The wizened mariner stood at the helm of The Meme Junket, staring out at the ominous black waves before his trusty but ancient (read: dilapidated) ship. Through the furious peaks, he saw something flash in the distance.
"Can't be", he thought to himself. "It must be some kind of hallucination brought on by these long and restless nights. I'm getting old. I've been at sea a long time."
He rubbed his eyes with one grimy hand, trying to clear away the rhuem from so many years of waking dreams. But what he saw gradually drew closer and he could no longer deny the truth of its existence.
"Farawai", he whispered.
Farawai. Land of plenty. Birthplace of all that is fantastical in this cold corner of the known world.
The white sliver of coastline gleamed before him, a virtual holy grail for men who were nearly starving and mist-soaked to their very souls. It dawned on him what this could mean for his men, for himself. Their entire reality was about to change. He turned the wheel abruptly and began charting a new course.
"We'll have none of that."
The Meme Junket creaked back into the lethe evernight waters of The Kutullian Sea.