Benthos (D&D AU)

[SimSimma]

Summary: A deep betrayal results in one Cabin Boy finding something he'd never dreamt could belong to him, and soon whispers reach the shores of the dread flotilla seeking to return the world to endless sea, and the First Mate helming it.

Based off LudicSavant's reimagining of the gods and mythos of D&D hosted on GiantITP (I highly recommend the read, it's incredibly fascinating).
It's my first time publishing anything I've written, and I am here for any and all criticism, as long as it's like about the writing, y'know?
I'm not the fastest writer but the hope is that a one or two people reading it will serve as motivation maybe...

Also it should literally never come up except for one reference but the MC is a guy. He also has booba. That's just the character idk what to tell ya I shook my brain and a trans dude came out but like I will do nothing with this. Story is SFW with no plans to change it and hey consider him orekko or something if it's easier

Can't think of any other housekeeping so, let's get into it! See y'all on the other side of this chapter!

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Benthos
by SimSimma
​

"I smell a storm coming." He probably could too. The Captain of the White Wind had an aquiline nose that testified to his formidable sense of smell. In the seventeen months since the Cabin Boy had joined the crew of the survey ship, he had never seen a single crew member get away with secreting food away into their bunk, nor had the White Wind ever been blindsided by a squall, those howling winds that pulled water from the sea to transfigure into knives that shredded sail and sailor alike (and from which the White Wind drew its name).
In their cups, the sailors in harbor murmured that Captain Li Lacina must have gotten the favor of some cloistered weather deity, and that he'd sold his soul or something of equal value in exchange for free passage on the most treacherous seas known to man (even the Mal Dit Sea that they were currently sailing, that only the White Wind could sail.) The slightly more inebriated among them might quietly suggest that the deity was unknown for a reason, but nobody would ever baldly suggest that Li Lacina of all men would be a servant of a Deep One. The Captain of the White Wind had the nickname "The Inmate," because if you weren't looking and he walked up behind you, it would sound exactly like some unfortunate chain gang conscript had found their way onto the deck. The man was covered from head to toe with so many charms and evocative emblems and wards that it was a miracle he could walk without falling over. It didn't matter what god; Wee Jas, Moradin, Olidammara, Pelor and more were all represented somewhere on the Captain's 2 meter, lithe frame. He was known for saying, "One of them has to work, right? What if Pelor's too busy to listen to me today?" The Inmate's reverence for (and fear of) the Gods was evident. The Cabin Boy took a look at Lacina now. It appeared that today was a blessed Larethian day, as evidenced by the gilded oak leaf sitting in the place of honor over the Captain's heart.

The Cabin Boy's thoughts were interrupted by a sharp slap to the back of his head. "What are you sitting there for, boy? Didn't you hear the captain say there's a storm coming?"
The Cabin Boy flushed at being caught in his own head, especially by North Star. They were not only the first mate of the White Wind, but also its navigator (a navigator on a survey ship is kind of a big deal). They had a reputation for being unflappable, no matter what the situation was. The time when pirates from The Golden Company raided the White Wind, North Star barely blinked before drawing the cutlass on their hip that everyone thought was for show and striding forward to cut down the vermin attempting to climb the Jacob's ladder onto the deck. The moment of shock on the pirates' faces lasted just long enough for the crew to reach the pistols, and from that point the raiders were easily repelled. The image of North Star surrounded by a whirlwind of steel, long black hair pulling loose from the high ponytail they kept it in to almost-but-not-quite cover the small smirk on their face, occupied a prominent spot in the Cabin Boy's dreams for weeks. He admired North Star, who encapsulated everything Cabin Boy wished to be in life. He dreamed of being a navigator, forging unhindered into the quiet, undiscovered dark waters hidden behind the borders of the maps in the captain's quarters. Of having seen so much that nothing could rattle you. Of knowing and seeing things that nobody had seen, of taking in a pristine vista and knowing it was yours.

