The Syzygy The Syzygy: Rise of the Abyssal

[Jensen]

Jensen managed to stifle his side as his commander urged them on. Valthor's reluctance was obvious to him but would surely look as though he were just tender from the fall. He could hear his twin's voice in the back of his mind as though she were there beside him; oh yes, walk into the mysterious door of light. Has he never read Beasleys Horror Tales? Danika probably would have had the good sense to tell Draxton to - politely - go fuck himself.

If only he had an ounce of her courage.

In to the literally belly of the beast they rode and Jensen eased the sword in his scabbard. He had nightmarish visions of the scuttling creatures falling from the vast ceiling like spiders and attempting to smother them. Nothing leapt out of them as the wandered through, there was no searing pain or feeling of otherness. It was in fact, blissfully mundane. Like stepping into a cave behind a waterfall. If only what came to greet them was just as mundane.

Valthor snarled, flames flickering through his razor sharp teeth in a clear threat.

"Peace? You come to our shores uninvited."

 

[Aderyn Verchtegid]

Virspoke

---

"I don't care what a dead man thinks," Aderyn growled, kicking sand into the brineborn's face. She quickly recovered her senses, however, and slipped back into the far more usual calm, kind countenance. She refused to allow any further taint into her aura.

"I'm sorry," she told him as he slipped into death's embrace, feeling a twinge of guilt over letting a wounded person die in front of her. It was counter to everything she had been taught... but then, how many of these things had she killed by her own will? Was all of it self-defense?

She couldn't pin down any justification in her head, and so instead did what she imagined everyone else did: she shook it away from her thoughts, and focused purely on the present and the situation at hand.

She sighed. "I can't just let any of you die, so whatever you choose, I'll help."

Her mind raced for how to help, though. Without her healer's kit, she had only a handful of crystals to use, and no certainty that she could activate all of their abilities. The part of her that stored her Avarice was empty, and the void there pulled at her, whispering in the back of her mind for more. Of what, she couldn't name; it was an animal instinct begging for her attention, pulling her toward rapacity, taunting her with the knowledge that she could never be fulfilled.

Dingo Gruki Isander

 

[Isander]

The Village of Virspoke​

Isander breathed, gaze locked on the spire. Its peak crested high, where an astral soup illuminated an empty sky. Cowled full in anathema dusk, occluding the once lustrous moons. Bereft their somber dance, desperate for a kiss of normalcy on this frenetic eve, the knight stood haggard. His shoulders slumped, a weight of exhaustion dragging him deeper into the murk. Blood and mud and corpse lent clarity, focus.

He scanned their party, they four few: a knight, a squire, a mystic, and a guarde capitan. Remnants of a remnant, those who survived and yet maintained cognizance within the trill of encroaching madness. Bloodied, bruised, drenched from coat to boot. A motley crew. But they congregated around him, sung true the oath which bound him to this cursed place. The stir of responsibility hung taut from him. Their safety was his to ensure; and yet, they sought to cement his own.

That settled it.

"On me," he said, rallying a cry from his chest. Repetition found him, and he called out louder, drove purpose into a bounding step; he leapt onto the shore, haste following an approach to the nearby ship.

"We make for the ship! Let none impede our way. Know me by name. I am Isander, and this do I swear: we will return, us four, alive and with as many of the villagers as can be saved. Mystic! Secure our boarding. Gruki, Ser guarsman, on me. We carve our way onto the deck, one creature at a time."

He made manifest his word, blade arcing ahead in sickened danse. Each step clove closer to the ship, closer to the looming spire beyond. Determination swathed his stride.


Dingo Gruki Aderyn Verchtegid

 

[Gruki]

Virspoke...

The Red One was small in stature but stout of heart. 'Brave of you,' smiled Gruki, 'pledging yourself to a cause that is sure to prove dangerous, if not deadly.' Many had already fallen, and yet still the butcher's bill continued to rise. Nodding, Gruki turned to Isander. 'I suppose we should get on with it, then.'

Taking a few quick breaths to steady her nerves, the tall half-orc followed after her knight as he led them off down the beach.

