The Moonlit Seas 6 - Trials of the Deep
*The book is bound in dark brown leather, the cover depicts a circular portrait of a ship sailing toward the moon on a calm sea as rays of light cast along the water. The edges of the painting have an intricate lattice of silver. *
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Like calls to like, but is one cut from the same cloth forced to follow in the same footsteps as those before them? Can we truly live our own lives, or are we bound by the gods... by the hands of fate itself to retrace the paths set before us?
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As the sound of the waves crashed along the docks, Lenore couldn't help but think of the shores of Calimport, where she had often sought solitude. Now, the waves themselves felt like the breaths of a great creature, matching her own heartbeat as she turned her gaze to the woman before her and Rylan. "Show me how to control this."
Nerissa's eyes...too vast, too blue... narrowed. From the folds of her robes, she withdrew a book bound in cracked leather the color of storm-churned depths, its cover etched with spirals that seemed to shift under the eye. "The abyss does not bargain in lessons, little tempest. It demands sacrifice. Control is not learned. It is taken." She pressed the tome into Lenore's hands. The pages hummed, a vibration that echoed the voices in her skull.
"You are ours," the whispers chorused, louder now, hungrier.
Lenore recoiled, but Nerissa gripped her wrist, her touch like the kiss of a riptide. "The power you fear is a living thing, older than cities, older than gods. It does not bend. It consumes. To survive, you must become the deeper dark." Her voice dropped, a secret shared with the waves. "Three trials, child. The first begins tonight."
Rylan bristled. "Trials? She ain't some lamb for yer ritual..."
"You mistake me, pirate," Nerissa interrupted, her laughter like ice shattering. "The sea has already chosen her. The trials are not mine. They are -its.-" She turned back to Lenore, her shadow stretching unnaturally long on the dock boards. "Meet me where the drowned pray. Midnight. Come alone... or don't come at all."
With that, she melted into the mist rolling off the harbor, her absence leaving a hollow silence.
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After their long voyage, the crew was more than happy to spend some time in the dockside tavern. Ballin and Kael spent most of their time at the bottom of a tankard, exchanging tales of the battle from only a few days prior. Mira was plying her trade, distracting several sailors with her comely appearance while her deft hands relieved them of their coin.
Lenore had often wondered, at first, why Rylan hadn't been swept up by Mira's charms when she first came aboard the Gambit. She discovered the reason on several drunken nights aboard the ship...
(Oh, good heavens. She comes on rather strong... Mira likes women? oh, she really likes them... She's trying pretty hard to be Lenore's -bunk- mate. Doesn't seem Lenore shares her feelings... I'm not sure if I could have turned that down...)
...For Lenore, the tavern was stifling. As she traced the book's spirals with her fingers, the whispers grew to a dull roar. Rylan did his best to enjoy his drink, though his eyes lingered on her with worry. "This reeks of a trap," he growled.
"And if it's not?" Lenore's voice trembled as she opened the tome. The pages were blank until her hands passed over the parchment. Ink bloomed: jagged runes, maps of places no mortal ship could sail, and a single phrase, repeated over and over. "Beneath the waves, the truth lies coiled."
"Lenore...."
"I have to try," she whispered. The ice at her fingertips spiraled into delicate fractals, beautiful and lethal. "If I don't learn to chain this? I'll drown them all. Including you."
He stilled, his defiance crumbling. When he cupped her face, his palm was warm against her winter skin. "Then I'll be your anchor... Always."
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The moon hung low when Lenore slipped into the abandoned chapel on the cliffs, salt-crusted stones weeping underfoot. Nerissa waited at the altar, a pool of dark, tumultuous water at her feet. Above her, the stained glass depicted a kraken dragging a galleon into the deep... its tentacles eerily familiar.
"You came," Nerissa said, her robes pooling around her like ink. "Good."
Lenore bristled at the warlock's dismissive tone. "It's not like I really have a choice."
Nerissa's low cackle mingled with the crashing waves against the brine-covered stones of the chapel. "There is always a choice, little tempest," she said, her icy fingers extending like claws as they raked through the air, feigning disinterest.
Nerissa's remark stoked the flames burning within Lenore as she stepped forward, raising her voice. "I didn't come here to be belittled. I came for answers. You mentioned trials and a way to control this...hunger... within me."
A wicked smile spread across the warlock's face, the beads in her hair rattling with her laughter. She beckoned Lenore closer with a wave of her finger, directing her toward the pool of water at the center of the chapel, its depths emanating a dull blue glow.
"Now, little one, one always has a choice when caught in the storm: to fight... or to surrender to the depths. The first trial is simple. Listen. And make the choice to swim... or to sink."
Before Lenore could react, Nerissa seized her hand and plunged it into the water.
Agony
Not fire, but the crushing void of the abyss. Lenore's scream died as seawater flooded her lungs. Visions erupted: a city of bone and coral, a thousand eyes blinking in the dark, a song that was not a song. And the voice, vast and terrible:
"Prove your worth, little storm. Drown... or rise."
Suffering
like she had never known before... filled her lungs. A scream tried to escape, but it only drew in more of the stinging saltwater. She realized the more she fought the tide, the more she tired. Giving up the fight, she focused her mind on the city that loomed below her and the voice that haunted her. The more she embraced the death before her, the less she struggled. Without even realizing it at first, she began to pull breath from the waters themselves.
Lenore wrenched free, collapsing to her knees. As she coughed up the seawater, her hand was unscathed, but the cold lingered, breathing inside her.
Nerissa watched, unblinking. "It has tasted you now. The next tide will be... sharper."
Somewhere far below, the cliffside waves roared. Or perhaps it was laughter.
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When Lenore returned to the Gambit at dawn, Rylan's relief curdled at the sight of her. Frost veined her hair, her eyes glinting like Arctic floe. And behind her, faint as a shadow, something rippled... a suggestion of tendrils, there and gone.
"What did she do to you?" he breathed.
Lenore smiled, but it didn't reach those frozen eyes. "What I asked of her."
In her bag, the book's pages rustled, now filled with secrets only the drowned could teach.
And in the deep, the abyss stirred, patient and hungry.
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Written by Trevor Highdale
Any likeness to folk, or events in the world is merely coincidence, this is a work of fiction. Written for entertainment.
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Ahoy, merchants, smugglers, and those with a taste for discretion! Are you in possession of cargo that requires a certain... delicacy in its delivery? Look no further than Captain Masantil and her trusty vessel, docked in the bustling port city of Guldorand.
With a reputation as sharp as her wit and a charm as smooth as the seas she sails, Captain Masantil specializes in the art of -no questions asked.- Whether your goods are rare, exotic, or perhaps slightly unconventional by the standards of local law, she'll ensure they reach their destination with the utmost care and without a single eyebrow raised.
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Find her at the docks of Guldorand, where the salt air mingles with the scent of opportunity. Look for the captain with the knowing smirk. Just don't ask too many questions she certainly won't!
Disclaimer: All cargo transported at owner's risk. Captain Masantil reserves the right to deny service to anyone who annoys her. tax collectors, and do-gooders need not apply.