The Cabin Boy could deal with being the Cabin Boy, who had to work seven more months before he could even tell people his name and have them use it, aboard the White Wind solely because he knew that he was young, and if he continued to accrue value and merit, he could move up in the ranks, from Cabin Boy to Bosun to Second Mate and finally First Mate (and Captain)! With this ladder to his dreams in front of him, Cabin Boy couldn't help but set his foot upon the first rung. It made his tasks more bearable, such as the one before him now.
When the seas were going to be choppy, it was the responsibility of the Bosun (and the Cabin Boy) to prep the ship for the waves. They had to sag the headstay to allow the mast to straighten. The jib lead had to be pushed forward to open up the sails so the ship could keep speed and make it over the waves. The captain would take care of angling the ship to avoid swamping, but the worst part is the angling of sails. Some of it could be handled on the deck, by shortening and lengthening the ropes in order to achieve the desired shape: something deep, for power, with a lot of twist for groove. However, the level of depth required means the sheets must be eased forwards. Not only this, but the upper topsail yard (and top mast) must be sent down and stored on deck along with the square sails that are attached to it, in order to lower the center of gravity and prevent rolling. This required a large portion of the crew to climb the rigging to the yard and unmoor it from the mast, and then slowly lower it down via ropes until it can be received on the deck by the rest of the crew. The Cabin Boy hated heights. Looking down at the sea from that far up never failed to make his vision blacken around the edges, and he threatened to swoon from the rigging. Making it worse was the fact that this would only need to be done when the winds were high and the seas were rough, making the mast sway more than usual. It was truly unfortunate that it was the responsibility of the Cabin Boy to climb the rigging and coordinate the sending-down with the Bosun on the deck. Even the thought of standing atop the yard as it spun wildly made him feel faint.
Still, there was no helping it. The Cabin Boy thanked his lucky stars that he hadn't eaten anything today, as he firmly clamped his pocketknife between his teeth and began to climb. Regardless of his fear of heights, (or just of falling,) the Cabin Boy was nimble, and was quickly standing atop the swaying yard, hacking away at the sea-swollen knots that prevented the yard from sliding down along the ropes down to the deck. After a few minutes, the last knot split without warning, and the upper yard dropped a foot before the crew standing on the lower yard could brace themselves and pull the ropes to counteract its weight. The Cabin Boy dropped through the air with a strangled yelp which was cut off when he roughly collided with the pitted larchwood of the yard less than a second later, in an ungainly heap. He picked himself up, amid the quiet snickers he could hear from the rigging, and continued to ride the yard down until it reached the deck, where the Bosun and the rest of the crew removed the square sails, stored them, and lashed the yard to the deck. Looking at the skyline, the Cabin Boy concluded that they had made it just in time.

The once placid, verdurous sea had turned a steely gray, and it blended with the pewter of the sky at the horizon to form an unbroken plane that completely surrounded the White Wind. Next came the wind, howling like a pack of beasts, and slicing with needles of spray like fangs and claws. The Cabin Boy felt something tear at his left cheek for a second, and when he felt along the edge of that pain, his fingers came back stained red. From the muffled curses he heard behind him, he wasn't the only one.
"All crew below deck! We can wait out this storm where it's safe." The Captain lifted the heavy trapdoor and held it open until the last sailor had escaped into safety, and then pulled it down after himself.

The cargo area was barely too small to fit every member of the crew comfortably, and that was really only possible due to the fact that the White Wind was running light, having come almost to the edge of their range if they wanted enough food to make it back to port. Thus, the crew was just able to pack themselves into the hold like sardines in a can (the Cabin Boy missed sardines; they'd run out six days ago). They remained there, listening in tense silence to the staccato rhythm of the hydrous needles thudding into their hull,and the tink-tink of the portholes suffering the same treatment. This wind would last for a while before the real storm blew in. Knowing this, the Cabin boy let himself be lulled to sleep.
In his dream, he was standing on the prow of a ship. His ship. He knew it to be his without question, because he had been dreaming of this ship since the moment the White Wind entered uncharted waters. The Cabin Boy knew every inch of this caravel from top to bottom. In his dream, it didn't need a crew, nor did he have to remain at the helm to steer it. Instead, it moved quietly through the dark waters according to his will. The Cabin Boy- no, the Captain! breathed in, taking in the scent of all the things alive and dead around him and urged his vessel onward into the unknown.