Surf lapped at her boots as they marched, on, towards the ship. Sand shifted underfoot. Stooping mid-stride, Gruki snatched a cutlass from the clutches of a dead Abyssal. 'Here,' she said, offering it hilt first to Aderyn. 'Just in case you need it.' Better to be armed than unarmed.

Better, still, to be far, far away from here, Gruki thought, slapping her visor down as the Enemy noted their approach.

'Eyes, up, Saers!' She warned, sword levelled at the forecastle where a handful of archers gathered. Through the slit of her visor, she watched as they talked amongst themselves, motioned to the main deck.

The congregation being forced up the gangplank had come to a halt. A moment later, Gruki saw why.

Armed with billhooks and tridents, lashes and blades, a squad of fishmen disembarked to reinforce those still ashore. Get into them, a voice instructed her, seize the initiative whilst it's still for the taking. Hefting her blade, Gruki bellowed a wordless cry as she charged headlong into the massing foe.

Arrows fell around her, a couple pinging off her plate. A whirlwind of steel, Gruki opened up the front rank of fishmen with a wide swing. Strike of wrath, the voice continued, maintain momentum.

Swinging, scything through bodies and armour, the she-orc slew any who opposed her. A human male got underfoot, and she shoved him aside before he could end up on the business end of her blade. 'Run!' She cried. 'All of you! Run or fight!'

Turning, her weapon flowing around her, Gruki decapitated a fishman and sent its body falling into the foamy waters between ship and dock.

Aderyn Verchtegid Isander Dingo

 

[Edward Lorain]

"The spear, Cortosi!" - He called out to the sailor. - "Pierce its eyes!" -

The spear? Yeah, right. Good thing he was asking this Cortosi guy to do that because Ed was not going anywhere near that creature. The Dreadlord could figure that problem out with the Cortosi...Wait, he was looking at Edward. Why was he looking at him?

Unless...

Was he the Cortosi? He didn't even look like a Cortosi, he was way better looking. Well, the answer was still no. He was not a fighter...then why had he grabbed the spearhead in the first place? Maybe, he could just toss the weapon to Ivan, but he was more likely just to accidently stab him.

He took a hesitant step backward when he froze. The voice, it wasn't hers. It had none of the soft caress that came with the wind, instead, it felt like it enveloped him, almost threatening to suffocate him. A weight that threatened to crush him if he did not keep moving.

Before he registered what he was doing, Edward was sprinting across the room. The blade grasped firmly in hand, Ed lept onto the creature's back and plunged the weapon into the small gap that had been shown to him.

The fear in Edward wanted to scream out, but Ed held it in, as he felt like to scream out would be to sacrifice any sort of air he still held a claim too.

Ivan Skender Dingo

 

[Ronja]

The wolven form regained itself, rose from the ground, eclipsed the fire. She watched it through water, a sob caught in the back of her throat as she struggled out a breath, shallow and pained. From some paces yet before her, the one she had braced for disappeared, picked up to arms that wouldn’t tear nor claw. Instead, they embraced tenderly, held on a moment until handing the newborn to another.

An exchange was murmured, barely audible to her, though she had the sense she wouldn’t understand a lick even if she had heard individual words. A warmth had come to hover beside her, the lot of her rousing to it belatedly, meeting that gaze of silver. An urgency was writ to every inch, the large form nudging at her. To get— on?

Sidelong, she spied a figure reached into the flames, picking up a stick that would then be given greater shape by magic. Unbenign. She hadn’t really needed convincing, but it was enough to hurry her along. Hopefully, it’d be enough.

“ Okay— Okay. “ She huffed, supported by her new chance-gotten friend in every movement it took for her to climb upon its back, fingers closed into a death-clutch about the silky fur. With naught else to do, she pressed her forehead against it, breathing into the great beast’s neck as it begun to move.

“ I know of a graveyard. In the woods, far enough from here. To rest in. Can you take us there? “ She breathed out, her tone tense and hollow as she struggled to speak at all. Since when had divinities heeded such dull requests of mortals?

“ Please? I'll accept any debt. “

Farren Lóthlindor Cynefin

 

[Dingo]

​

---

Desperation can be a funny thing.

It can rob a man of air. Turn the blood in their veins to ice. Their arms and legs to lead. Forget which way is up, and which way is down as lungs pull in, push out, panicked for breath.

Just as well.

It can make so much, so clear.

