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M'yr Boldbarrow, Acolyte of the Coiled Beast

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The Date is...not important, I suppose.

We finally made it to one end of the vessel. The vessel? This...ship? Somewhere past the sprawling bridges and bone scaffolds, we found our way back to the rest of the regular parts of the ship, if you could call it that.

It's here that we found...Gods, what am I meant to write here?

I...think this is what we were meant to see.

-M'yr Boldbarrow's personal logbook, upon encountering The Coiled Beast (Perhaps)


Full Name: M'yr Boldbarrow Jr. (Son of M'yr Boldbarrow Sr.)

Monikers: Acolyte, M'yr, "Lighthouse" (to some)

Height: 5'10 (177.8 cm)

Weight: 125 lbs (56.6 kg)

Age:  24 

Physical Description: M'yr is not a notable figure in a number of ways. Skinny and pale, with a thin build, his dark brown hair has been dulled to a less healthy tone from repeated overexposure to sea water, and yet this is offset by his eyes. M'yr has large, deep blue eyes, like the depths of fathomless pools, untainted by worry or fear. However, often his eyes are the only part of his face most folk see, given his inclination to wear a mask made of driftwood. Aside from that, his build is trim, malnourished and shows signs of physical wear. In particular, his forearms and wrists are mottled with several thin, white scars that run across his wrists. From time to time, bruises will also mottle his knees and legs and upper arms, often without comment from him. M'yr, without his mask, often seems troubled, and easily startled. He's particularly emotive, and doesn't do much to hide his feelings when he cannot mask his expressions. He doesn't have any real wrinkles or imperfections to his complexion. M'yr will occasionally (most of the time) wear some kind of eye liner, yet this often gets smeared or washed away, running down his face. On very rare occasions, M'yr may get excited, or enthusiastic about his work and speeches, and a sort of childlike brightness invigorates his features, warming his cheeks and making his eyes gleam as if he were on the verge of tears.

Behavior: M'yr has been at multiple times, a troubled youth, a worried child, a confident amateur and, more recently, a nervous wreck. Since his discovery in the wetlands, burden weighs heavily on an untested mind, and M'yr is fit to experience bursts of fear, or frustration, or panic attacks, regularly interrupting anything he's currently working on. M'yr often has more to say than he can say at any given time, but will quickly stop or lose interest if interrupted, or otherwise unable to speak. This happens more often than you'd think, as M'yr has a strong dislike of speaking for himself, when others interrupt him, and he usually speaks ineffectually, making it harder for people to take him seriously and let him finish. M'yr has a long and unfortunate history of neglect and abuse, growing up in an unforgiving household and tormented by some of his more cruel peers. He suffers from some form of Imposter's Syndrome, in which he feels as though he must constantly prove himself to others, and yet often cannot find a way to do so, leading to a growing anxiety over his ability to do anything. And M'yr has to do something, because as far as he understands, if he doesn't, everyone will die.

That's not to say M'yr is a total wreck of a human being. Despite his hardships, M'yr has managed, from time to time, to rise to the challenge, and often finds the ability to do what must be done in other people. He frequently offers himself to others, as a sympathetic listener when they need him most, and when he is in a good place can be quite charismatic and empathetic. When M'yr gets into a project, is allowed to speak at length on something he cares about, this sort of 'life' comes about him, where he talks faster and louder, gestures with his hands more often, and his body language improves as well. This feeling is harder to stifle, and when M'yr is in a good mood, it's hard to put him back down. It doesn't last forever.


This notebook belongs to M'yr Boldbarrow

If found, please return to...

- Half of the front cover of M'yr's Journal. The other half is slowly being engulfed by barnacles...

M'yr was born to M'yr and Daria Boldbarrow in Lunaris, where they both worked. Both Mr and Mrs. Boldbarrow were well-educated archaeologists, half-married to their work that did not precisely suffer in any way. M'yr, then, was raised a healthy, happy and educated young boy, who never knew hardship a day in his life.

As a very young child, M'yr was oftentimes a dreamer, rather than a thinker. He worked tirelessly trying to build forts and tree houses out in the family's backyard. He made crafts, drew pictures and 'treasure maps'. He often told his parents of his dreams, and his desire to 'change the world someday.'

His parents, especially his mother, would laugh at these dreams, never in a deliberately mean way, but in the way only an awkward parent might, blind to their children's aspirations.