He awoke instantly, all in one breath. There was a distinct feeling of danger, of wrongness that sat heavy in the air and pushed down on his chest, and made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. The Cabin Boy sat up silently and looked around, finding that he was the only one currently awake. The wind had somewhat calmed, and the thudding had ceased. It was dead quiet. Nothing seemed out of place in the hold. Maybe something had brushed against the hull, and the vibration had woken the Cabin Boy up? He'd heard about the behemoths that lived under the sea but still occasionally came up for air, and he'd always been a very light sleeper. Maybe he'd catch sight of it as it resubmerged!

The Cabin Boy got up slowly and made his way through the crush of bodies towards the nearest porthole. Having spent over a year at sea scrambling up and down the rigging, he had the nimbleness required of his position, and was normally quite sure-footed. However, he stumbled several times on his way to the porthole. It was at that moment that the Cabin Boy realized what had woken him up; the ship was rolling back and forth. Heavily. The waves must have picked up significantly. The Cabin Boy reached the porthole and peeked outside. His jaw dropped.

He somewhat expected the heavy rain, falling in sheets unbroken around the White Wind. What was slightly discomfiting was the darkness; the previously steely clouds had darkened to a piceous black, mirrored by the sea below him. If it wasn't for the fact that his water Genasi heritage gave him overlarge (about 40mm in diameter) eyes, almost completely black in order to absorb every mote of light possible at astonishing submarine depths, he doubted he'd be able to see three feet from the ship, even with the lanterns abovedeck to illuminate their path. As he stared into the blackness, the ship rolled slightly further. The Cabin Boy squinted. The waves directly under the ship were pulling away from the ship sharply, parallel to the ship, and not smoothly moving in the circular patterns a ship in (relatively) calm waters should create. What was happening? He followed the waves out to the horizon with his eyes and blanched periwinkle.

It was barely a small moving line at the edge of the Cabin Boy's exceptional vision, but he knew what it was. He'd heard stories, at the knee of the grizzled human sailor who raised him, of the waves that didn't bother with rolling a ship over, or partnering with the winds to break a mast and leave a ship dead in the water. These waves just snapped the ship in half: keel, hull and all. The one his mentor had seen was maybe 30 feet tall, and if he could see it from this far, the Cabin Boy surmised that this one might be about the same height. However, these waves (which his mentor had called pusong alon, or "rogue wave") normally formed much closer to shore, and out here, in the farthest reaches of the Mal Dit Sea, the waves shouldn't be more than two feet at maximum, growing as they approached shore. To see a rogue wave about to break out here was frankly impossible, but here it was.

The Cabin Boy was startled when the ship rocked again. How long had he spent panicking? He had to do something. He could just imagine the look of disdain on North Star's face if they could see him now. The only person with the power to save the White Wind, and he was wasting valuable time. He crept (read:stumbled) to the other side of the hold, and reached out to shake North Star's arm. As the navigator, he reasoned, they would be best able to confirm what he was seeing. Before he could actually touch them, he felt a small hand firmly grip his wrist, and heard the snick of a blade coming loose from its sheath. He looked up, and met a set of storm-grey eyes looking into his inquisitively. North Star was a lighter sleeper than he'd thought. The Cabin Boy tried to fight the blue-green flush creeping up his neck, and marshaled his thoughts. "Sorry to bother, Boss, but I thought you might like to see this. I'm unsure if I'm overreacting." He didn't mention his suspicions because he didn't want to color their interpretation of what was seen. He also didn't want to be made fun of if he was wrong.
North Star quirked an eyebrow, but arose in one fluid motion and worked their way towards the porthole. The Cabin Boy noticed with some satisfaction that he wasn't the only one caught off guard at the way the ship was rolling. They soon made it to the porthole, and North Star glanced out to sea. From his position on their left, the Cabin Boy could watch as their eyes flickered first down to the unusual wave patterns, and then out to the horizon. He watched their jaw drop, and if he was being honest with himself, that scared him more than the waves. He had never seen even the slightest expression of surprise on North Star's face, even when all the other members of the White Wind had already accepted death. The Cabin Boy had thought them unflappable, indomitable. It must be as bad as he'd thought to garner this kind of reaction. This gave the Cabin Boy the confidence required to voice his concern. "Do rogue waves even form this far out?"

