The Travels of Thelarwen

Cute and Quiet. Makes a lot of hand gestures, a bit like Yoda, but less green.

Topic/Postby Gergel » 13 Sep 2015, 19:42

The Ocean.

I reach the shore in maybe half an hour. Not a single person in sight - human, troll or otherwise. The witch must have come from somewhere, but clearly her village is not on this shore that stretches out so far in both sides that it disappears into haze.

As does the ocean before me. Apparently I will need to cross it. I suppose I must find a ship again. Shall I go to the left? To the right? The nearest port might be days or weeks away. Well, at least on this shore I am not in danger of overheating, dessicating or hungering.

Raft.

Such an idea is... unwise. If I need to make my way over the ocean, it had better be in a reasonably seaworthy vessel.

Raft.

A raft would be only marginally better than walking across the water on the layer of ice that I can form under my feet.

There is an overwhelming feeling of urgency and singlemindedness. It is not painful. It is... worse. Irresistible. Trying to walk away from this is simply inconceivable. I have never felt this much power in this guidance during the weeks and months of my travels.

So, with my sword and a small hatchet and a lot of strength and patience, I fell trees, cut vines, weave grass and seaweed into a heavy ugly mass of fabric for a sail, and after weeks of work, push a rough raft into the ocean.

My boots dig into the wet sand of the shore as I push the raft towards the ocean. At first it seems it will be impossible to start the vessel moving. Ice forms under my feet, it steams and crackles in the heat, but it nevertheless provides sufficient purchase to make the first push. Once the raft starts moving on the rollers that it was built on and keeps going by inertia, it almost becomes too easy. Ice at the bottom helps move it deeper into the water and then, all of a sudden, it floats on its own.

Go.

Not even a moment to rest, it seems. Well. There will be time to rest on the raft. Rowing, after all, will not be what propels the vessel.

I raise the sail (for the lack of a better word to describe my... construct). The raft heads slowly out to the sea.

Days blend into nights. The shore disappears. Weather, fortunately, seems to favour me for once: wind tends to be in the right direction and not too strong.

This, of course, changes at the worst possible time: in the middle of the ocean. Another storm rises. Not quite as strong as the one I weathered on the ship. There are no giant elementals either. On the other hand, much worse than the previous one, as I only have a small raft underneath me.

I lower the sail and attempt to stow it. A wave washes over the raft. I barely manage to cling to the slippery trunks underneath me, but all of my baggage which has not been fastened to my armour is gone, including the sail.

It does not even matter. Another wave throws the raft into the air. We come crashing down into the valley of water between two waves. This happens a few more times until my luck simply runs out. The raft twists and turns in the air. Bindings break and logs scatter. I try to grab ahold of a log. Or build an island of ice underneath and around me. Or swim. It is hopeless.

Darkness engulfs me and I sink into the unfathomable depths beneath me. No amount of ice I can generate can slow my descent now. Air is squeezed out of my armour, from my lungs, from every cavity in my body. There is only water everywhere. The sensation of an incredible amount of pressure permeating me with water like a sponge is horrendous. It reminds me of my turning, except completely different.

I know that I am still sinking. But I cannot, in any way, sense it anymore. Around me is utter darkness and silence and immeasurable pressure. The very sense of time fades.

For a brief moment this new world around me changes as my boots very gently touch something solid. I have reached the bottom. Has it been minutes, weeks or years since the storm? I cannot tell.

Nothing lives in these incomprehensible depths. No fish. No sea monsters. No algae or bacteria. There is no life nor death on this eldritch ocean bottom, because even the laws of nature do not quite reach down here. These are the depths where the Deep Ones dare not to tread and tell their their children to beware.

I am alone. I have never been so completely alone. I see nothing, hear nothing, sense nothing. Not even the ever-present pain.

I am... at peace. My very thoughts stop. Places, faces, voices and feelings flicker and fade from my memories. I am ceasing to exist. This is a good, peaceful end.

No.

I am no longer alone. It is once again with me. Even down here.

A small pinpoint of light appears at the edge of my vision. I turn my head (or think that I am turning my head) and the pinpoint rotates to the center. I close my eyes (or think that I am closing my eyes) but the light remains. This passenger of mine is not powerful enough to create an actual light down here. It is merely an illusion or a hallucination, but oddly persistent.

Move.

And then I walk. I am aware of the direction, but not the distance. I am aware that I am moving, but I cannot tell for how long. There are mountains and valleys on this ocean bottom. I descend and ascend, or I think I do. The guiding pinpoint of light is stable and always leads me towards a static destination. I try turning and heading in another direction, but the beacon glimmers insistently in the corner of my mind's eye.

Geological eras pass. On the surface, generations are born, live and die. Civilizations rise and fall. The world itself ages under my footsteps. Or so I believe, having no grasp of the passage of time.

Sea bottom changes after a few million years or so. It feels less solid and more squishy. Sediment which has not hardened under the immense pressure. I keep walking towards my imaginary goal. The voice in my head is quiet, it has not spoken to me since I sank. But I feel its presence, if for no other reason then by the ever-present spark of light that guides me.

But what is this? Another light? This one flickers and moves back and forth, and grows larger and brighter. I do not believe I am imagining it.

No, it is real, I discover, as I glimpse something enormous and grotesque behind the light just as it dashes towards me and engulfs me. It is most definitely real. And alive. And apparently hungry. Well, I do not intend to be its next meal. The serenity of eternity leaves me in an instant, and then I do what I do best. There is no room to swing my sword, but metal gauntlets enchanted by fingers with unholy powers flowing through them can rip apart squishy innards just as well. The creature that planned to make a meal of me - well, it only has a very brief and very agonizing moment to regret that plan. Then there is blood in the water. A lot of blood. I realize that in addition to the sense of sight, I have reacquired the senses of smell and taste. I have missed them. Welcome back.