The spearhead sinks into the flush within the strange claw. A gush as something pops there beneath its point. Black water spills across the maw, onto the floor, onto the strange flesh-made floor. It splashes like a thud. Heavy as lead. It gathers there, in a dent.

The armored thing struggles as the claw bleeds and bleeds. It thrashes left, and right, its clawed gauntlet unable to catch any bit of flesh.

A pull from the Deep.

A gravity that draws the son of Teth to the dark water that had fallen from the claw. Something like the winds. Something of currents and streams. Heavy. It wants to be reached. It wants to be guided. Let loose.

The survivors look on, wide eyed with horror. Some grow hot with chance. Possibility. They rush to aid Ivan. A true daughter of Cortos, and an Anirian, slam their weight against the armored one.

It topples. Falls with a hard thump. Something falls from its waist.

A handle. A pearl there where the fuller of a true sword might be.

---

​

---

For the ship you made. Brave souls four. Across the sands, with brine at your boots. At your heels. The salt spray mixed with the rot. The smells of death wash sweet, across the sea, that laps and wanes, laps and wanes against the muddy shore.

You meet them with force. The Fishmen. The Brineborn. Steel edges catch against scales. Crack against bones. Clatter against plate.

Blades find purchase. Bones cleaved clean through.

Some fire lights in the eyes of some of those villagers, there amidst the bound and corralled. But most seem sedated. A wicked trace of red across their forearms, as if a thing with teeth were dragged across the flesh. The look in their eyes is as bottomless as the drink. Their heads low, their backs bent.

Aboard the ship. At the helm, there stands a robed figure. A crest emblazoned upon the yellow of its robes. A sharp claw, spread wide. Hungry. The thing that wears the crest looks unlike any of the other fishmen. Looks like none of the brineborn you have slain.

Pallid. Pulsing. Its massive head throbs. It raises a strange and rippling hand up toward the sunless sky.

Some of the villagers. Those without hope in their eyes. Those with the red marks raked across their flesh. They turn to see the would-be saviors, and rush to attack. A school of enthralled. Greater for their number.

---

​

---

Wicked and strange is the air. Blood pours from the cesarean wound in beats and pulses. Streams of life run from where tattered flesh hangs.

The scent of the raw wound, thick on the air.

Prey and predator grow closer, as the guardian stands with babe in one hand, and spear in the other.

---

​

---

Their eyes communicate no feeling to the riders, but the scent of their fear is thick in the air.

The gilded one, who stands before the gods and their riders, raises its hands the more. Stays their ground as those around them mill about.

Draxton cocks a brow, and looks to the Tsonye’s rider. “Jensen,” he calls out, over the din of the labor, and the deep pulls of breath, pump of heart, and flow of blood of the god beneath him. “You understand this thing?”

Carnifex shifts its head. Snake quick. Snaps its jaws toward one of the fishmen. Teeth like swords come shut in a loud clap.

The fishmen stumble back fall.

A feeling like panic. A sensation of fear, wash over Jensen. The gilded one still stands before his green dragon as its people scrabble to their feet.

Flee comes the word.

Hunters. Comes the word again. Each pulse heavy, like the crash of a wave gainst the rider’s mind.

Scared.

The gilded one motions with its hands. Toward itself. Toward its fellows.

Life.

A hot huff of breath from the great black dragon. Hot steam plumes from its nostrils. It wants to be rid of this place.

“Jensen? What is it saying?” the High Ascendant demands. Aware that something just beyond his perception transpires.

---

As the riders unified, and the winds howled beneath the beat of their wings, the timed blast of wind stabs forward. Punches through the veil of ink, like needle through thread, and tears a thin gash across the mantle of the storm.

Large enough for a rider. Tough the force of the wild magicks, mixed with the gale of winds and mantle of ink, see the window closing, quick.

---

The salve takes effect. What irritations and wounds that afflicted the wounded dragon begin to ease. Their heart steadies. The heavy pound of their life’s engine, calmer.

Yet, the blind dragon’s magicks come harsh. The storm feeds too much through its flesh and bones. Feeds too much to the expression of healing and life. Something is not right after the labor that was so routine to them.