North Star looked at him out of the corner of their eye. "Not that I've ever seen." They took one last, ragged breath and stepped back from the precipice of panic. "We need to wake everyone up." They both made their way around the hold, quietly waking up every crew member. When it became time to wake up the Captain, the Cabin Boy watched from across the hold as the Captain awoke, first blearily, then instantly on full alert as the situation was presented to him. His voice immediately cut above the rising din and increasing panic in the hold. "Everybody quiet! Shut up and listen if you want to live."

Years of discipline had tuned the crew's ears to be very sensitive to a certain tone of voice from Captain Li Lacina of the White Wind. Regardless of whatever they were feeling, everyone stopped what they were doing and turned towards him. If anyone could free them from the situation that they were in, it would be The Inmate. Said Inmate took a deep breath and began dispensing orders. "At the end of the day, this is just a big wave. You guys know the deal; too straight on and the keel will crack in two, too angled off and the whole ship will roll. If I can find the right angle and stick to it, we have a more than even chance of surviving this." The Captain's words were like sitting by a warm fire, and the chill of despair that had hung heavily in the hold began to disperse. "What I need from you is to help me trim the sails so we don't risk the mast breaking if the wind suddenly switches. Can you brave folks help me?" He was answered by a roar that shook the room they were standing in as every crew member surged to their feet. The White Wind had been sailing the seas both alive and dead for over a decade, and they had never bowed to any would-be oppressor, be it man or nature. They were indomitable.

The Cabin Boy followed the rest of the crew upstairs. He paused, as they all did, to look at the wave looming (much closer now) to the East, but steeled himself and joined the crewmembers in pulling up the anchor. Within minutes, the ship was ready for its Captain, who was standing on the prow with North Star, inspecting the rogue wave with a telescope and determining the optimal angle from which to approach it. Presently, they came to a conclusion and the Captain took his place at the wheel. The Cabin Boy took his place with the rest of the crew at one of the ropes lashing the sails to the deck below, used for trimming (called sheets).

They angled out and soon the wave was upon them. The Cabin Boy first became aware of a low, keening vibration that set his teeth on edge, running through the hull of the ship. He knew that the vibration was a cry from their keel, stretching in ways it was not accustomed to. If the stress was too much, the keel could just split right down the middle and the ship would fall into pieces. Hopefully the angle the Captain chose would keep the contrary pull of the waves to a minimum and allow them to survive this wave.

As he was considering this, the wave hit. The Cabin Boy can't actually remember the instant the wave hit, but when he came to himself his feet weren't touching the ground and his vision was white. A second later, he felt a thud that resonated in all of his bones as he was forcibly reintroduced to the deck of the White Wind. He blinked through the pain until his eyes cleared, and blearily focused his vision on his own hands, still holding onto the sheet with a death grip. At that moment, he became aware of a sharp stinging in his fingers and palms, and knew the skin had been torn by the impact. The pain helped jolt the Cabin Boy to alertness, and he scrambled to his feet. As he did, he heard a roar. Slowly, the mindless noise coalesced into a voice, that of the Captain roaring instructions. After that, there was no more time for thought. Haul with all your might. Release the sheet the instant you hear the call. Fuck up, once, and you die. And Everyone Dies. The actual wave was just background noise to the Cabin Boy. His entire universe narrowed down to a pair of lacerated hands, and the voice of his Captain thundering in his ears, and Pull and Stop and Pull and Stop and…

All of a sudden there was nothing. The Cabin Boy blinked, slowly straightened up from the tug-of-war hanging position he'd adopted, and met the eyes of startled crew members on the other side of the deck. There was a brief second of shared disbelief, and then everyone turned towards the quarterdeck and watched as the wall of water receded in their vision.
"...We're alive." That broke the dam. The air around the White Wind shook with the volume of the wails from the deck. Looking around, the Cabin Boy saw not a single dry eye amongst the crew. As one, they surged onto the bridge and began to lift Captain Li Lacina into the silver sky. "Inmate! Inmate! Inmate!" As the cheers swelled, the Cabin Boy's eyes were fixed upon the Captain. This is what a Captain is supposed to be. A ship's Captain is its god. They are not human. They do the impossible routinely, because that is how your crew can forge into the deepest uncharted waters without fear. At that moment, the Cabin Boy loved Li Lacina. Glancing to the side, he even caught a glimpse of the faint smirk crossing North Star's face, before they saw something behind him and it dropped instantly, replaced with bone-deep horror.

