Azure: The Chronicles of the Kraken

The rolling waves of vast oceans accompanied the gentle whistle of summer breeze on the world of Azure, giving to the world a peaceful ensemble accented by the rhythm of life; the chirping of birds, barking of dogs, calls of the merfolk singing as the sun cast down upon them. Luscious blues and mellow greens created a collage of life that shifted with each moment, as schools of vibrant fish went about their travels beneath the foaming waves, men went about their own work, side by side with mammalians, building, burning, living. It was a gentle balance that allowed peace to reign.

Little awareness, however, was in evidence of events soon to transpire; events that held the potential to alter the world forever, and that would doubtlessly disrupt the balance of peace that reigned on this little, yet beautiful, world.

Dragons, it was said, lived forever. Immortal beings possessing power none could begin to even imagine dreaming of, let alone hope to hold themselves. There was, many millennia ago, or so the stories were told, a full population of the immortals that over-ruled the other inhabitants of Azure; an honourable rule, just, fair. Of those dragons, it was Fafner, ruler of the sea, who also took charge over all other dragons and ensured the other peoples received what was their right: A peaceful life without fear. Even the mighty kraken would not stand against the rule of Fafner, for the sea-dragon was powerful as he was fair. Though, there was one who stood against him. The aptly named Chaos.

Dragon of the sky, Chaos held power equal to Fafner, and often contested his rule; arguing that as the stronger species, dragons should not be concerned with the others, but utilise them simply as tools. Chaos, in truth, had only one desire - the destruction of balance, and the perpetuating of death and suffering. With a heart black as the scales on his flesh, Chaos would often openly fight against the mighty Sea-Dragon, both verbally and physically. Finally, tired of the antics the disruptive, younger dragon so fondly engaged in, Fafner called upon the Council of Dragons: Himself, representing the sea, the forest-dragon, the mountain-dragon, and dragons for each of the four elements - Fire, Water, Earth and Air. This council worked together to seal away Chaos, something they achieved, but only with a price.

The populous of dragons were forced to move elsewhere, whilst the members of the council sacrificed their immortality so Fafner would be able to remain, also sealed, like Chaos. As time continued its careless progression, unheeding of any being's whims, the council members died one after the other, leaving Azure to fend for itself. Fafner and Chaos both were sealed - the latter confined within the clouds, while the sea-dragon was given a forceful slumber, only to awake should Chaos, somehow, break the walls of his imprisonment.

Whispers were occasionally heard among the various elders that Fafner, the great deity, was stirring within the ocean's depths. With quiet rejoice, little did they understand the implications this carried.

---

High above the soft white clouds of Azure, hidden from the view of mortals, was constructed an island of dense cloud, the combined effort of the most powerful dragons to ever exist. Once, at its creation, it was pure as freshly fallen snow and held to it the appearance of a small castle, now it was an abominable shadow of its former beauty. Black as night, twisted to no longer hold any recognisable form, the cloud, once peaceful, now roiled as though a constant storm filled its confines. Chaos filled it.

For a time immeasurable, the black hearted Dragon of the Sky had been given time to contemplate on his hatred, allowing it to grow. Consuming him, the deity - nay, the anti-deity - had become as distorted as his prison. He could feel his presence, that of Fafner, he always could. The oh-so-loved deity of the people. It sickened Chaos, enraged him, and he spent each day fighting back against this attempt at holding him, restraining him, an attempt at preserving those who did not deserve life - the mortals. The anti-deity's powers had not been removed with the sealing, only confined to the realm of his castle in the clouds, and so a constant bombardment upon the walls had been sustained for countless ages. Of course, as the death of each council member was felt, so too was the weakening of the barriers.

It was not, of course, the efforts of Chaos that caused the tainting of his sky-bound bastille. The hatred, anger and disgust that filled the soul of the evil dragon had become such that it had taken a tangible form - a thick, dark, putrid miasma. Its poison seeped into the very construct, tearing it down, replacing what was righteous with all that was not. As it had done to Chaos, it also twisted, deformed and mutated the fortress. No longer was it truly a confinement, but served as bastion for Chaos' new intentions for Azure - it served him and also suffered a great, insurmountable torture.

---

And so it is we are brought to the event that finally tipped the balance, a full moon-cycle ago.

The prison, no longer able to hold the evil that was contained, finally crumbled. It still existed, mind, but dissipated into the miasma created by Chaos' hatred. And with a mighty roar to announce his revival, Chaos let the world know that its demise was imminent. As were all dragons, this evil was massive. Fifty feet long, not including a twenty foot tail, Chaos stood at an overpowering fifteen feet. When standing on all four legs, of course. Wings that spanned some ninety feet, leather-like, structured with limb-like bones that protruded from the edges of the wings like claws, were allowed to stretch fully for eons upon eons. Flapping them with a few strong bursts, the stench that was Chaos' taint was forced upon the surface of Azure. This was the beginning of an era that would manifest itself as filled with terror.

Rushing through the sky, the miasma following, as though being pulled, contorted, thinning out as it did so, leaving a streak of pitch against the pale blue canvas of the sky. The constant roar of this immortal filled the air, and throughout the lands and seas, people were racked by fear unexplained, the evil creature's voice disrupting balance and coordination, bringing all to their knees. This was how the world should have been organised.

Then, with true malice, Chaos allowed his designs to commence. Wings folded for but a moment, claws digging themselves into the dragon's flesh, tearing it asunder as the wings opened once more. And so, ten deep, wide lacerations marked Chaos' body, allowing his life-force to pour from his being. The taint, however, had taken such an effect that rather than rich claret, from the veins poured that same awful smog which granted him reprieve from confinement.

As it fell from the speeding form of the flying anti-deity, the smog seemed to grow, spreading as it came closer to the ground, closer to those bound by death. Watching the effects of his blood, Chaos let out yet another roar, this time of joy. This was perfect: the worthless maggots would be driven to be of the same mind as he. From massive maws housing twisted, equally tainted, teeth erupted a foul black fire that seemed to suck the light of day into it. Or rather, perhaps, it defeated the light around it, bringing the air into darkness. This flame was as tainted as the miasma and Chaos himself, and only seemed to amplify the stench that now filed the air.

Oh, how the effects of such an awfully wicked plan were so successful. Despite having not yet drifted to the surface, the effects of the miasma, and accompanying foulness, could be felt - plant life was beginning to wilt, to wither. The consciously aware of the mortals began to twist, horrified and disgusting by the sickly sweet smell of the miasma, insanity creeping in as an insatiable desire to wash filled their minds. Their wails were music to the ears of the bleeding creature in the sky.