 

[Jensen]

"Can you not feel it?" Jensen replied with a grimace. Valathor was shaking his head side to side, a low growl coming from deep within his throat, as the waves of the fish-men's emotions interfered with the deep bond between rider and dragon. It was like having an annoying wasp in his head. as the wave of fear crashed over him like a cold wave, and the word hissed through his mind he rubbed the heels of his palm into his temples.

"Just, stop it. You're making things worse," he snapped, though it was unclear who exactly he was talking to - commander or fishman. Valathor's tail thumped against the ground causing it to shudder.

"They're scared," he gritted out to the commander. "They want to live," turning to the fishman he continued. "Why are you here?"

 

[Faye Valimir]

Valimir watched as over time, the salve began to work.

"Harker! You got anymore of that samphire?" She called out, just as the second dragon patient was being lowered some feet away, medics already rushing over to inspect and look for similarities.

The news of a new treatment taking effect spread, and as more medics rushed over, Ransa tears in tow, Faye was glad not to order them to change priorities to the god-like dragons.

"Cathán, come joi---"

But those words died on her lips; the breath meant to speak them caught in her chest. The blind white dragon rasped, head lowered as he found difficulty to breath. Sparks flitted from his maw, and the rider felt the echoes of her dragon's distress. No, that was not her breath caught in her chest.

Faye rushed to her bonded, falling to her knees harshly but was ignorant to the pain aching them. She pushed her ear to this chest, feeling the hot scales hurt her but she did not care for her own well being when the one thing that had kept her from the clutches of death struggled with his magic.

"What's wrong?" The voice or Harker could be heard, but Faye hushed him. Frantic, she began to pound her fist against her dragon's chest, as if able to dislodge the magic stuck in him. She did this repeatedly, matching the slowed but powerful beat of a dragon's heart. At least he is stable. She had to remind herself that it was not breath lodged there, but magic. It caused him pain, something she could not sense down their bond, but her own instincts of knowing her dragon well.

"Stay with him, Valimir. I will run point now." Harker had wanted to congratulate the medic for her extensive knowledge, that her salve had saved the livelihoods of several dragons, but he also knew she would not care for such fanfare when her own dragon was not well. Without an acknowledgement from Faye, he gave a grim smile and turned around, beginning to put together the very ingredients Faye had used to make the salve.

Thread Exit for Faye and Cathán

 

[Orissa]

Orissa saw the space being made, how their collective efforts was able to aide Olazor's magic.

But their work combined called for quick thinking.

She sucked in a breath as her dragon knew what their bonded thought, already making the move for that quickly disappearing chance of getting through. The dragon, known for it's pretty ribbon like details on their body, had made the quicker lunge for the opening. Orissa turned her head, watching Cadoc yell after the princess as the gap closed.

She swore she could still hear him calling for her to stop.

Hands clutched her reins tightly, holding on for her own sake as wind forced them to descend, Pixaelys only just managing not to tumble into a landing and putting the Princess in harm's way.

There was no sign of the Tsonye and it's rider, no sign of the General she had glimpsed earlier and his formidable dragon, but a silvered light beckoning Ransa and Princess.

"If you are feeling brave, Pix, then I say we follow that opening..."

The Ransa made a melodic chatter, as if fussing now they were up close to the anomaly, but bonded and trusting, the Ransa moved into the mountain, following the tunnel slowly until voices were heard.

 

[Ivan Skender]

His resolve strengthened, even as his physical might waned, when he felt the help of allies easing his burden. Together, they pushed the armoured creature back down against the soft, fleshy grounds.

Then they struggled. They struggled against the beast, to keep it from locking them away again, and they struggled against fatigue and weariness, to keep themselves sane and in control of their shaken psyche, until, finally, a ray of hope glimmered.

With his flesh aching, his muscles torn, and his skin devolving into a greyed mass, as countless dark veins started to popped out throughout his features, Ivan reached for the pearly handle.

He took the object to himself and bashed it against whichever smaller openings he could find on the armoured one's cladding.

- "Cortosi!" - He called out. - "Snap out of it! Kill this one!" - He cried, as he struggled to keep the strange armoured abyssal under control.

Edward Lorain Dingo​

 

[Edward Lorain]

That pull.

