Dark Depths

The pirate's calloused fingers drummed on the table idly, a mug of ale in his other hand. A sinister grin touched his lips, his off-white teeth a stark contrast to the darkness of his skin. His brother sat across from him, the only two left of their crew. They shipwrecked a few days prior and never ended up recovering the ship, or any of the crew. Well...a few members drifted back alive with the corpses, but the sorry sacks of meat were too injured to be of much use. "I'm not da fishin' type, brudda," the dark-skinned man sighed. "Best find a way outta here soon." He knocked back a large gulp of ale, slamming his mug back down on the table. "Too bad da ship gone. I tink we sail away ourselves easy." His dark eyes scanned the other tenets in the room, feeling more than just a couple suspicious glares at ragged, filthy duo. "'Tween you 'n me, I don't tink dey like us," he muttered to his partner, leaning in a bit closer.

He wasn't able to dwell on the thought much longer, as a panicked messenger suddenly burst into the room, demanding help from capable fighters. The pirate laughed out loud. "Look like we found a job," he said, getting to his feet and yanking his fearsome weapon out from under the table. "I told ya dey tell stories of Marduk 'n his brudda bein' terrors o' da seas, but look like da village gonna say us is heroes." Another obnoxious laugh escaped Marduk's lips. He slung his weapon over his shoulder, slapping his brother on the shoulder as he walked by.

He walked at a somewhat leisurely pace, heavy leather boots thudding loudly on the wooden floors. "Let's show da bastards whadda Nejem bruddas capable of." He grinned at the messenger, flashing a wink as he walked by. Marduk was always ready to spill some blood. It's what he was best at.

 

Sitting awkwardly with his back hunched and his arms folded onto the table Nejem listened contentedly to his brother Marduk ramble on. What he said rung true. The unfortunate shipwreck had left them stranded on the Island, which Nejem hadn't even cared to remember the name of, and whatever surviving crewmembers they had were too wounded to be of any value. This environment was queer to him. An overabundance of sand, and the strange tree trunks that reminded him of millipedes made him eager to leave just as his brother was.


However, one thing he wasn't able to escape from was the hunger he felt gnawing at him. He lifted a large clawed hand, thumbing at his amulet. The rough stone ornament was his only remedy to the rot that infested him; it sought to use him as it's vessel, a way to escape and fill the mundane realm with its necrotic progeny, but Nejem was honour-bound to use his immortality for revenge. To kill all the world's dark creatures. Not only to create an equilibrium to the thousands of his people who died to the dark plague, but to satiate his own bloodthirst -- and hopefully to find his death in battle.


It had been so long ago, he remembered, half-way listening to Marduk. His life-mate had come down with the coughing-sick; or so he had thought. But not even his shaman could find the herbs to cure her, he could only enchant a small pendant that seemed to stave certain symptoms – but soon, she passed, despite all efforts. Nejem dug her grave with his own claws and packed it down with his tears, but that night she had risen. She had become a pained, tormented monster with flaking skin and mangy fur. But it was not just her – the rest of his kind appeared to have become stricken with that same cough before inevitably rising again as his wife had. It was a sickness unlike anything Nejem had seen before. Turning son against father, mother against infant as they became feral, killing all that did not bear the curse – breeding through death until finally they rotted into nothingness. And even through Nejem's unbridled fury, he could not save his people, as he fought through the hordes of his former kin. Ending his lifemate's suffering swiftly, and keeping her pendant to keep her memory close.


But a single warrior cannot fight the masses, no matter how hard he may try, and as he was finally engulfed by the plethora of those yet to be slain, at the next sunrise he awoke. A shameful spectre of his former self. He had become the Immortal Survivor. He was the corrupted. The embodiment of his enemy, but he would not lose.


Just as suddenly as his thoughts had begun, so too did they cease, as the door to the tavern was swung open, crashing against the wall as a human man huffed; exhausted. The hump of his back rose and fell as he gasped through his words, explaining that all able warriors should make their way to the Chief. Nejem lifted himself from the table eagerly just as Marduk had begun to respond, picking up his weapon. Nejem stretched his arms and wiggled his claws, placing a hand over his pendant, and walked with his brother, rolling his shoulders in anticipation for whatever battle had the misfortune or idiocy to cross their path, “How fortunate then, did they come. I was feeling parched.” Nejem chuckled in spite of himself, “Let us bring them death.”