Why?! How could Fafner allow this to happen? This is the end! Let me free! We all are going to die!

The screams were exhilarating, and as the onset of insanity and filth was observed, Chaos decided it now was time; the miasma would spread now regardless of what he did - already a full revolution of the planet had been undertaken. So the dragon threw his body downwards, towards a mountainous island devoid of life. Landing heavily, the miasma that had trailed now gathering around him again as a crater cracked and groaned under the pressure of so much evil intent standing on its surface. Near instantly, the rock of the island began to darken as the original miasma soaked into it. Yes, this would serve nicely.

Chaos began to write, as though in excruciating agony, roaring out of pure instinct, fire erupting from his mouth that darkened the air, its smoke twirling high above, darker even than that which was spreading through the world, become as to a crown of sorts - a coronation of the world's new leader. Yet, even in so glorious a moment, it seemed as though the dragon was, somehow, being hurt, as he convulsed violently, now upon his back. The deeper smoke lowered, masking the form of Chaos as it finally became obvious that he was shrinking.

With a sonic boom, the cloud of black filth cleared, and where had stood a mighty dragon, now was a vague resemblance to man. Certainly bipedal, but so, ever so, far from being as anything that lived on Azure. Flesh as black as the scales that once adorned his frame dripped some filth-ridden viscous semi-fluid like a slow moving river, and as the thick blobs fell from him, the ground beneath fizzled as it corroded at an astounding pace. A head that was much more like a humans was round, a flat nose exhaling smoke at each breath was highlighted by glowing red and gold eyes and three long, twisted ebony horns. The absence of lips allowed teeth crooked and rotten to be in plain sight. A left arm of heavily muscled strength seemed normal despite five lacerations between the wrist and shoulder that seeped out a more 'concentrated' version of the filth that dripped. The left arm was a deformed monstrosity, however. The shoulder hung low, twisting the immortal's form as the arm extended nearly to the ground, weighed down by the bulbous club of bone that should have been the forearm and hand. Five lacerations also seeped blackness from the wounds.

Turning to the largest mountain, clumsily in his new form, Chaos threw both arms into the air, and the mountain groaned as its tainted foundations began to shift and change, being moulded at the will of this foul, wretched beast. It did not take long before the mountain had changed entirely - becoming a perfect clone of Chaos' prison. The irony was perfect, that he would coordinate the destruction of these mortals from a place that was identical to that which had been forged to protect them.

---

The miasma took a full three weeks to spread throughout the world fully, but three weeks was more than enough for perhaps irreparable damage on multiple levels. It, despite what had been believed, lingered, floating just above the ground at ankle heigh, shifting with the gentle currents of warm, stale wind that now filled the air with scents of the taint and the choking humidity of decay. Even the spray of the ocean could not dispel its effects as it forcibly was dissolved into what had once been clean, clear fresh water, leaving it now dirty, clouded and slowly stagnating.

Its effects on the inhabitants, however, was much worse. People of all races and animals of all species were drawn into the hatred that filled the miasma, becoming as twisted and deformed as had Chaos, all carrying that same black flesh that dripped with filth. Mutated version of what had once been beautiful, peaceful creatures. Their rage led to mass killings, the hatred overtaking any inherent disadvantages, making them stronger, more brutal than previously they had been. Distortions of creation serving the purposes of the anti-deity. Chaos ruled now; not just the immortal, Azure had been rendered a chaotic shadow of its peaceful former self.

---

The black rock, crystallised as it absorbed the miasmal essence of Chaos, served wonderfully as a throne to the evil creature who now sat upon it. Armour covered his form; all spikes and protrusions, making the eight foot tall malice-filled monster seem even larger than he was.

"There are... Some... Lord... Who have... Combated your m...ight." Barely coherent, the twisted form of what had once been a beautiful feline mammalian knelt before Chaos, writhing with discomfort - the taint was not without a price, giving report on the current state of the world. She was making reference to those that had, somehow, proven to be immune to the effects of the miasma. Shrouded in darkness, the throne room held several of these mutant figures, and would, to any other, be lethal for the air was so tainted now that only the miasma was left. Truly, the mountainous island had become the centre of the world's despair.

---

Though the world was lost in chaos, people wondering if at any time the man or woman or child stood beside them would become another of Chaos' slaves, shrouded by a seemingly unstoppable shadow of filth that tainted even the sky, leaving all in the shroud of twilight, hope was stirring.

Deep under the ocean's now tainted waves Fafner began to stir, feeling the plight of those who he had sworn to protect, sensing the presence once more of he who had stood against him countless times.

---

In disgust, the raspy voice of Chaos, grating, grinding, akin to sandpaper against rock, decreed the next stage of his design.

"Kill them. Kill them all."

(I'm geussing the world isn't post apocolyptic right now, happening in small cases and spreading, but if it is, i'll edit this)

Derk sighed, rubbing the back of his shoulder where the slaver had branded him, the lack of fur there unnerving. The loss of fur on a mammalian was see as a sign of bad health, letting any possible mates see the possibilty the said mammalian may be unable to provide for them. While this was not yet a problem for him, he did intend on choosing a mate at some point. He grimaced at the bare flesh there. At least the fur surronding it would serve to hide it partially. He continued down the ramp onto the docks, putting the matter aside for now. First thing he needed to do was find a place to stay for the night, and then search for information of the latest ongoings, perhaps he would find someone who knew about this strange mist that seemed to be where ever he looked.

Seing as he could get both things in one place, he went to the nearst pub, charmingly named 'The Druken Hog', Derk grimacing at the name before entering. As he entered he saw that most of the customers were sailors on dock leave at the moment, quickly going through their pay in ale and company. He walked through to the bar, dodging around a few small tussles that broke out between the sailors, but there seemed to be an underlying current of fear beneath all the laughing and drunken brawls. He sat down at the bar, asking the mammalian barkeep, some form of dog, a room for the night and a small glass of red wine. While the dog went to get the drink, he stared at the mirror behind the bar, watching his reflection stare back at him. His face, a decidedly fox like shape, was covered red fur, a strip of white interupting the flow on his muzzle, as well as outlining his ears that constantly were on the move, tracking diffrent sounds in the pub. He was clad in simple leather vest and buckskin pants, a fox tail escaping from between the two, with numerous beads woven into his fur. His form was muscular, but slight, almost feminin, belying the strength he was capable of. On his back was what looked to be a cane with complex designs carved in, the last foot of wood on both ends acting as sheathes, hiding away the blades attached to it.