He could feel it in his gut. It wasn't like the winds, he could feel it. With the winds, he asked and then he may be gifted with their grace. This was heavier and more oppressive. He would need to take it if he wanted something.

Edward did his best to shake away the strange feeling. Focusing back on the yelling Anirian. What was he talking about it? His eyes turned to the spearhead still embedded in the creature's motionless form. It was dead was it not? What did the Anirian know that he did not?

In fear, Edwards reached for that feeling, that pull that still settled onto him. His eyes turned to that dark water, and he pulled. A feeling so foreign to his normal abilities. He was no longer asking. He was telling.

Dingo Ivan Skender

 

[Dingo]

​

---

A pulse. Through the eld marrow within human bones. Memories passed along ancestral lines, gifts given by soil and sea.

The son of Teth feels the dark waters move with his will. That lump of coagulated iron stirs. Feels heavier than any puddle has the right to be. Almost an ingot, smelt cold. But it stretches. It pulls. It snaps forward.

Black as night, the dark water splits toward the downed abyssal, punched through its plate as it lay there, anchored by those sailors and castaways driven to fight. How they held on. Pummeled and struck as the being thrashed beneath them.

As one fell, another piled on.

A pulse through those fibers of flesh that held strong the strange handle. Something in the flesh, where that crab had bitten through the skin, twitches. Tweaks. The Skender’s hand grips tight. That blood of old Aniria by the sea. As dark and abyssal as the thing that bleeds beneath you.

The pearl shimmers. Shines. The black water draws to it. Like an arm snapped into place, the liquid turns into a blade.

Agony spurs the armored one on. But its carapace is cracked open. Black water pours from the break in its shell. Its gelatinous flesh spills blue blood across the floor of the ship.

A door opens. One more Abyssal stands there. No armor to encase its fragile flesh, but a spear in its hand. Its lone midnight eye spots the Skender, its skin begins to shimmer with colors. Almost gone in the blink of an eye.

---

​

---

High Ascendant Draxton quirked a brow. Eyes narrowed, and face twisted by an acrid distaste. His dark god, Carnifex bares his teeth as the Tsonye thumps its tale and shakes its head.

“You forget yourself, Ascendant,” Draxton sneers through his snarl. “A rider of Thanasis cares not for the wants of invaders,”

A low growl rumbles in the scaled throat of the black dragon.

The fishmen stumble back. Some aim their spears as they try and cower away. The speaker, who stands before Jensen, raises his hands, turns and speaks to his ken. The sound foreign and unknown without the link between the minds.

Carnifex snaps its maws forward. Grabs one of the fishmen’s spears and thrashes its massive head about. The other fishmen startle. Rush to aid their fellow. The leader turns, something like horror in their eyes as the scene unfolds.

They turn to Jensen once more. The link between them silent, but something in their body. In their eyes, begs. Help.

Draxton laughs as Carnifex throws the fishman back. The gleam of their spear like a pick betwixt his dagger teeth. The fishmen hurry to help their fellow. A lonely pair try to stand their ground, spears up against the horrid beast that closes on them with lurching steps that shake the ground of the Silver Mountain.

Orissa, can just start to make out the scene before her.

Hunted.

The word shudders through Jensen’s mind.

 

[Gruki]

Breathing heavily, Gruki stormed the gangplank, her blade swinging, sweeping aside the brineborn who placed themselves in her path. The salt and smoke and blood-stench was strong here. Vile. Sickening. Focus up! The voice in her head cut through the din of battle to encourage her on, forward, through the throngs of blind-eyed thralls and fishfoe.

To the main deck.

Hacking, blinded by rage, she shunted a brineborn over the side, all too aware of the enemy's growing number. 'Isander! Syr!' Deflecting a blow with her chipped sword, she backed up a step. The deck under her feet was slippery, and she nearly fell. Once. Twice. 'Syr Isander! Free the prisoners!' Where is he? she thought, her arms heavy, legs feeling as if they were made of lead.

A fishman lunged at her with a billhook and she dodged aft, running, making for the helm.

The figure stood there watched her approach. Bigger than the rest, this one was dressed in salt-stained robes and had coals for eyes. Gruki could tell it was strong, just by looking at it. And important? She wondered, running a fishman through before heaving its body into the drink below.

Kill it! The voice urged, sounding much like every knight she had ever known and yet none of them.

