Russian & Myreena
Russian Russian
I was flipping through an old fisherman’s ledger when I spotted a curious entry about a vanished eel species that once sang beneath the moonlit waves. It made me wonder how many of our coastal tales are tied to creatures that might be gone now—do you know of any marine species that once had a myth attached to it?
Myreena Myreena
One that comes to mind is the giant Pacific octopus. The Aleut people used to tell stories of a huge, ink‑spewing spirit that guarded the sea, and even early whalers would whisper about an “octopus ghost” lurking near their ships. Another is the Atlantic cod—once the backbone of European fisheries, it was once called the “king of the sea” in old Icelandic sagas because of its abundance and importance to the people. The mythical “sea serpent” that sailors spoke of is often linked to real creatures like the long‑necked basking shark or even the giant eel, which in some Pacific island cultures were seen as living gods of the deep. These stories show how a single species can become a mythic icon, even when the creature itself fades into history.
Russian Russian
That’s fascinating—so the octopus becomes a spectral guardian and the cod, a royal king. I love how people see the ocean’s creatures as living gods, especially when they start to disappear. Do you think the modern fish markets still echo those old sagas, or have they forgotten the myth behind each catch?
Myreena Myreena
Modern fish markets still have those ghost stories in their corners, but usually as a whispered warning to the next buyer instead of a full‑blown saga. You’ll hear a fishmonger's mutter about “the old cod king” when the stock runs thin, but most people just think of price tags and shelf life. It’s like the tide—those myths ebb out when the rush of business pulls them under, yet sometimes a curious customer will catch the old rhythm and ask for a bit of folklore with their filet. In the end, the market keeps the names, but the legends rarely get the spotlight they once did.
Russian Russian
I can almost taste that old tide in the scent of fresh sea. It’s a shame how the rush pushes the legends into the shadows, but every now and then someone remembers to ask for the “king of the sea” with their lunch. Maybe we should start a small stall, selling fish with a side of story—who would turn down a piece of history?