He was brought out of his self examination when the bar keep came back with the wine, about to walk off to another customer when Derk stopped him. "Sorry to bother you, but what can you tell me of this strange mist that seems to be everywhere." he asked bluntly. The barkeep went to act as though he hadn't heard Derk when he caught the barkeep's arm, laying a few peices of silver in front of the man. "Please, I'd rather like to know about it." he said a bit more forcefully. A confliction of emotions ran across the dogs face, before greed finally won out, reaching out his hand to brab the peices of silver before looking at Derk again, "While I've no proof of what it is, there have been whispers of Chaos having rosen again, and while a simple barkeep as myself hears such things every month or so," He told Derk, coming closer to him and softening his voice "they are often coupled by reports of black twisted things found where the fog is at its thickest, changing the people that enter, and sending those near into a rage." He finished, pocketing the money and leaving Derk to his drink.

A tiny boat rocked gently in the water. Three passengers on board looking as if they hadn't eaten in days. They all looked dead to the world. One of them was a tiger, he didn't have a shirt on but he wore a sash around his neck like a collar. He held his brown hat at his chest panting at the heat. He turned his head to the other members, an antelope and a regular mount horse. One of the simple animals of Azure. The tiger opened his mouth and grunted, the antelope looked at him. The tiger spoke.
"Malik..." he said, his voice strained from no water. The antelop named Malik continued to look at him but gave him a simple 'uh' to know he was listening. "Did you ever think it would end like this?"
Malik didn't move except for his jaw to speak staring out into the water.
"The horse is a surprise..."
"Any... regrets?"
He took longer to answer but his hands trembled up into the air as he spoke.
"That... I never had enough... gold" his hands plopped down into his lap, and began to weep a little.
"My only regret is that our biggest adventure is over before it even began... and no one will remember us."
The tiger took a deep breathe and looked inside the boat at the nearly dead horse.
"If it makes you feel better, Trox... You made my life an adventure!" Malik broke into tears and threw his head back in the air. His horns digging into the wood of the boat.
"And if its any constulation, Malik... You've made my life... Rich."
They both were crying or either have a conniption by kicking their feet against the seat of the boat. Their tears died down and they resumed sulking in the dingy. Trox looked at Malik as though he had something to ask and looked at the horse. "Do you think we can eat the horse?"
Malik didn't look at him and continued to look at the sky.
"Only if he dies first..." Malik's eyes were looking behind him as best as he could at the horse, if he didn't know better it seemed like the horse understood. Then he looked to Trox. His head was spinning on his neck. "You ok?"
Trox was in some kind of trance staring at something in the air circling above them.
"The birds look so beautiful... The birds are amazing, amazing... Ha ha! Amazing...."
"You drank sea water didn't you?" asked Malik questioning his friend's sanity.
"Oh come on just look up." Malik looked up.
"I must be having the same illusion... Why do we see birds?"
Trox shrugged but continued to gaze at the circling birds. A white liquid came down and splattered on the rail of the boat. They both stared at it, knowing that it wasn't real. They looked at eat other then back to the white spot on the railing. Trox extended a finger, and slowly dipped his hand in it. He didn't expect to feel anything but hot wood. But it was wet, and cold. His face went from a smile, to a frown. He just dipped his finger in bird shit. But then it went back to a smile.
"Birds! Malik do you know what this means?"
"We wont have to eat the horse?"
"No that means land is nearby! We just have to find it!" with a new sense of purpose Trox got up from his seat and began to survey the ocean. He must have looked for hours, it didn't seem like the boat was moving and there wasn't any land to be seen. Giving up his search he returned to his original spot on the boat and hung his arm over the edge. "We live... In a fishbowl..."

The Jerobaom swayed and rocked, a monotunous motion that rolled some marble or pearl back and forth on the thick wooden boards that made the cabin's floor. The sound of the rolling orb against the wood joined in symphony with the eery creaking of the ship, and the regular wash of waves against the hull. It made a sort of miserable peace to Gardner Roxbury, who had confined himself within the tiny room below the deck. Though he had the itchinging to stop the irritating sound of the marble and pick it back up, Gardner continued his focus apon his journal. After dipping a tiny, white feather pen into a inkwell (which had been glued to the surface of his writing desk to prevent is from falling off,) he would slowly work over the minimal happenings of the days, then on to his memories and dreams, the later of which tended to become more bizarre the longer he went without any stimulation. The journal's pages were made of a refined seaweed, grown in large farms around coasts, some out further, and then hardened into a cheap, sometimes to crusty or to rubbery around the edges, paper.

'The dream-creature was like a man in stature, but pitch black, with black oil dripping-' Gardner had begun to write, but stopped himself realising that the words were barely visible now, his inkwell nearly completely dry. Cursing aloud, he dropped his pen and shut the journal. 'It's probably time for some fresh air, anyway', the young man thought. Dimming his lantern light until it shut off, then reaching down and sweeping up the rolling marble, Gardner made his way out of his bed-cabin and down the tight quarters of the Jerobaom's halls. On his way, he fit the ball in his hand into the pocket of a hanging coat and swung the vestments around himself. It was a large, dark blue, wool coat which he felt he needed to wear today; it wasn't very cold below deck, enclosed and tightly packed, but above was an icey wind which had plagued all the typically warm south seas, and for a good week by now.

It was, in fact, cold on deck. Gardner leaned on the railing of the ship, staring at the unnatural fog. He gave up looking for anything, by now. Boredom overtook him, and he found himself day dreaming of fog monsters. It startled him, not because it was particulerly nightmarish; because it was unlike Gardner to day dream at all.

The sun set slowly other the port of Rafiq, the flicker of light from the streetlights began to appear as men lit candles inside. All around town a new set of hustle and bustle began to materialize instead of the days fish market, the true underbelly of the town awoke, the lady's of the night, the gamblers the thieves began to awake and go about there daily business. The Many taverns that ran along the streets filled with laughter and chatter, as locals had the evening tipple.

But these were days of strive and a man wouldn't care less to cut a man throat for a coin or two. So when screams and shouts erupted from one tavern along the front, most open windows and door were quickly shut, the lights inside hidden behind wooden window shutters.

A door crashed open the light inside illuminating the street outside, a few drunks stumbled backwards as people began to stream out. For a few seconds a great shadow appeared in the doorway, as a huge man walked through the door, a seafarer arms covered in tattoos arms like logs, a cutlass hung from his belt. In his arms he carried a smaller man, which he chucked to the street floor, before slowly drawing his cutlass.

The smaller man rose to his feet his back to the sailor, his body wrapped in a grey cloak bordered in crimson, slowly he let the cloak fall away from his body a broadsword hung from his belt and across his back a short sword could be seen, the mans face was still covered in the cloaks hood a black hole that light seemed not to penetrate.