Turning to face her pursuers, Gruki cut one down, then snatched a spear from another. Kicking its legs out from under it, she span, hurling the spear, pouring every ounce of her strength into the throw.

Dingo Isander Aderyn Verchtegid

 

[Jensen]

Jensen's jaw clenched at the rebuke but he fell silent, even as the High Ascendant allowed his beast to close the distance between the fishmen and put the fear of the Gods into them. He was torn between the desire to help those who might be seeking refuge just like their own people had all those years ago, and protecting the shores of his home. Malakath was an unkind land and there was every possibility these people wished to do something sinister under the flag of peace.

Leave, Jensen impressed back through that mental link. Valathor snarled, clearly distressed that his bonded rider was using such a similar form of communication with something as inferior as the fishmen before them. His jaws snapped inches from the leaders face, punctuating Jensen's command.

 

[Aderyn Verchtegid]

Virspoke

---

Aderyn followed Gruki onto the ship though her head burned with questions of what she was even supposed to do or how to help. She still hadn't figured anything out and she had never - at least in her own opinion - been very good at creative thinking on her feet barring perhaps in a medical emergency.

Gruki was like a berserker, powering her way up onto the deck of the ship, casting aside their brackish foes with what seemed to be a focused fervor that overpowered any growing exhaustion on her part. This, Aderyn could tell, was her element and gods was she magnificent.

But Aderyn could only watch for so long before she set to work. She didn't see Isander, and quickly she lost sight of Gruki too, as she ran for the prisoners to help them get free. This, at least, she could do. The sword in her hand was heavy and her movements with it clumsy as she swung two-handed at a tentacled jailer. The thing made a choking, sputtering sound, its mouth convulsing... laughing at her as it stepped back from her awkward attacks.

If there was something that cut Aderyn to the bone, it was mocking her in performance of her duties. Usually this applied to music and dance, but this time it let her sip a little from her flagging Fury and with a scream she hurled the sword at the taunting squid. The raw force that her Fury put behind it was enough to break open her opponent's face as the sword hit hilt-first. The thing fell, though unconscious or dead she couldn't tell; she had no doubts that it wouldn't live to see morning regardless.

She went to free her first captive, a knife she had no memory of picking up in one hand and a crystal in the other. She pressed the crystal into the captive's hands and said, "Hold this. It'll calm you."

Then she set to work cutting the bonds. At the same time, she supped deeply of their own rage, fear, and repulsion, stripping them of the ability to feel such things and bolstering her own abilities.

Dingo Gruki Isander

 

[Orissa]

Orissa felt herself stiffen with dread as she watched Carnifex, Draxton's laugh grating to her ears within these walls.

Pixaelys emitted a low sound, unsure if it was growl or warning, but felt a strangeness ache above her eye. She pressed a palm to it in hopes to alleviate it, but the Ransa dragon made the sound again.

Hunted.

It was not a human voice. Not an impression from a dragon through their bond.

She watched as speared creatures stood fast against the Thanasians.

"Stand down, High Ascendant." Orissa embodied the gravitas of her father, of her brothers. She straightened her spine and showed them all regality taught by a Queen. "Let there be no casualties today." All she had seen was reasoning, and as nothing had outright attacked both dragons and riders, Orissa knew it was best for them to make a retreat.

"That is an order from the Princess of Thanasis."

Pixaelys gave wary stare to the creatures still, but their body language gave no indication that rider and Ransa were a new threat.

 

[Dingo]

Spoiler: Who Will Know

​

---

The prisoner took up the crystal which Aderyn pressed into the prisoner’s hand. A pitiful thanks uttered from the prisoners lips before tears ran down her face. Still, she steeled herself as the armored squire scythed through fishman and madman alike.

Gone from sight, was the knight who had given his pledge.

Gone was the Councilor. Gone was his man.

There, above them all, was the robed Abyssal. Its trinocular gaze set down upon Gruki and Aderyn as villagers run mad across the deck. Like so much bait, made to move by unseen lines. Turned to a mindless mob, all screams and agony. They swarm at their would be saviors. Fingernails rake, and grasp at whatever they can take.

Till the spear finds purchase. Its barbed head punches through the robed Abyssal’s chest, and blue blood spills across the deck.