"Silly boy, who are you to change the world?" She'd often chide him. Though at first it bothered him only a little, as he grew older, he grew colder and more withdrawn, and eventually he stopped talking about his future altogether. His parents did what they could to mend the gap, but repeated failures at connecting with their son drove a permanent wedge between them. One night, while he was alone in his bedroom, his mother attempted to talk to him, perhaps the last time they ever would speak.

She asked him if he still loved her. M'yr, burned one too many times, gave a noncommittal affirmative, and refused to talk further.

Things grew more and more disparate. When M'yr turned 16, things only got worse. His mother fell ill, and was sent to a hospital in Arcturon for examination. The studies cost the family more than they could afford, but M'yr Sr. spent it anyway. Eventually, the news came back.

Due to some complications at his birth, M'yr's mother had suffered an unexpected, and at the time undetected infection from the hospital where she gave birth. 16 years later, her immune system was bust, and suddenly fighting off what otherwise could have been a treatable illness proved fatal. M'yr senior spent everything he could on trying to save his dying wife, but she ultimately perished less than a year after diagnosis.

Family life was never harder. M'yr's father ended up missing a lot of work, grieving over his wife, while M'yr was still struggling to get through the University courses in cartography he'd enrolled in. They didn't spoke, and often M'yr's father didn't eat for several days on end. 

One night, things came to a crest, when M'yr and his father had an altercation. M'yr had come home early, after getting into a fight with another student who mocked his dead mother. When his father learned about it, they didn't say a word to each other that night. M'yr went to bed, only to wake up in the dead of night to his father staring at him. M'yr Sr. revealed that he and Daria had never wanted a son, never wanted a kid. That M'yr had always been a drain on them from the beginning. He strained their marriage. M'yr took his father's wife away. 

Things did not improve. M'yr's work got worse, and worse at school. His attendance dropped, and he got into more fights. Eventually, he just started staying at the school, instead of going home every night.

Around 3 months before his graduation, M'yr got into another altercation with a student behind the school. Nobody was there to see them fight, and nobody watched M'yr pull the sharpened ruler from his wallet and stab the other student repeatedly, between the ribs. The student died not long afterward, and M'yr panicked, hiding the body in a school construction site, and burying it in gravel and stones. His mental health continued to fail; he skipped classes, developed an unhealthy drinking habit. His self-harm worsened, and more than once he stabbed himself in the side, agonizing over his guilt. He attempted to turn himself in more than once, but always failed to do so. As far as M'yr could tell, nobody ever found out that he'd killed the student; the student simply went 'missing.'

Despite his failures, M'yr still managed to graduate with a degree in cartography, minoring in archaeology. By then, he had nowhere else to go. With nothing else to gain, M'yr quickly enrolled with a local dig group. Not long after, he ended up being sent to the Wetlands to investigate a potential dig site, along with a senior archaeologist and two juniors, that he had gone through school with.

This doesn't make any sense anymore, it's stopped making sense several worlds back! Where is the bilge! The galley? Where did these buildings, these towers come from? The water is rising still, but our equipment is undamaged.

From what I can tell we must be someplace---

The rest of the page is filled with increasingly frenzied scratching, as if M'yr either forgot how to draw, or had to draw rooms upon rooms upon rooms again and again.

The expedition into the Wetlands was M'yr's first--and last--task with the dig group. They'd mounted up for what was expected to be a quick survey, following up on reports from locals that a 'large boat' had been discovered in the wetlands. Assuming it to be an ancient wreck, they were sent to investigate the reports.

It started as a fairly straightforward investigation. They'd navigated the wetlands and eventually found where the ship was meant to be. Once they found it, things quickly grew awry. For one thing, the vessel--indeed, it was a full-sized ship, washed up in the wetlands--was intact, and recently repaired. It was larger than any boat M'yr had ever seen or read about, for one. They managed to climb aboard, and after a while decided to explore the ship, investigating every room individually.

Things got weird when they all passed through different doors, and all ended up in the same room.

M'yr's journal depicts their struggles to navigate and map the ship as they went. Quickly, the crew quarters and storage rooms were replaced by vast, empty fields with dull grey skies, cities made of bone and metal that stretched far beyond the horizon. They encountered the long-dead remains of whales and climbed vertically up massive towers they found themselves in. Oftentimes, the rooms would loop back on one another, and some rooms appeared quite normal from time to time. M'yr notes, exactly once, that he briefly passed through his family home in one room. This is depicted entirely in drawing, with the phrase 'Let It Go' scribbled across it repeatedly.