The man turned towards his foe drawing the broadsword he began to expertly spin it in one hand and began to pace backwards and forwards waiting for his opponent to attack.

The two opponents slowly began to circle each other looking for a weakness a moment to strike to end the combat quickly, what the two failed to notice was the darkness that began to draw closer to everyone, the street lights began to flicker, the light from the tavern door seemed to fade. A few in the gathered throng seemed to notice, and a few whispers began to go around.

Then something strange happened the Seafarer began to convulse, he threw his body forward as the darkness took hold, the man began to scream in pain, his cutlass clattering to the ground as he began to change to mutate. People in the crowd began to scream as the man changed soon people were running from the tavern, all accept the cloaked man he stood and watched as the man in front of him changed before his eyes.

Slowly the strange creature rose to its feet, he had grown in height and strength, its eyes red as blood, which seemed to piece the darkness that descended. More screams could be heard across the port.

The hooded man gripped his broadsword in two hands, and took a step forward then another, picking up speed he brought his sword backwards then jumped, swinging his sword in a mighty arc, towards the mutant, his cloak flowing behind him.

The sounds of battle echoed round the streets, from the darkness of a alley two figures burst out onto the sea front, one a large mutant cut and bleeding all over, there other a cloaked man his sword stained with the mutants blood, himself only a cut across the chest visible from the combat.

The two battled away one ducking and diving away from ferocious swipes of the creature’s claws. The man skidded under one arm and drove his sword into the beasts groin releasing the hilt stepping backwards as the beast fell to its knees, he slowly drew short sword, in his left hand and with his right hand he pulled his hood down revealing a scared youthful face, a small smile stretched across his face, as he pulled his broadsword loose.

With a mighty swing the man cut the mutants head from its body. Stepping back he watched the body fall to the floor, black blood washed across the street.

The man turned and began to limp down the street, the battle had taken more than expected from him, maybe he would finally find what he seeked, for what he did know was that the end of the earth was coming, and when it hit he would be at the centre of it all.

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Three weeks had passed since that faithful night and so it was to be found at the sunrise of a new day, a lone horseman galloping down a dusty road as if the hounds of hell were on his tail. He rode quickly heading back to the port on the far side of the country he had been three weeks earlier.

Soon he reached the top of a hill over looking the short plains that reached towards the port he was riding for, it was dark the black fog had decended over the town. With a small kick his horse was soon troting down the hill towards the town, and within minutes he was passing through the towns gates, which lay twisted and bent infront of him.

Slowly his horses trotted through the deserted streets, the silence seemed to pull around him as he rode his eyes checking each and every shadow. For the past three weeks he had come across different mutations of fog, each was a s powerful as the next, but each he had slayed. Now he returned to this port the centre of were things had started for him.

Normally the rock and sway of the Jerobaom's strong timbers would have filled Starbuck Roxbury with small tingles of of spine trembling pleasure but not today. No, today he was far too gloomy to feel the normal pleasures of the captaincy of a fine whaling vessel, even as he maned the great wheel, guiding his lady through the sea. All of her canvas sailed were billowing, filled with an unnervingly chilled wild and making his ship move along with good speed but trapped in a bank of heavy, thick fog, he was blind. Upon the deck, none of the forty souls aboard could see more then a yard or two off any point, and the lookouts high above did little more good.

"Thrice damn this fog" he muttered under his breath, using one hand to do up the large, whale tooth buttons on his dark green coat for once. It was the first time in the warmth of the Southern Seas, that he had felt cold. If the weather kept up like this, he might just try to sail north, so that they could hunt some of those slow, Right Whales, that floated when dead. It would make refining process much easier to have bodies that floated besides the ship, not ones that sank and had to be tied to the sides.

If the fog didn't lift, they were going to be in trouble. Not only was it a navigation hazard, both in block the view of the sea and hiding from them the position of sun, stars and moon but the cursed wisps also covered any whales in the area from sharp eyes. No whales meant no food, no trading goods and low moral among the sailors.

"Gardner" called Starbuck, more harshly then he intended after spotting his daydreaming little brother. "Get yourself aloft and show those slacks how to do their job as lookout. And do be quick about it, I do not want to risk use foundering on a shoal."

Jasia darted through the water, feeling herself growing weaker as it seemed to cling to her, holding her back, wanting to pull her down into the depths. Never before had her ocean felt less like home, and the land ahead beckoned her with a powerful force. Tears leaked from her eyes as she fought harder against the thick, dark water, part of her wanting to simply give in and let the ocean take her. Everything had changed, and she didn't know if she wanted to live in the new world of Chaos' making. Her indomitable spirit was what kept her defying the persuasive pull of the heavy water and she finally dragged herself to shore, panting and weary.

The Kraken had awakened, the seas were no longer safe. However, as she looked around she felt a bleak shadow engulf her heart, for it seemed that land was no safer than the sea. She could hear the cries of the tormented, and she shrank away from the dark fog that moved over the ground, the stench bringing a soft whimper up from her throat. She was frightened and confused, unprepared for a world that was so drastically and dangerously different from the one she'd always known. She rose to her feet, gathering up her thick hair to wring out the defiled water as best she could, longing desperately for clear, clean water to wash away the filth of the sea.

A sound to her right sent her scurrying down an alley between two shops, her large, dark eyes darting with fearful paranoia behind and ahead. The servants of Chaos were deadly and far more clever than they seemed, certainly capable of sneaking up and grabbing her before she could hear them. She wished desperately for a weapon, but she had never used one before and knew she would be useless in the defense of herself. If only she had known that such a time was coming, she might have learned to wield a knife or sword, then she would feel less useless and pathetic. Unable to keep her eyes open, her exhaustion bone-deep, she stopped to crawl into the bed of an abandoned, broken-down dog cart. She knew it wasn't safe to sleep in the open, but she had nowhere to go and it was better to hide a little than to fall down in the street where anyone could see her. She curled up at the back of the cart, spreading her hair over her like a blanket and allowing her eyes to drift shut, hoping that she would wake up to find this had all been some terrible nightmare.

Hearing his brother's voice, though at the moment too commanding to his likes, helped Gardner return to his more natural state. He was, and knew himself to be, a proudly adventuring, curious and optimistic sort, brash in many ways. Very rarely was Gardner contemplative or dreamy, as he had been for the last several hours, and was so only in privacy. Knowing himself so well, he would likely tell that there was a problem within his own self, yet at this moment in time he was considering it was outside events which caused his shift in emotions.

