The zee, its blackened waters pitch,
Calls to me, with eerie glow:
It seeks to leave me all betwitched,
So I need not fear the undertow.
Yet any wizened sailor knows:
The zee, though it seems kinder than the sun above,
Does not hesitate to take and impose
Its violent rules and turn your flesh thereof.
Still, to fall to one such as the Fathomking
Feels like not such a cruel fate;
For so long as to him you sing,
His mercy and generosity is great.
...now what?
Fallen London is a dark and dangerous place. It's filled to the brim with suffering and politics, lies and false glamours, everyone striving for unknown goals and few people who are worth trusting. One too many betrayals turns the Poet cold. They aim to succeed, no matter what, and turn from their bright-eyed and naive self into something much more selfish.
As a Correspondant, they answer many of their questions of the Neath, find secrets that make their blood run cold. The Neath is merciless and cruel.