The March of Mists (The Mist March) This is the beginning of the Cade, a time of profound quiet. The great Flow-ward storms have passed, but the sea exhales a thick, constant fog, blurring the line between sea and sky. It is a contemplative time, associated with secrets, ghosts, and the deep, subtle pull of the moon Asur. Navigational visibility is at its worst, and voyages are short and treacherous. It is said that children born in this March are destined to have a "second sight."
The March of Rains (The Rain March) The mists give way to long, cleansing rains that wash the salt and grime from the world. This is a time of renewal and the planting of stingroot and other hardy coastal crops. To sailors, it is a period of melancholy and mending, a time for repairing sails in port and telling stories of sorrows past.
The March of Morntide (The Morntide) The rains finally cease, and the sea settles into a profound, almost glassy calm. The name refers to the "morning tide" of the new year, the true beginning of the safe sailing season. It is a time of great optimism, of launching new ships, and of swearing oaths under the steady, golden light of Raen.
The March of Beasts (The Beast March) The great sea-mammals, like the Hammertusk, give birth to their young in the turquoise coastal shallows. It is a time of vibrant, teeming life. This March is associated with fertility, new beginnings, and a boisterous, chaotic energy. The "Yearling Sprint," a major Orosian holiday celebrating young horses, takes place during this time.
The March of the Hunt (The Hunt March) With the seas calm and the days at their longest, this is the prime season for long-haul voyages and the great ritual hunts. Naval vessels and the fleets of the Lord Factors push far into the Flow-ward quadrant. It is a time of ambition, of profit, and of testing one's strength against the beasts of the deep.
The March of Fire (The Fire March) The heat becomes oppressive, the sun a relentless, brazen eye in the sky. The winds often die completely, leaving ships becalmed for days or weeks. This is a time of frayed tempers, of passion, and of sudden, explosive violence. It is said the angry, blood-red moon Rend holds its greatest sway during this March.
The March of Sails (The Sail March) The great trade winds return, blowing steady and strong from the Ebb-ward quadrant. This is the peak of the mercantile season, a frantic, glorious rush as a thousand sails are raised to bring the year's cargo home before the coming storms. The harbors of Theastone are at their most crowded and vibrant.
The March of Winds (The Wind March) The winds grow stronger, more unpredictable. The time for casual sailing is over; now is the time for master navigators. The sea is a thing of awesome, beautiful power. This March is associated with change, with the sweeping away of the old, and with a sense of thrilling, dangerous freedom.
The March of Storms (The Storm March) The winds turn from powerful to malevolent. This is the beginning of the true storm season, when the Fathom's song is said to grow louder on the wind. It is a time of battening hatches, of reinforcing sea walls, and of a quiet, collective dread.
The March of the Drowned (The Drowned March) This is the most somber of the Marches. The first great Flow-ward storms have claimed their tithe, and the sea is cold and grey. It is a month of remembrance, of holding vigils for the ships and souls that did not return. The myth of the Drown-Horse is told most often in the long, dark nights of this March.
The March of Hearths (The Hearth March) The world outside is a howling waste of wind and water. Life retreats indoors. It is a time for family, for the sharing of food and drink, and for the telling of the great sagas. The warmth and light of the hearth become the center of the universe, a small, defiant bastion against the immense, cold darkness outside.
The March of Slumber (The Slumber March) The final, quietest of the Marches. The storm season has passed, but the sea is often locked in a sullen, heavy calm. It is a time of deep rest, of reflection on the Cade that has passed. The world holds its breath, waiting, for the first sign of a new year, the first stirrings of the mists.