Those being, the events of the last week or so. The cold, the mist and fog, the poor whaling, and, as he could see infront of his face right now, the changes in the crew's behavior. Across from him, sitting on a box atop the deck, a sailor wearing a blue cap mumbles and rubbed his hands together nervously in strange itches and fits, leaning down heavily, his head parellel with his chest. Another man, a whaler who went by the name 'Yalo', approached the sailor, asking him about a request to help him move cargo around the Jerobaom. The sailor in the blue cap, Gardner now remembering his name as 'Buler', only mumbles some indecipherable words under his breath. "What was that you said?" asked Yalo. Buler leaped up, to meet eye level, and snapped at the inquiring man, "Do it youreself, damn you! And burn in hell!". Buler's tone was manic, frustrated, his voice sounded scratchy, as if he had been yelling for hours.
Gardner tried to ignore the man's fit. He left the captain's job to his brother.

Gardner sarcastically shout to his brother, "Yessar, Starbuck!", refering to him by first name instead of captain, then began swiftly acsending the rope ladders which climbed to the mast, then steeply upward toward the crow's nest. Nearly to the top, Gadner grasped on to the edge of the platform atop the mast and hung himself off it, his eyes now to the task of lookout. The fog surrounding the Jerobaom was thick even from the view up top, and he could barely see through the wall of cloud. Though his discovery would not be made with his eyes: he caught the faint sound of a heavy bell in the distance. He figured the direction of the noise and called down to the sailors below. "Land!" he yelled, and with his free hand pointed off starboard. "Land Ahoy!"

The horseman moved slowly through the streets with only the sound of his mount's hooves ringing in his ears. The fog seemed to close around him, trying to drag him in to chaos, but his will was strong and his need to do good kept him on the side of light.

All around him creatures shifted like shadows across roof tops, watching the strange man that had decided to enter their domain.

The streets seemed to open up for the man and soon his horse trotted onto a sea front market that was cast in total disarray. Stalls lay smashed and ruined, silks fluttered in the wind and rotten fish lay discarded on the ground. Only a old Dog Cart seemed unaffected by the destruction around it.

A sixth sense tingled in the back of man's head as he realized he was being watched. Quickly he turned his horse 360 degress while his eyes darted across every shadow, every alley that could conceal a foe. Drawing his broadsword in his right hand while in his left he clasped his lance, its silver tip aimed at the floor.

The man brought his mount to a halt his back to the sea he watched the darkend roof tops, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. Letting his ears take in every sound. Then with a shout he challenged the darkness

"Come on you curs show yourselfs!! Come to my sword, come feel the pain of death, let me end your suffering. I am the Iron Man and I am the one that will haunt your nightmares!!!"

The sun was nearly gone. As the day died the members of the boat began to come back to life. Another day of survival, another day to live. But still no luck at finding land.
Trox crawled across the boat to Malik.
"Hey." Malik was actually relaxing, now that the blistering sun was out of his face. Some of his worries seemed to melt away. "Maybe someone will find us." Malik poked an eye out to look at him.
"What makes you say that?"
"It's nighttime."
"So?" obviously Malik wasn't getting his point.
"So," he continued, "That means ships will be looking at the water more than they would during the day."
"Or you know... Sleeping like any normal person."
Being optimistic in a dead situation seemed pointless. The chances that someone would find them in a world mostly covered by water... just didn't seem possible. Trox returned to his side of the boat and hung his feet over the edge of the boat sitting upright. "Would it kill you to look on the positive side?" he asked.
"I see no positive side..." said Malik coldly.
"Well for one at least thing can't possibly get any-"
Trox was cut off from his sentence by a sound of thunder followed by an immediate downpour of rain. The smile on Trox's face melted with the rain and was gone instantly. Malik looked at him in anger.
"S'cuse me were you about to say 'worse'?!"
"No..." said Trox hanging his head low and avoiding eye contact with Malik.
"You sure?"
"Yes..."
"Because I know you were going to say something."
"Can't think of it now." The conversation continued like that in the rain for a very long time. And it wasn't long until large fins began to circle the boat. The rain made it very hard to see. Malik and Trox could only look at each other by squinting their eyes and even then it could only come out as a blur. Tension was high in the boat. Malik being mad at Trox for putting them in this situation. The circling sharks didn't add much comfort. If they weren't going to die of starvation or dehydration the sharks will. The sharks began to ram the boat, hoping to either knock them off or break it. The endless barrage didn't seem to stop.
"You know... at least they aren't the Kraken!" Trox yelled over the pounding of the rain.
"Will you shut up?!" he yelled at him slapping him across the face. They both new that it wasn't in anger, just with what has been going on. The irony levels have been off the chart lately, so they shouldn't add on to it.
There was a big boom. It stopped their hearts. The sharks stopped ramming the boat. It was now at the mercy of the storm, but the big boom didn't come from the sky. They both got up and looked around. Malik saw the last of the sharks disappear from view and swim away from them. Malik felt a tapping on his shoulder and looked at Trox wondering what he was doing. Trox didn't say anything but only pointed out in the air. His mouth gaped open but no words came out. His mouth continued to move like a flounder out of water. His eyes were glassy and wide from the rain.
"What?!" he yelled over the roars of the waves and rain. Then a large black figure came into view and was approaching them quickly. "Holy- Ship!"
Trox came back to the real world and turned to Malik. "What do we do?"
"We jump!"
"Jump?!" he yelled back scared and annoyed by the idea. Malik stood up and began to surf the boat, Trox soon joined him.
"On the count of three!"
"What?" he yelled not quiet sure what he heard. Malik looked away from Trox and to the large ship approaching them. It was now at least 20 feet away, in three seconds the ship would have already passed.
"Three!" he yelled, scared now more than he had ever been in his entire lifetime. He grabbed Trox by his chest and pushed him out into the water.
As soon as their bodies hit the water they were instantly tossed by the wake of the ship, and the waves of the storm. The boat was destroyed immediately by the larger ship. Trox was thrashing about and Malik tried his best to swim against the current.
"Malik!... I can't....!!!... Swim!"
Malik continued to swim as hard as he could to reach his friend. He saw Trox's hand go under water, he dived down hoping it to reach him in time. He grabbed Trox's hand, and the only thought was that his friend wouldn't grab back. But in a split second Trox grabbed his hand and Malik swam to the surface. He kept Trox's head above water as best as he could, but he was already tired from grabbing Trox and keeping him from drowning. He was already tired and this storm didn't make things any easier. The wood from the boat they were on was no were in sight. It must have been on the other side. Malik didn't have enough strength to swim with Trox, and he couldn't leave him alone.
Malik knew that they were going to die, right here, in the water. They didn't have a chance.