 

Poisonous shadows coiled and twisted along the walls as pale sunlight marched into the ramshackle house. It could not be helped; night succumbed to day. From the writhing silhouettes came hisses of displeasure, sounding even from their sources as if they had come echoing up from the depths of a cavern. Along brittle wooden posts and troubled earthen floor, these ghostly mirages of snakes slithered, and at the center of their activity sat a figure draped in a worn but voluminous black cloak. Outspread hands betrayed both age and gender-- the skin was clearly weathered and growing loose, and fingers long and thin were ornamented by lengthy fingernails that had lost much of their color. The elderly woman wore several rings and bands on these frail fingers, the most notable among them being a silver piece which was graced with a vibrant crown of jade. In the dim emergent light, even with her head bowed and hood pulled up round her face, a mask could be seen hiding her features. It was white as unmolested snow and visibly wooden in make, and an obvious design could be made out on its surface, done in deep but simple lines of a dark and secretive shade of purple. In a minimal amount of strokes, the eyes were painted round, with deviously narrow streaks down their centers. Near the middle of the canvas was a pair of slit-like marks, and below them, at the bottom of the mask, a vague imprint of a mouth yawned wide, signature fangs protruding from the upper lip and the hint of a forked tongue slipping forth from the blankness. A rudimentary but unmistakable representation of all the faces which crawled around her.

Reluctantly, she snatched up the large, misshapen stick that lay beside her and stood up, using the long and twisted rule of wood like a cane as she walked to the run-down door of her temporary dwelling. The apparitions started to fade behind her, hapless hisses hanging in the air as the wriggling figures slithered once more back to oblivion. The woman paused at the door, trying not to glance back. "I'm sorry, my children. I must go now," she whispered back to them in a raspy voice. Inwardly she cursed her body's need for sustenance, but nevertheless set out into the awakening town and the rising tide of dawn.

People emerged from their houses as she made her way down the streets, and she still felt their glances. More than a week she had been in this village, and some still seemed curious about her appearance. It was her mask, she presumed. It must be, for nobody else wore one, at least not on their person. It was a funny situation, as best she understood; they were intrigued by her face because they could not see it, and yet they had a face all their own that they could not see. Yes, it was most humorous, she was convinced. Every one of their faces looked similar anyway. Why did they care what hers looked like?

Despite some of her misgivings for them, though, whenever anybody called a greeting to her, she responded amiably enough in kind. That way she seemed less suspicious, and ran less of a risk of drawing trouble to herself. This, she understood about them. There was not an animal alive quite so dangerous as a human that was afraid and ignorant. And with this being one of the last areas not devoured by the insatiable seas, she did not like the thought of being trapped with a bunch of humans that meant her harm. This was her second chance, and more importantly, the last opportunity for her children. She could not bear to waste it.

As the indomitable sun inched further into the sky, an uncomfortable feeling grew brighter and brighter on the edge of the elderly woman's senses. Something was amiss. She slowed her pace, becoming more hesitant. Was it doom she was unwittingly walking towards? For a moment, she stopped to consider her surroundings, when a human cry split the peaceful setting apart. People descended into a frenzy in an instant, suddenly becoming loud and running every which way. Nearby, a man rushed into what she recognized as the tavern, and even at her distance and amid the mounting chaos, she heard him. Heard his request for warriors. It must be them again-- those sorry, uncouth, barbaric, vile excuses for creatures, come from the gluttonous ocean just to bring more grief and lay claim to what was not theirs.

When men emerged from the tavern's entrance, the cloaked woman followed them at a distance. It was a combination of an instinct to defend herself and a lust to destroy the wicked monsters from the sea that drove her. If such horrible beasts had mothers, she hoped to inflict on them the same sorrow they had made her suffer.

 

The hut lie on a road that led to the towering mountain that was the namesake of the village. The pirate captain wondered how long the sky-piercing spire had remained dormant--he'd heard it was a volcano, and now that he was a bit closer, the blackened stone near the top must have been the result of a massive amount of soot and ash. He also wondered what kinds of treasures lie in wait at the top. Did the villagers search it? Were they superstitious? Was it actually barren? Marduk wondered about going up to search at some point, but the chief began to speak, and the pirate's attention was drawn to him. He was old and weary, obviously troubled by the sudden turn for the worst that the entire world seemed to be wrapped up in.

The dark-skinned man glanced back at his hulking, half-rotten brother. He'd taken only Marduk's last name, so many only referred to him as "Nejem". Close by was another person--a tall woman wearing white robes and a mask with a serpent's face painted on it. She carried a twisted walking stick, the leathery fingers gripping it almost as gnarled. She could be middle-aged, or elderly, or somewhere in between, but with the mask, Marduk couldn't tell. She can't be dat old, she ain't have white hair yet.. His gaze drifted back to the chieftain. The pirate crossed his arms, thinking on the tired leader's predicament.