The Cabin Boy followed their gaze, and suddenly felt all the strength in his legs go. He slumped to the floor without even noticing. "That's not fair!" His whisper cut through the burgeoning celebration, and slowly quiet began to spread through the quarterdeck, as the crew took in the sight behind them. It was still a large distance away, just a little squiggle on the horizon, but there was no mistaking what it was. Another rogue wave, and taller too. It was unfathomable. One thirty foot wave this far offshore was in itself a statistical impossibility, but two? It felt like the ocean had decided their grace period was up, and now was time to pay back for all the stormy seas the White Wind had waltzed through prior. The Cabin Boy could feel panic creeping up on him, trailing inviting, icy fingers up his spine and around his throat. However, he clawed his way back from the precipice of madness, and turned his eyes towards his Captain. Captain. His God. If there was any way for the White Wind to escape the trial they were currently in, it laid in the mind of one Li Lacina.

The Cabin Boy was just in time to catch the terror leave the Captain's eyes. A blink later, and he was left to wonder if he'd imagined it, because his Captain was as inflappable as ever. He stomped on the deck to gain everyone's attention, once, and by the time he was ready to speak, a sea of rapt eyes stared back at him and the silence hung around his shoulders like a heavy cloak.
"I'm disappointed." As one, the crew sagged as though their strings had been cut. "I'm disappointed, because it looks to me as though my friends have given up. I get it, fighting two pusong alon is impossible for a crew. But we're not just 'a crew'. There is not a single crew that could be surprised by a rogue wave on the Mal Dit in the middle of the night, that would blow past it without a single leak! Not ONE! We are not just a crew; we're the White fucking Wind, and we do the impossible every day. You think we survived the last wave just to die to this one? Not if we have anything to say about it! Get off your asses and let's move!"
It worked like a charm again. Dead men came alive, and started to breathe and move like nothing had happened. If anyone from the shallows was to see this, they would have no problem believing that the Captain was, if not a God himself, the champion of one. Even though neither sun nor moon showed through the stormy skies, (come to think of it, the Cabin Boy had no idea what time it was,) the Captain appeared wreathed by light, like he had his own halo.

The second wave didn't even feel real. The ship sailed up one side and down the other as if it was built for rogue waves. The crew didn't even flinch at the few seconds of weightlessness as the ship bounced over the top of the wave. (The ship did groan very slightly louder, though.) Even before the ship had returned to level on the other side of the wave, the cheers were starting to build. One rogue wave out at sea was already an impossibility, but to see two? And survive both? That was the kind of trial mythological figures went through. There was zero chance anyone from the other ships would believe them. On second thought, maybe they would; the Mal Dit was known as a freak sea nobody came back from alive, so they were already doing the impossible. Their confidence was at an all time high. Even still, they were wary. As one, eyes turned to North Star as they gazed out into the horizon. Their face was tight. Everyone followed their gaze to another dark line on the horizon. Much of their trepidation towards rogue waves had dissipated after waltzing over the second one, but the crew was still concerned. They had shown that they more than had the skill, but the ship could only handle so much. "What if the waves kept coming?" This thought entered the heads of the White Wind for the first time. The idea was ludicrous. It could not be overstated how impossible it was for even one rogue wave to form in deep water.
That being said, it wasn't a possibility for the White Wind to just give up and accept death. They could take the waves for as long as the ship could carry them, so that's what they were going to do. And if by some miracle they survived, then they were the rulers of the sea and nobody could tell them any different...and also they were going to enter their respective places of worship and not leave for a month. The crew girded their will against fear, and pressed on.