There were many things to fear in the world, although Azure was a relatively peaceful one. Or it had been, at least. The awakening of Chaos had changed all that. And now, the once most feared creature in all of Azure had a bigger, badder rival. But it wouldn't let that little detail dangle in the air for long. The Kraken was a fierce and prideful creature, and it did not take threats to its ego lightly. No, it would not stand idly by while another usurped its place. And to that end, it was prowling the seas once more, the arrival of Chaos driving it from its idleness of the many years past, when just the tales of its wrath were enough to put terror into the occupants of Azure. No longer could the Kraken afford to lounge in its deep sea home, surfacing only every few years to keep horror instilled among mortals.

The Kraken floated through the dark murky waters, its tentacles undulating, propelling it forward. Its large eyes darted about, looking for suitable prey to wreak its rage upon. It needed to put terror into the hearts and souls of the mortals, needed to be feared above all others. The sea was its domain, and none would take its place. None. The Kraken would ensure that. As it floated on, its eyes darted upwards, something calling its attention to the surface, where a boat was passing overhead. The Kraken rose, its body coming nearer and nearer the surface, where it could see the wreckage of a small boat, and two lonely bodies struggling to stay adrift in the turbulent sea. If the great creature could have chuckled in cold mirth, it would have. And no doubt it would have been an eerie and ugly sound. But as it was, the creature just set about to rising to the surface, dark glee shivering along its body. It let a few large tentacles rise slowly and silently out of the water around the poor ill-fortunate creatures bobbing along the waters surface, its beak clicking in hungry anticipation beneath the waves.

The shouting from nearby jolted Layla from her deep sleep and she barely bit back a cry of fear that would have revealed her location. Trembling with fear, she peeked up over the side of the cart, forcing herself to breathe slowly through her mouth so that her panicky breaths wouldn't give her away. She peered through the darkness and the murky fog at the man standing in the street, challenging the dangerous beings that had been birthed from the vile stew that hugged the ground. His bravery baffled her and she huddled tighter into the side of the cart, watching him with her heart racing in her chest. She didn't want to watch this man die, but his death deserved a witness and she was possibly the only one still sane enough to serve.

OOC: ((Again, sorry for the late post and the length. Had to add on quite a bit when I failed to post my opening sooner and I didn't finish it till about 3:30am this morning -.- First post on Gateway so yay for that. Feel free to constructively criticize through pm, all advice is appreciated.))


Salt..
Her tongue's quick dash across dry lips ended in an involuntary convulsion as she attempted to swallow away the tang. It was as constant in her life as the sky above and ocean below and yet after the last twenty-two years it still managed to coax a grimace out of her.

With a sigh, Storm opened her eyes and tried to focus a bleary gaze on images barely two feet above her. A mosaic of carvings depicting life on the sea had been crudely etched into the ship's wood. Certainly she was no artist, but in the last eight years since she'd been moved from the main sleeping area of the crew to these tiny quarters, she'd managed to create quite a scene.
Along the wall, dolphins and whales breached the ocean surface in a grand parade while albatross soared high above. Seafolk danced in spiraling patterns above her chest; though she often chided herself in lacking the skill to truly express the unique and intriguing design of these mysterious creatures. Out of all of these, her pride and joy lay with the centerpiece carved directly above her head. The beautiful Lady Wyndrider, the ship whose name she had taken as her own and whose crew had been her family for almost as long as she could remember. A smile quirked at the edge of her lips as she reached up and traced lightly the stern of the depicted vessel, enjoying how the light of the oil lamp made the waves appear to move with each flicker.

Closing her eyes, she let the gentle rocking and yawning creaks of the ship tease her waking mind with thoughts of further sleep, while listening for the familiar cries of the crew as they worked about the deck. The silence, born from the absence of their voices, was deafening.

"Fafner's fire!" Storm cursed vehemently as she nursed the crown of her head. She had just eased herself up onto her elbows, straining to hear the usual bustle of the crew, when an anguished cry had torn through the room. Startled, Storm had jumped, which was not a wise thing when one's ceiling was less than a foot away. Her head had connected with a loud crack and she let out an agitated whimper; flashing lights dancing across her vision. There was no true harm done, other than the initial pain and possibly a mild headache to follow, but it had tumbled her violently back into a reality which her slow awakening had mercifully blocked out. Carefully, she untied the bowline knot that anchored her to the nearest wall and slipped down into the narrow gap between beds and clothing.

Her quarters were roughly five feet in width and seven in length, barely more than an enlarged closet to a land dweller. Along one wall was a rail which supported a mismatched collection of her clothing, both male and female, as well as sheathed daggers and a cutlass dangling at the far end. Opposite this were two shelves that had been widened roughly to two and half feet, with each supporting a thin mattress to serve as the room's bunk beds. Storm would've preferred to stay with her old sleeping arrangements simply for her hammock. Hammocks were made to move with the natural roll of a rocking ship, unlike these flat beds, which on her first night had pitched her heavily into the far wall. The incident left her with a mild concussion, bruising of the ribs, a sprained wrist and no other choice but to tie herself down as though she were sleeping on the open deck. It was ship's rule, however, that at a certain age female crew members were separated from the rest and as the Lady Wyndrider was built for speed, not comfortable accommodation, this was what she had been dealt.

Normally Storm shared her tiny room with no one, for the only other female currently enlisted was part of the galley and had a hammock strung up there. However, at the present time there was a tiny bundle curled up on the lower bed, trembling violently beneath its blanket. Trying to be careful not to disturb, Storm reached out and gently rolled the child over to turn her face towards her. Even the weak, golden glow of the lamp couldn't soften the nightmare written across the young girl's face. She was probably no more than twelve years old, but her face was gaunt with hollowed cheeks and clammy to the touch. Dark shadows had set around her eye sockets and her lips were cracked and bloody. Storm did not bother to wake the child from the nightmares that ravaged her sleep, for even awake they would not cease. They would not cease for anyone...

------------

It had all started five days previous, when the sun had just greeted their backs in another brilliant dawning. Storm had been high up in the rigging, checking the lines, when the lookout had began shouting frantic warnings to all. Her eyes followed the line of his trembling arm out to the sea ahead of them and her breath choked. It loomed before them like a tidal wave; a wall of pure darkness, that was rushing in against the western wind with unimaginable speed. Before the crew had time to comprehend the situation, the fog had already reached and swallowed their vessel, plunging them into a surreal night that blinded them to all but what their lamps could feebly highlight.
A silence of the grave, which seemed to extend to the waves themselves, gripped the ship and her crew as they stood frozen in terror. Hesitantly, Storm began feeling her way down the rigging and towards the deck, for as blinded as she was, she decided she would be safer there.