Maybe I am mistaken, but perhaps there is just a bit less pressure on and in me?

I have managed to continue walking for a mere hundred years or so, and then I am attacked again by something invisible. What feels like a giant jaw tries to cut me in half. I pry it open with all of my strength. Something produces a dull crunch and the jaw goes away. There is more blood in the water.

After another aeon or two, my surroundings begin to change. Spots of faint light appear here and there in front of me. Strangely - or perhaps altogether not strangely at all - I have no trouble distinguishing between these lights and my own beacon. My path takes me towards these new illuminated spots.

They turn out to be softly glowing very primitive-looking plants. I have seen something similar in the depths of Vashj'ir. It seems that I am starting to reach a region containing actual life. I notice huge clamshells here and there. There are no fish darting around, however, nor any kind of higher plant life. No matter. I continue forward.

Pressure, of course, decreases so gradually that I do not even notice it. It is obvious that the depth at which I drudge is growing smaller with every footstep. There are fish now. They dart around here and there, eat tiny snails, get eaten by larger fish, these in turn get eaten by a shark that just appears before me and flees at the same instant. At this point I realize that I am thinking and feeling again. As the pressure decreases, sensations return. Including pain and hunger. I have almost forgotten them. The remembrance now is that much more agonizing.

A glow slowly and almost imperceptibly appears from above. It takes me a while to realize it. Daylight. I have apparently moved so very quickly upwards that eternal night is giving way to actual daylight. There is a purpose in my footsteps now, I am all but certain that there must be a shore somewhere nearby. Time, which had thus far been moving at an unimaginable rate, has meaning again. Nights turn into days turn into nights turn into days. I need to eat again, so I snatch out with my hand - a non-trivial task under water - grab a fish and consume it raw. And another, and so on every now and then. It does not matter that each bite also contains water. Water is already everywhere out and inside of me. Interestingly I start to feel how the magicks in my body are firing up again, attempting to assert normality and beginning to expel the liquids from where they should not be.

I am no longer an unthinking unfeeling automaton. I am Thelarwen again. My armour is still around me, and my sword is still attached to my back. I cannot remember what it had been, all that time in the depths, but I must have retained enough self-sense to hold onto my most precious belonging: my weapon.

Something much larger than a fish swims past me. I glimpse a somewhat humanoid body and huge fish-eyes. It is gone in an instant. A few moments later another appears and makes a few circles around me.

It is unmistakable. I have encountered a murloc.

Murlocs do not swim deep. Murlocs do not swim far from shore.

Murlocs tend to want to kill and eat anything that is not another murloc. A small attack force regrets the unwise plan quickly. Survivors swim away in panic, while the corpses of their less-fortunate comrades float upwards. I see sunlight flicker from their scales and just a bit higher, the waves on the surface of the ocean.

I can see the surface.

It now only takes an hour or so to reach the shore. Rock turns into sand under my feet. And then I climb out of the water like a metal-clad monstrosity. Seaweed from the shallow waters near the coast has draped all over me. I am a horror story sea-monster from the lightless deeps.

But of course it seems murlocs tend not to read horror stories very often. I have one last challenge ahead of me. A huge, massive murloc stands in the water's edge between the sandy shore and myself. A school of smaller ones has gathered behind it, they gurgle excitedly to probably cheer for their champion.

The huge murloc hefts a spear in one hand, a trident in the other. I draw my sword and toss aside most of the seaweed that covers me. The spear flashes in the air. I dodge as much as I can in the shallow water and sand which still prevent easier movement, and the thrown spear glances off my shoulder armour. My opponent lets out a ululating “urglemurglemurgle!” and then lunges at me. I parry its trident blow with my sword and attempt to follow through with a riposte. For an incredibly huge walking fish, the murloc is surprisingly nimble. It draws swiftly back and the tips of my sword fail to even graze it. But it has left a different opening: one that allows me to make a quick jump out of the knee-deep water and into more maneuverable wet sand.

I need all the advantages this provides me, because the murloc is already closing in again with its trident. There is a nasty clang and a crunch. Two prongs of the creature's weapon have penetrated my armour which clearly has been weakened by pressure, time and salt water. I feel one of the tips penetrate between my ribs and the other through my right shoulder. The third scrapes along a pauldron, doing no damage. Just as quickly, the murloc yanks its weapon free and jumps back before I can even raise my blade.

If this continues, I am in trouble.

Will I meet my second death at the hands of a mere murloc?! Really?! I am a death knight. Time to start acting like one.

Wet sand crackles and freezes under my boots. A patch of ice spreads slowly around me, despite the tropical sun from above and hot sand all around us. The murloc dances back and forth at the edge of the frozen sand. I heft my two-handed sword in my injured right hand and twist dark powers in my left.

The creature screams with surprise as a necromantic death grip pulls it from its safe and secure prowling spot and right up to where I am already winding up a mighty blow from a two-handed sword. The murloc thrusts its trident into my chest. My swing makes a blue-glowing arc in the air which continues almost unhindered through the fish-man's thick neck and all the way to the other side.

My chestplate is good, solid Argent steel. The sharp prongs pierce the steel and its points jab into my chest, but the trident fails to penetrate any deeper.

The murloc falls over with its head rolling and bouncing across the sand. Its companions have lost any and all will to cheer and run away in panic.

And then I hear the laughter of several people behind me, followed by an applause. I turn around. At the edge of the shore, where sand meets jungle, stands a group of half-naked trolls, grinning and clapping at me.
What kind of sick individual burns a book full of perfectly good dark arts?!
- Darkscryer Raastok
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Gergel
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