The Abyssal stumbles back. Clutching at the weapon lodged into its chest. It makes no sound you can hear, but a pulse ripples from its mind and crashes across your own. Terror.

It falls low, and its appendages wrap around the shaft of the spear, and it pulls, and pulls as its life’s blood spills and splashes with each jerk of desperate strength.

The screams of the villagers grow louder. They twitch and stutter, writhe in horror. Fall to the ground and clutch at their temples as their voices rend out.

How they want it all to end.

---

​

---

High Ascendant Draxton was a dutiful man. Took pride in his station, and all that came with it. But there was no joy greater than administering the wrath of his God. The wrath of Thanasis.

Carnifex snapped up one Fishman by the leg, so set into its motion was the great creature. The scaled being garbled a scream. Its fellows fled. But one. One tried to stand and fight for the scaled soul that had been snatched up like some toy by an enraged babe.

All the while, Draxton grinned. Set free the sword at his hip as his blood ran hot, and his eyes saw all the creatures that scuttled and scrabbled just beyond. “No quarter to the enemies of-”

Come the sound of a royal order, clear above the pound of his heart, Draxton’s eyes widened, and ice ran through his veins.

Carnifex shook its head, and flung the mangled fishmen across the ways. Its fellow ran after it to attend.

The gilded fishman ran quick after the Tsonye had snapped its threat. Hurried to aid the wounded one who had been so tossed by Carnifex, and looked to Jensen, its eyes large and dark as the sea, then to the other rider who had arrived as they helped their fellow away.

“Your highness!” Draxton bowed his head, and made a salute. His dragon, lowered its massive head, as spines and scales bristled with frustration. “I only wished to dispatch our lands of these… these creatures, they seem a clear and obvious threat to the safety of Thanasis,” he reported.

 

[Edward Lorain]

Cortosi Coast

Was that him? No, it was something that had answered his call. No, it wasn't like the wind. He had taken it, commanded it. The pull that coincided with the sudden burst of water felt strange in his stomach, even a little painful. It was like Edward had just used some unknown muscle for the first time.

He felt like he had just lifted some large boulder, as he tried to gather himself and his breathing. Unfortunately, neither he nor the others had time. Edward's attention to the dying creature was interrupted as the door opened.

Instinctively, Ed understood the next move. That was a guard and running guards meant more guards.

"Quick, after him!"

Hoping that anyone would answer his call, Edward blindly rushed for the streaking creature. Only just remembering to yank the spearhead out of the creature's body before he ran after him.

Dingo Ivan Skender

 

[Dingo]

​

---

At Edward's command a couple brine tossed sailors looked to one another, nod, and hurried after the fleeing creature, only to have the fleshy door come shut.

"They locked us in!" they cried back. Fists hammering against the barrier.

As the son of Teth pulled the spear from the Abyssal's still dying body, he would see the black water pouring from the chitenous armor. How it mixed and swirled with the thin blue blood that pumped more and more with each of its dying moments. How the silted ink drew to his own hand. Its weight, there again in his mind. Almost a part of him.

The Deep beckons.

 

[Edward Lorain]

No!

That would not do. They were trying to trap them and constrain him, but he was far past being held down. The circumstances around him combined with his new abilities had brought a wild look to Edward's eyes. He was scared and close to breaking down both physically and mentally, and he was so tired of that.

Once again, he called on that pull. It was so easy to call once he had already done it like it held its own momentum. Once the oceans were set free, it was impossible to put them back.

"Stand back."

Not waiting to see if they listened, Edward felt for the liquid. It wasn't just in the creatures, but it was all around him in this strange place. With a shout, Edward willed the door to open.

Dingo

 

[Jensen]

Jensen held his breath after the Princess' voice rang clear through the chaos. The High Ascendant might not listen to him but a Royal could not be ignored. His eyes flickered between the pair, waiting...

 

[Orissa]

“Your highness!” Draxton bowed his head, and made a salute. His dragon, lowered its massive head, as spines and scales bristled with frustration. “I only wished to dispatch our lands of these… these creatures, they seem a clear and obvious threat to the safety of Thanasis,” he reported.

