I once came across a place of darkness. It was called by some who knew of it as, The Gate. In the vast ocean, far out of sight from land, stand craggy pillars, desolate and lifeless. Here and there the hapless gulls are seen landing on them, but plants dare not take root there; and no nests are seen in those outcroppings. Ships fear unseen rises, fear the unknown tides and currents of those unsounded waters, and so we sailed on. I had only a passing sight of the place. Though it was day, there was a shadow over those rocks, and there was a silence, like the ocean itself held its breath. The waters spreading from there are black as ink.
A sailor’s tale holds that a demon’s held beneath these rocks, and that he’s ever dying, bleeding his demon’s blood. Some god had hurled him down and plunged these rocks through his flesh into the ocean’s bed.
It is a strange place, a quiet place, and the odor there is foul.
Tale Told 