten Sea, Káyrnün could see in his mind's eye Hadren's smiling – cursed grin! – haughty, smug face as another Vigilant read out the orders of Káyrnün's sentence. The man's squeaky, droning voice, like a herd of snoring crickets, creaked from the Réyferth's sheets and hummed in her bow as it echoed through Káyrnün’s branded memory like a toll of doom . . .

“--and as punishment for the said traitor, Káyrnün Gray-sky's crimes, he is hereby sentenced to life-long banishment upon the waters of the Forgotten Sea, never to return, on any pretense, to the lands of Lostrisëan.

This verdict, appointed by the Vigilant council is approved of and sealed under the name of Hadren Cirthay, Supreme Commander of the Vigilant's Ensemble in Nemarost.”

And underneath sprawled Hadren's flourishing signature beside which was fixed, in red wax, the Commander's seal. Káyrnün could have spent a long time sardonically picking Hadren's high-worded verdict to pieces. Especially the last paragraph. Supreme Commander – Verifen would never have tolerated such absurdity. And Ensemble – as if Unit weren't good enough. In Nemarost! Where else should they be? But for Káyrnün there had been no time. As soon as his sentence had been read, Hadren produced an unexpected second. Káyrnün's blood chilled as the cricket-man's voice squeaked out the short, horribly blunt message –

“For insubordination and rebellion against Vigilant Commander Hadren's orders, Aerie Brytehawk is hereby disbanded and all its members relieved of their duties as Vigilants. They are to be stripped of their Hawk-feather tokens from steel to copper and sent from the Assembly in disgrace. Each man, their names being

Gendros, Rayfen, Carril . . .”

And so the list went, every single one of Káyrnün's twenty-four men down to the first year apprentices. Even now, standing at the ship's wheel, Káyrnün's jaw clenched with rage. Hadren had had no call, no good reason – beyond that of his own petty malice – to take from Káyrnün's Brytehawks their right as members of the Vigilants Unit. They had earned their feathers many times over, and certainly more than Hadren's own back-stabbing Turhawks.

Káyrnün lowered his head and sighed. Hadren had done a loathsome thing and surely deserved all the hatred and ill-will Káyrnün could cast across the green-gray waves, but he would not feel it, and Káyrnün accomplished nothing useful by riling himself into a storm-fury. Yes, the time would come, but until then he would brood, feeding his anger for when he should be free to wreak full vengeance. But he also needed to remain sane, and nothing might do more to hamper his sanity than to fan his anger hot. Káyrnün lifted his head and once more gazed fixedly at the sluggish waves beyond the Réyferth's prow. No, but let this righteous wrath cool and harden. A hatred of ice would serve his need to survive.

Survival – the Forgotten Sea was not famed for it, and Káyrnün would not be the first man banished there. Gazing silently into the drooping mists Káyrnün mulled over the little knowledge he had of his prison. It was well named – he knew that much. At least, from the tales that he had heard, Káyrnün gathered that none had ever ventured out upon the waters of the Forgotten Sea, and come back. There was one, a man, banished for unspeakable crimes that would make the hardiest soldier shudder. He had returned, but his mind hadn't. For months after his recapture he had raved about monsters and visions, screaming words of fear and hatred at the cold stones of his cell one moment, and blubbering, begging them for mercy the next. Káyrnün huffed, I'll wager he couldn't understand Stone-speech if he tried, he thought and turned his contemplations from that wretched character.

It was rumored, whether true or no, that across the waters of the Forgotten Sea were scattered many islands, though they never remained in one place. Floating isles, the few people crazy enough to dwell along the shores said. There was one man in particular, whom Káyrnün had spoken to while he sat in his dungeon cell beneath Dreigert. “There'll be floating isles in those waters sure enough,” he had said, “for one night you'll look from your home-dock and the waters will be clear as a sick Goblin's nostril,” he sniffed for emphasis, “and then next morning” he continued with widening eyes which looked out over an imaginary sea, “there'll be a great hump of land, like the wart on your granddaddy's face, slap down in the middle of the quay.” He leaned back and putting his hands behind his head sighed, “She won't be there long. Come midday or eventide you'll see ‘er start floating away. Once she’s faded into the mists you'll never see that island agin, always a new one, and each stranger than the last.” The old guard had then gone on to, in great length, describe all the bizarre things he had seen on those islands. After about five minutes Káyrnün had tuned out to brood.

Káyrnün smiled grimly. The old man had obviously been somewhat crazy. Most of the images he had conjured were beyond possibility. And the creatures he described? No such things lived in Nemarost. Monsters with the heads of wolves, the bodies of serpents and the legs of bears. Kayrnun huffed again. Children's tales, meant to duly frighten little ones into staying indoors after nightfall. But they didn't faze this ex-Vigilant.

[here the manuscript]