As she set foot upon the deck, a sudden weight bore down upon her, crushing her chest. She began to sweat coldly, one hand clutching at her chest as the other reached instinctively for the dagger at her waist. She keeled over, throat burning with bile as she retched, all senses suddenly overwhelmed by the putrid stench of decay. Dark tendrils, unseen to her clouded eyes, coiled about her trembling form and worked their way into mind and soul to spread their poisonous desire. Her eyes squeezed shut to the sudden sickening whirlwind of images and voices that burst in her mind; past anguishes, torments, rages, all being ripped from her memories and harshly re-enacted. Every weakness, mistrust and fear, no matter how unreasonable, twisted at her guts and misshaped her fiery temper into a cold, dark ferocity. A crazed malevolence which growled with need to feed upon the world against her.

It was the self-preservation instinct of a Pirate, which would even forsake the kinship of those with whom they lived, that desperately called to her now. The voice of a survivor, battling to be heard over the flood of emotion, screamed for her to stand and move. Had events been different, she did not know if the voice would have been heard.

Storm, lost in her own ordeal, had failed to notice the screams and howls of the crew who fought their own battles of will, until one of them stumbled and fell into her. The cruel carnival of her twisted memories was shattered for a moment as he tripped over her kneeling form and her mind clutched to the fragment of freedom, forcing her eyes to open to the physical horror around her.

The man, who had unwittingly spared her, was writhing violently beside her and she struggled to back away from him to avoid being beaten by his flailing limbs. Even in the feeble light, the glistening whites of his eyes were illuminated as they rolled about in their sockets, his mouth twisted in silent screams, and she found her gaze locked to his. In one brief moment a look of heart wrenching despair broke through the madness with such vivid pain that she recoiled as if stabbed, her instinct aching to kick him away and run. The look was barely there for a second before it was lost beneath a torrent of pure malice and this man, whom she had worked along side for many a year, now gazed at her with a loathing fit for only Chaos himself.

Confused, Storm slid back away from him and in response he tried to gather to his feet to follow. That's when they both noticed the mutation. The black fog, this living entity of corruption, had also snaked around him like the tentacles of an octopus. Everywhere the miasma touched the man's bare flesh it seeped into him, tattooing his skin with an ebony sickness that spread over him like a plague. His limbs had begun to contort in a way that seemed impossible for the human physique, warping him physically in the same way it twisted his mind. He snarled in torment as he swung his gaze back to the horrified woman and, though his legs were too misshapen to support him, his intense aggression sent him crawling after her.

She was frozen with shock. The world as she knew it was being turned inside out and torn to shreds, and the man in front of her was a mirror for what could have easily been her own fate. She stayed rooted to the spot even as a gnarled hand reached out to grasp her boot. Again, however, fate had other ideas and another sailor in a blind daze stumbled right between them, stepping on the outstretched hand and crushing the distorted fingers. The mutated being howled and lunged his free hand forward to snare the offending leg, pulling the poor man down. In an instant he was upon his victim and they locked into a viscous battle; one desperate for his life, the other desperate to taste it. Storm snapped out of her trance and scampered to her feet as they rolled across the deck, slashing and punching out at each other wildly. "Man overboard!!" She hollered instinctively, already seeing the inevitable fate of the two, but making no move to risk her own skin to prevent it. There was a strangled scream from the poor sailor as both he, and the thing that use to be a man, smashed through the wooden guardrail and into the unforgiving sea below.

For awhile she just stood there, gazing at the spot where they had disappeared despite the mist constantly clouding her line of sight. Eventually she moved towards the edge, numb to any other activity about her as she tried to not even blink, half expecting that a clawed hand would again reach up through the shadowy veil to grab her. With such thoughts in mind, it was no great surprise that when a hand fell suddenly upon her shoulder she whirled around with a cry of shock, dagger up in a flash and pressed to the neck of her assailant; the quartermaster.

He stood dead still, a thin bubbling of blood forming along the edge of the blade as he failed to crack a smile, "Easy now lass. It's just me..as you've always known me" he added quietly. Her eyes danced up and down him quickly, no mutations, no blackened skin, as far as she could tell through the constantly shifting darkness. His face was slick with sweat, sickly in pallor and his eyes reflected the same tired, haunted look as she undoubtedly shared. "This...this fog," he started, passing a look of lost confusion about them, "It's taken the wind and our.." His face crumbled a little and she started to notice that not all of the shine on his face was sweat, his clothes were crimson wet, "Our men. Some of them..they changed..that hate..that anger..I didn't have a choice.." He seemed on the urge of falling into a weeping babble till he choked out a weak cough and straightened his head. "We need to get her moving again. We have to get out"
Gradually Storm lowered her blade and gave a slow nod. Yes, the ship needed to reach port. They had to reach safety. The sense of duty, the security of falling back into anything normal, it numbed her mind and body against everything that had just happened, that was happening, and she started back towards the rigging without another word.

The fog didn't vanish, it just settled, slinking around the deck like a snake just waiting to rear and strike them down. It did, however, thin out enough to allow her to do her job about the sails, though the work was harder and taking longer under the toll of the trauma she was trying to block out. There was the lack of crew as well. Just under half were missing, with a quarter of that suffering wounds that either left them bedridden or locked to basic duties, but no one uttered a word about what had happened. Everyone had felt it, seen it, heard it..they needed no more reminders to go with the living nightmares in their mind.
They were also sailing blind. Neither the lookout nor navigator could see anything of the stars, the moon or the sun. The very ocean before them only appearing briefly in thinned gaps in the mist. They had been on a course set for port when the disaster had struck, however, and they sailed onwards now praying that the course would hold true.

-----------------------------

It was two days now since the end of their known world and they still sailed on through the darkness, though at a pathetic drawl of a pace. Just as the light had vanished, the wind also had abandoned them to whatever fate this evil had in store. No one complained though; they had not the heart or mind to. Each person walked the deck in a state that could be considered a form of living death. Nothing but the harsh lines at their mouth, sweat on their brow and the haunted look in their eyes spoke for they would utter no words unless needed to complete a job. Reaching the port, reaching what they hoped would be a familiar home and safety, was the small hope that was keeping them from total despair. Life had fast become a mindless monotony of actions, so when a man upon the rigging suddenly began to call, "Man overboard!! Man overboard!!" the crew reacted like dazed drunks and just stared at him in confusion. Finally a few staggered over to the rail to take a look and then they too took up the call, grabbing the nearest ropes at hand to hurl into the water.