Their journey came to an end--and their real journey began--when M'yr finally found the Coiled Beast, waiting for them.

M'yr does not mention, in words or drawings, what it is he saw there. However, the way he speaks about it out loud makes just enough sense to be valid.

Endless sea calls me

ever seeking, crawling, searching

coming for me, still.

One of M'yr's blanker pages. Soaked in water and salt, and reeking of dead fish.

Since his exposure to the Coiled Beast, M'yr's goals have changed fundamentally. Increasingly aware of the prophetic visions bestowed upon him by the rising water. M'yr's actions revolve around trying to prepare to stem the damage of the rising waters. Though they haven't begun to rise yet, his paranoia only grows, and his efforts are that of proactive protection. M'yr spends his time slaving away trying to protect smaller communities however he can, running food drives, digging ditches and building walls and dams most frequently. He rarely works on these efforts alone; for some reason, M'yr often attracts help, both from other Acolytes, and from members of the community. He often has opportunities to discuss what he saw, and why he works towards his ends, but more often than not prefers just to talk about how he can help the folks in the towns he visits. Although unintentional, this helps M'yr's cause greatly, improving the public opinion of the Acolytes of the Coiled Beast. 

The Acolytes, speaking of which, were never formally formed, in any real sense. M'yr mentions once, in his journal (which currently sits in a library in Lunaris) that the Coiled Beast called upon him, specifically, to become its Acolyte, or perhaps its apprentice. From here, the official title of the cult just sort of arose from there. Interestingly enough, the Journal, and the mention of the Coiled Beast, seem to have a memetic effect of their own, wherein locals will accurately 'name' the cult, without actually knowing anything about it. Provided one has at least read the journal, or at least specific entries, they will always refer to the cult as The Acolytes of the Coiled Beast, its Pelagic Mind Treading above the Wake.

M'yr holds no 'true' authority in the cult, in his own opinion. As one of the earliest members, however, people tend to listen to him on matters of action and optics, and M'yr often steers himself towards more constructive ends than destructive ends.

He still harbors great guilt over the death of his mother, and the murder of the student. On particularly bad nights, he can be heard begging both of them to forgive him.

More gifts arrived today.

There was this rolling sound, like the waves crashing into the house. 

I opened the door, and saw it there, as if it were made just for me

A small piece of driftwood, perfect to hide a face like mine.

From M'yr's current, personal journal (Smells Like Rotted Wood)


M'yr rarely changes his clothes. The Acolyte is most commonly seen wearing his trademark driftwood mask. It's an ugly, asymmetrical thing that covers the entirety of his face. It has holes bored into it for his eyes to peer through, and the back of it has been carved down, to better curve with his face. It's unpainted, although barnacles and kelp often creep across it. From time to time, the barnacles will grow too heavy to keep on any longer, and he'll scrape them off. He wears a heavy, often damp cloak made of coarse black fabric, which is lined with multiple heavy pockets lining its front. He carries a satchel with him often, which has been worn from constant exposure to the rain. The cape on the back of his cloak has been hooked into place with several small fish hooks, binding it in place. Furthermore, his belt is secured by larger hooks, which often sink into his flesh, causing tearing. He wears bangles made of braided chains, fishing lines, hooks, lures and ancient coins. He also sports a pair of fine trousers, and a pair of heavy, ugly, yellow fishing boots. M'yr occasionally covers his wrists and hands in medical gauze, in order to hide his self-harm marks, particularly when he self-mutilates recently.


Sharpened Ruler: Encrusted with barnacles and sharpened to a fine point by M'yr himself. The sea never forgets and now, neither can M'yr. Useless as a proper weapon, but excellent for slipping between the ribs repeatedly, or dashing across your wrists.


Darkwater Invokation: Concentrating, M'yr invokes the wrath of the Coiled Beast, and a heavy tentacle surges from the depths, to grapple and smash whatever he wills it to. Rarely used, and never for a good reason.

Freshwater Healing: Over time, M'yr may sweat out freshwater from his body, often profusely. This sweat will cleanse any open wounds on his body slowly, and overtime mollusks, barnacles, moss and sediment will form over them. When they flake off, all that will remain is an ugly white scar, just like all the others.

Primeval Malediction: With a dark word in a whale's tongue, visions of ruin overcome the target. Causes no serious physical damage, but frightens, demoralizes or otherwise intimidates a target. Dark words, for dark deeds.


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