🕯️The Legend of The Yule-Tide and The Saint of the Sea

At the end of the rolling months, when the stars hang low and the sea groans beneath the weight of unseen forces, the Tide-Realm Isles brace for the arrival of the Yule-Tide—a night of bitter cold and spectral winds. The waters churn with unnatural fury, and even the boldest Corsairs seek landfall, for none wish to be caught adrift when the veil thins.

It is said that on this night, the Apeirus Realm stirs. Spirits long bound to divine relics walk freely, searching for what was lost, what was stolen, and what was never meant to be found. The Black Regent calls it superstition. But the wise know better.

To distract the masses and reclaim lost spoils, the Regent’s scribes spun a tale—one that took root in taverns, shipyards, and the hearts of greedy men. They spoke of Captain Mannheim Clausen, the Saint of the Sea, a spectral pirate who sails a golden vessel that defies wind and tide.

He does not steal for himself. He reclaims what greed has corrupted and transforms it into gifts of appeasement. On the Eve of the Yule-Tide, it is said, Clausen visits those who offer their spoils freely—gathered in piles outside their homes, their camps, their ships. In return, he wards off the spirits of the Apeirus Realm, keeping their hunger at bay. The pirates and buccaneers of the realm are often the most susceptible to superstition. Even the most cutthroat of men are said to offer up a small rowboat of their spoils on the eve of the Yule-Tide. In hopes that the Captain will keep them safe from the influences of the spirits 

But beware: those who hoard their treasure, who mock the ritual, often vanish without a trace. Their ships are found days later—empty, frozen, and echoing with laughter that is not their own.

Across the Isles, the ritual has become custom. Civilians of Corsair erect an altar of coin and trinket known as The Tide-Tithe, whispering thanks to the Saint of the Sea. Pirate crews light lanterns of driftglass and sing songs of Mannheim’s mercy. Even the Horizonless, brutal and god-bound, pause their hunts to offer fragments of reef-forged gold.

And somewhere, beyond the tide, a ship of pure gold cuts silently through the waves, its captain unseen, its purpose unknown.

⚓ ❄️🕯️Captain Mannheim Clausen

Captain Mannheim Clausen is an enigma carved from myth and frost—ageless, yet ancient. His eyes burn with a golden haze, echoes of spoils long surrendered and spirits long silenced. He walks the Tide-Realm, cloaked in the weight of centuries and the chill of the Tidefrost.

His battle-stained coat, once crimson, now bears the wear of countless winters and spectral wars. Trimmed in the fur of beasts that no longer roam the living realm, it hangs heavy with salt, ice, and legend. Across his shoulders, back, and tricorn hat dangle shards of driftglass in jewel-toned hues—emerald, sapphire, amethyst—each suspended by fraying ropes. These are not ornaments. They are prisons. Each shard is said to house a spirit of the Apeirus Realm, captured in battle and bound by Clausen’s will.

Etched into the folds of his coat are shimmering runes in the forgotten tongue of Old Corsair, mingled with arcane symbols of the Yule-Tide—glyphs of warding, remembrance, and reclamation. His garments are stiff with frozen grime, crusted by the sea’s wrath and chilled by winds that howl only on the longest nights. Gleaming icicles cling to his tricorn and beard, growing longer as the Yule-Tide nears.

He wields a blade forged from driftglass, its translucent edge pulsing with golden light. It is not a weapon of conquest, but of transformation—capable of turning greed into grace, and spoils into relics. Before each battle, Clausen braids lighted candles into his flowing gray-white beard. Their wax drips like tears, and their flames blaze brightest on Yule-Tide night. Sailors say this ritual wards off the spirits of the Apeirus Realm and illuminates the offerings left in his name.

Gold adorns him—Buttons, buckles, and trim jingle faintly as he walks, the sound of coins shifting in his ever-present sack of spoils. These treasures, once stolen, are destined to be reshaped into relics of the Tide-Realm—blessed by Clausen’s spectral hand and the spirit of the season.

He is not a savior. He is not a thief. He is the Saint of the Sea. And on Yule-Tide night, he walks the realm once more.