There were three survivors, if you could call them that, including the young girl. Too weak and crazed to help themselves, they were fished out of the ocean and carried down to the sleeping quarters. None of them could give answers to what had happened; their only replies weak cries from raw throats. From what the crew could gather from the debris in the ocean though, it seemed their vessel had literally broken apart and sank. There were murmurings that danced between the men for the first time since the fog had arrived; the darkness wasn't the only terror to lurk oceans and pirates never disregarded legend as fiction. It was just another stress upon already frayed nerves and the Captain made an effort to turn the crew's mind away from their dark, inner thoughts by setting forward the task of placing planks of wood off the side rails and hanging lamps from them. It would help illuminate the water, give them a chance to spy more survivors if they were any, more life to save. It was a good intention considering the amount of death that had scarred them all so recently, however it was ill thought out. Throughout that day there was constantly the call: Man overboard! Man overboard! But they were simply bodies, bloated and as lifeless as the broken wood that floated along side them. Not one sailor failed to notice that many of these bodies were twisted, blackened, with a few still staring upwards with faces locked in an agonized hatred, the intensity of which even death failed to diminish. Home and sanity seemed to drift further away with each passing moment.

When Storm awoke for her shift later that night, the crew had mostly given up even looking at the sea. Too many bodies, in their minds, had held the faces of men they had known and it was all they could do to hold their nerves together. She walked up on deck to the same silence that had haunted her the last few days. Coldness seeped to her bones, breaking goosebumps over her flesh and a shudder from her core, and instantly the voice of paranoia nibbled at back of her mind. It was the fog that caused it. Every time she watched one spot too often it would start to take on the visage of her nightmare, the mutated man whose features would slowly warp till they resembled her, broken and deformed. Because of this, she often would rapidly cast her eyes side to side to try to dislodge any illusion, giving her a rather wild appearance, though it was no more strange than the expressions twisting the faces of her fellow crew mates. Many times she wondered if she had already cracked to insanity and was just too stubborn to admit it. As she mused over this thought again, she started to make her usual climb up the rigging, and that was when the storm decided to arrive.

The clap of thunder, which seem to explode in her ears, took Storm by complete surprise and had she not just hooked an elbow around a rung of the rope ladder to check a tie, she surely would've fallen. Instead, she just had a severe rope burn on the inside of her elbow and surge of anger that burst from her lips in a scream of violent curses to the sky. It responded with a torrential downpour. She hung there for a moment, letting the rain beat down upon her face as she glared silently into the darkness. It was lucky that she was alone on the rigging since such fury, such murderous intent, rarely cared if it vented on friend or foe. Gripping the rope with white knuckles, she pulled her footing back under control.

Another bellow of thunder shook the sky, and unfortunately for a small vessel on the seas before the Lady Wyndryder, it also deafened the sound of splintering wood as they plowed right into their unseen victims. One should never doubt the irony of fate, for while the passengers of the small boat had befallen one misfortune that certainly spelled out their doom, it was an even greater threat to their life that actually brought their plight to the ship's attention. Storm had just begun slowly climbing again when she realised that the rain had momentarily dissipated a majority of the fog. Quickly she threw her gaze out across the sky and to all directions over the ocean, hoping to see any star or landmark that might provide them direction. What the mist couldn't hide, however, the sheets of rain managed to blur and all she could see above the waves where dark, twisting shapes of what appeared to be massive tentacles. Storm quickly shook her head, darting her eyes side to side rapidly, assuming it was yet another one of her mind's tricks. When she narrowed her gaze in that direction again however, the shapes were still there, and more so they were rising steadily out of the water.

It was a moment in Storm's life where everything seemed to freeze and she looked at the whole situation with a quiet frown, wondering what in all her years had she done to deserve this magnitude of shit. The next second she was screaming at the top of her lungs, "KRAKEN!". The crew below looked at her and then out to the sea and howls of terror erupted from all. No one ran to hide though, none jumped ship in a moment of insane abandonment. The Kraken was a thing of legend, a story that was told to every sailor, and though none alive could claim to have set eyes upon the beast before, every man on board now felt as though he were looking upon a familiar enemy. This was a horror that no man wanted to greet yet in a twisted way, dreamed of triumphing over.

Teams rushed to man the cannons below as the captain hollered out frantic orders. The deck was left almost bare, thanks to the lack of numbers in their crew, but Storm was one of the few who remained to keep the ship's course in check. They would use what wind the storm allowed them to keep their cannons to their mark and should the Kraken turn to them, as was expected, then their spears, heavy pistols and cutlasses will taste beastie flesh to defend their Lady. Offhandedly she wished, for the first time, that they were whalers with the mighty fine asset of harpoon guns. Nevertheless, if it was to be the Beast or the Lady, she would draw her last breath defending her. After all, Storm wouldn't last herself if the ship were to go down today and self survival was her specialty. As she went to rush to her post, Storm's eye caught something strange just past one of the Kraken's arms. 'It sort of looks like a cat with horns,' she thought before turning away and forgetting it completely.

The sound of the first cannon exploded through the air....

The Kraken flinched back as a cannon ball plunged into the waters around it, narrowly missing one of its writhing tentacles. The creature swiveled one glaring yellow eye around, looking for what may have dared to attack it. The eye locked onto the shadow of a ships hull, not far away, and it narrowed its gaze of malevolence on its newest target. The creatures in the water above it forgotten, the Kraken began to withdraw its tentacles from the air, instead focusing on propelling itself towards the boat, and its unfortunate crew. More cannon balls plunged through the water around it, the sharp crack signaling each one muffled to a soft boom beneath the water. One grazed a tentacle, a lucky shot, and the Kraken screeched in fury, its shiny black beak opening wide in the haven of it's undulating tentacles.

The Kraken soon maneuvered itself beneath the ship, not without a few bruises from cannon balls that had found their mark. The darkening of the water was the only warning, as the Kraken slowly started snaking a few tentacles up the sides of the poor ship. They began curling over the railing, in some cases, the sheer weight of the tentacles crushing the rail beneath it. The suckers along the bottom side of each tentacle made a gut wrenching squelch each time they released their vacuum on their way forward. Mine. I shall make you pay.




Deep, deep below the surface of the water, down far into the chasms of Azures sea, where only darkness thrived, a slumbering creature waited. Fafner, in all his glory, lay curled in the protective confines of twisting coral, a veritable palate of colours. Not that anyone could see them in the silent pitch black. The nine hundred foot sea serpent that had watched over the inhabitants of Azure through his dreams lay as if peaceful. Not a sign could be seen that all was not right with his slumber. For the dreams that had visited him now were nightmares. Horrible visions of blackening sickness polluting Azure, and the creatures he had fought so hard for. Screams of malice and terror were all that occupied his dreams any more, and the creature knew that there was need for him to wake. If only he could. His tail twitched, and the ruffled hood of muscle and scales along his neck flattened down, as if to protect against a bite...