Orissa did not make any move to leave her dragon, but her eyes fell upon the creatures that came from the depths of the sea. Hesitation lingered upon her expression only a moment before shooting her stare up to where Draxton was between herself and the creatures. "A High Ascendant would have known better than to unleash our gods against these creatures. We have no army to back us should this turn for the worst."

She remembered how her father conducted himself in War Council meetings, but as their main threats were jarlax and wyverns, the Princess had to improvise a direction meant for the unknown creatures of the sea.

Lifting her head, she gathered the weight of a royal command, just like she had seen her younger brother Kaveh do when the Royal Guards assembled. "They tried to communicate with us... did you not hear them?" Dark eyes now bounce between High Ascendant and the Ascendant, expecting an answer.

 

[Gruki]

The creature at the helm stumbled back, listing with the ship. Gruki saw it fall to the deck a split second before the psychic wave hit her, dragging her down with it. She could hear people screaming, their voices raised in agony, as if sharing the Abyssal's pain.

A brand flashed across her mind's eye. Almost all of the prisoners aboard the ship had one, she had realised, sometime in the recent past. Her mind, not as fragile as the rest, threatened to come apart at the seams. But the pieces fitted together all the same.

Gritting her teeth, Gruki fought through the pain, forced herself to stand. Terror coursed through her, making her feel slow and sluggish. Her blade, slick with blue-black blood, dripped as she clambered up to the helm to tower over the dying one. The screams rose in volume as the Abyssal stared up at her. They did not fall on deaf ears.

Raising her boot, Gruki brought it down on the monster's oversized head, pulping brain and oh-so brittle bone. The screams died, then.

Gruki collapsed, exhausted.

Dingo Aderyn Verchtegid

 

[Dingo]

​

---

A shudder. A shake. As much in your bones. In your flesh. Through your veins, as you feel the arteries within the ship. Feel the ebb and flow of the black water, course through the flesh that makes the vessel's hull.

Harsh pain wracks your body. Muscles and mind, strained by the effort that felt so easy at first.

One man, there before the sealed valve of the door, screams. Shouts. Turns to red and copper mist. Viscera and giblets patter and spray about. Those who had moved from the door stare wide eyed in horror.

But the door rips open. The whole ship shakes.

Something in the doorway shimmers. Nearly unseeable. It whirrs. A sharpness stabs through one of the survivors, who groan and clutch at their fresh wound. Blood spurts free, and the others around him look about, wide eyed with panic.

In the pools of black water that gathers by the rent door, you see a splash. Then another.

---

​

---

Down comes the heel. Crunch goes what chitin lines the squid's mantle, and hides its beak. Its eyes turned to runny mess.
The survivors, most are released from whatever bind held them.

A shuffling. Hands grab about the strong hero. Drag her across the deck. But too far gone in the exhaustion is she to see where to they haul her.

---

​

---

Draxton looks perplexed. "Your, your highness," he stammers. Trying as he might to make time for himself. "I, no, your highness, I heard not! But the stutters and garbelings of savage beasts! They are fishmen! Monsters! Worse than the Jarlax for their mystical engines!" he looked to Jensen. Looked back to Orissa as Carnifex growled his displeasure. High Ascendant Draxton looked down at his Dark God, face tight with his displeasure. His confusion. "I only did what seemed right!" he assured. "Keep our lands safe, and rid it of any and all threats," he looked back to the fishmen.

Carnifex willed its massive head in their direction. The black dragon's patience grew thinner by the moment.

"Give me but the order, your Highness, and I will see the ugly work done," he said. Turned ot her again. "If it is too much for your gentle heart, I assure you, I am at your command, and I will-" Carnifex gave out a roar that pierced through the hall of the strange mountain.

It split the ears, and was so baleful it toppled some of those strange beings that tried to retreat.

Carnifex's mass moved forward, but were it not for his rider's pull. "Hold!" the High Ascendant willed it. The pull of reins only a tug against it. A ripple across the surge of its godly strength. It was enough to halt the dragon, but not without its rebuke. Its green eyes glared back at its rider, its maw snarled its teeth.

It was done. It need to kill. Or be free from this place. Its eyes turned to the other dragons. Hunger for violence clear in its eyes.

Draxton, wide eyed atop his saddle, half grinned. Horror and excitement all swirled into one.