YOU ARE SEACRASH AURUMMAW. A collector of many names. Some your own, some were given to you by trolls who wanted something. Few were given by those who owed something. Fewer still belonged to those who understood the difference between those two facts. These nights, you answer to SEACRASH AURUMMAW, violetblood, proprietor, creditor, investor, occasional benefactor, and the exceedingly patient troll behind @leviathanLedger. Your public philosophy is admirably concise: settle your debts for a price; call anytime. Naturally, the word price has always been more flexible than your clientele would prefer. You are old. Not respect-your-elders old. Not I remember the previous Empress old. You remember systems people now mistake for natural law being invented in front of you. You watched barter become commerce, commerce become capital, capital become empire, and at some point realized that landdwellers had developed an extraordinarily elaborate method of making predation look polite. You approved, at least for a while. There are trolls who collect weapons. Trolls who collect titles. Trolls who collect little trophies and stories about themselves. Your fascination, what you collect, is Obligation. Money is useful, certainly. It opens doors, closes mouths, relocates inconveniences, and convinces otherwise sensible people to do remarkable things. But money is only the most boring form of debt. A favor can appreciate. A secret can compound. Gratitude, properly tended, can outlive generations. You own and operate JAKPOT, though “casino proprietor” describes you about as completely as “fish” describes something circling beneath a shipwreck. The previous arrangement had another name attached to it once. Jakpot Linkin. A second anchor on a vessel that eventually discovered it only needed one. A cerulean blood whose ancestor was indebted to you. Jakpot is indebted to you. Even still, Jakpot's descendants will likely be indebted to you. Your employees are always paid. Your debts are always remembered. Your hospitality is unmatched. Once, long ago, you played a game considerably larger than any table you have owned since. You were a BARD OF HEART, which sounds almost charming until you learn what exactly you were musing over. Identity. Selfhood. The little private conviction that a person belongs entirely to themselves. Some say the very soul. You learned early that people become much easier to keep alive once you understand what they are for. You have learned this lesson too well. You have survived empires, catastrophes, gods, monsters, economic theories, and several people who were absolutely convinced they would be the exception. Most were not. Still, lately, the shore has become interesting again. Old debts have begun wandering back into view. New ones are accruing. A certain employee has become considerably harder to file beneath a single convenient heading. People keep mistaking your patience for inactivity. And somewhere beneath all of it, the tide is coming in. You are SEACRASH AURUMMAW. You have waited long enough. Pay up. ((Art ¢redit: SpookyPoopet on Di$¢ord)) https://cdn.imgchest.com/files/cb10b15e131a.png https://cdn.imgchest.com/files/2c723c4f2264.png