Marduk's jaw tightened. Missin' kids... he thought, staring forward at nothing in particular, thinking on what to do. I'd like t' help da kiddos, but me brudda not be so good for 'em. Dey prob'ly not come wit a pirate, either. Best to help fight. He looked back at his brother, knowing that he was thinking something similar. "Send some of da village fighters for da kiddos," Marduk remarked. "I help ya fight da Tritons. Me brudda help too. We gonna make up for several of ya missin' men. If we kill da fishies and da kiddos still not found, I go help look for 'em."

 

As their procession wove its way through the village astride a weary path, the cloaked woman noticed the mountain in the distance. She recalled what the local people called it-- a volcano. The word dwelt in her memory, accompanied by images of liquid flame and skies overruled by thick, treacherous shadows. The idea of it disquieted her; already they were surrounded by the ravenous sea, but trapped with them was a bed of fire just waiting to be provoked so it too could begin devouring the land. Was there no place that remained safe? The woman worried the question in her mind, gnawing on it with curses and disdain, but ultimately unable to swallow it.

Before much longer, they were led into an abode and greeted by what appeared to be an older man. Something about him spoke of illness or frailty, and the masked lady noticed he was exhaling smoke. That was a custom she couldn't make sense of. At her best guess, she assumed that people who did this were stoking a fire that burned within their bodies, with the help of that device they held to their mouths. She didn't understand why or how they might be keeping a pyre contained beneath their skin, but then again, there was much she didn't understand about how humans worked.

After hearing the gaunt man out, the woman briefly snapped her head to the side and let out a scoff-- was it not already painfully obvious which task required the most immediate attention? She remained silent while another person responded first (it was regarded unfavorably, she understood, to start speaking while someone else was already doing so), and then, in a voice surprisingly clear and without affectation, declared, "It would be wise to send everyone you can to quell the marching sea. If its spawn are allowed to reach this place, what sort of home will be left for your wayward children to return to?"

Or more importantly, if this village was consumed by the ocean, what place would be left for her children? Even this settlement clearly wasn't all that safe, but it was somewhere her children could live. She realized, then, that the matter was merely one of doing what she had always had to do; she would simply have to make the place safe, by driving off anything that dared threaten her makeshift sanctuary. She had done so countless times in the past for herself, and now she must do it for her children. She must do it for them because she had already failed in doing so once, and presumably she had no 'second chances' remaining.

 

Marduk starts at C2!

Marduk begins the battle in Ebb form!
The pirate chuckled, a savage grin plastered on his face. "Hope dey hungry," he remarked. "I'm about ta serve dem all da hot lead dey can eat." He hefted his rifle, pulling it tightly to his shoulder. "What 'bout you, brudda? You ready ta tear 'em up?"

 

Nejem Starts at C3!

Nejem had remained silent for the group's interaction with the man in the mountain. He felt no need to say anything - everything that was on his mind had already been vocalized by Marduk. As the descended to the beach, he could smell them. Disgusting creatures of scales covered in brine. He needed to defend the village, he needed to avenge his people, and find his death. He would let go of himself again.

Reaching behind his neck he pulled off his amulet, removing what little protections he had from his curse. It was then that he felt it, like a diabolic tutor whispering commands into his ears; the thirst for souls grew inside him and any civility he had was washed away, replaced by an all consuming bloodlust. A pain shot through his chest, as the curse latched onto him tighter. Sheiji! With a quick uttering of Keyjan profanity he recomposed himself, a growl building in his throat, before finally escaping as an echoing roar "Your blood shall spray like rain!"
 

Nejem removes unequips An Amulet Of Old Times, He is now Chosen Of The Plague!

 

Mitéra Fídi starts in C5.

By the time their small group reached the shoreline, the men walking easily and herself hobbling behind them with the help of her cane, the old woman was already winded. A heavy breath leaked out from beneath her mask as she took a position next to the gaunt village chief. Before them, the creatures of the sea were struggling across the sand. It had been a while since she had last seen one, and the sight of them filled her with a strange feeling. It was not the burning anger, volatile and vicious, that she had felt for them during their last encounter. Instead she was overcome with detesting; a calm, thorough loathing for their existence and a strong desire to see it discontinued by any means possible. Last time, there was nothing else to be said for it but that she was weaker than them, and so she had thrashed blindly, trying recklessly to win a fight which even she had known she never would. Now, she was different. Fate had ended up being twisted in her favor, and with the dark sorcery she had come into, she was certain that if nothing else she could help write the end of as many as it took to defeat her. And she faced them thus, grimly determined to harbinger them to the end they had so cruelly hurried her and her children to those many days back.