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The Cabin Boy came up from belowdeck and collapsed in a wet pile just out of the way. Somewhere around the sixth wave, the ship had started leaking, and as such he had spent the last four hours - if the candles were to be believed - standing shoulder deep in freezing water boarding up the breaches in the hull and then bailing out all the water, running up and down the ship with buckets of water while the rest of the White Wind did their best to ensure the ship remained afloat. The ship was completely silent - or at least the crew was (the low groan of the keel had increased in volume to the point where the Cabin Boy's teeth chattered if he was belowdeck). Nobody still had the energy to grunt in exertion. Even three waves ago, when the ship had pitched slightly and the Cabin Boy had almost gone overboard (bucket and all), not a word was uttered. The Cabin Boy hadn't heard a single word since somewhere between the ninth and twelfth wave, when someone had stared out at the death surging towards them, and muttered under their breath that they must have pissed some god off. Nobody said a word, but the Cabin Boy knew that the crew agreed. He sure did. Picking himself up slightly, he realized that they had just come down the side of another wave (was that fourteen? fifteen?), and everyone was looking at the form of North Star, still somehow ramrod straight at the prow of the ship as they stared out into the infinite blackness.
"...another one." Their face had never been more inscrutable. It was a testament to the bone-deep exhaustion of the crew that not a single member complained when hearing this, simply turning back to their ropes silently. However, the peace was still shattered by a quiet murmur from an unlikely location.

"Blessed Larethian, father of all that lives and breathes under Pelor's light." Though Captain Li Lacina was a hard man, he was pious in nature and in this darkest hour, he turned towards the day's patron. He was prostrated in front of the steering wheel, hands outstretched towards the east with the gold oak leaf holy symbol clasped between them. Entreating words spilled forth as he extolled the virtues of the god who had vanquished the Deep Ones and then created creatures with new blood, free from salt so that life may survive in the utopia he created without the aberrant influence of the depths. The Cabin Boy looked on impassively, but inside he was wroth. The sight that lay before him seemed...wrong to him. A Captain is supposed to be the god of his vessel. He should not bow to anyone. But here before him was his Captain, weathered body bent to the ground as if pressed flat by the weight of a massive hand. He felt betrayed, and for a brief second felt white hot rage towards the faceless figures that had pinned his Captain down and made him mortal.

While he was thinking about this, a crew member at his side whispered to his friend. His voice was unnaturally loud as it split the silence. "Larethian has been known to favor those that show valor in impossible situations. Pitched combat against skilled foes, honorable sacrifice, especially in single combat, and the like. We have been fighting for our lives versus the greatest foe a crew can know, but that has evidently not been enough to earn our way out. What else can we do? Except…"

"Sacrifice." The Captain's face was grim as he looked up from the holy symbol. "I...cannot countenance willingly giving one of our own to the waves in hopes that god will smile down on us. However, I do not know what other choice we have. The ship cannot survive another wave. I know full well that a Captain should not ask anything of his crew that he is not willing to do himself, but committing suicide will not save anyone. Even if the sky cleared up the second I hit the water, nobody else would be able to sail the ship out of here in its current condition. Thus, it is with a heavy heart that I must ask this question: are any of you brave, brave souls willing to make the ultimate sacrifice for the White Wind? I cannot fault anyone for refusing."

The driving rain, booming thunder, and crashing waves might as well have not been there as far as the Cabin Boy was concerned. The deck of the ship was dead silent. Everyone was looking around, begging with their eyes. The silence felt like an indictment on each and every one of their souls, and yet, they couldn't make themselves speak. 'Someone… please say something.' But nobody did. At the end of the day, they wanted to live. The Cabin Boy watched as the Captain's face appeared to age decades in the span of a minute.
"I see." The Captain heaved another weary sigh. "In that event, I guess...I guess we must democratically elect someone. I beg of you, do not resent each other. We will get some paper and pens from my chest, and only North Star and I will count the results. This way, if someone votes you and you aren't chosen, you will not have hate in your heart against-"
"Why don't we just choose him?" A rough shove at the small of his back thrust the Cabin Boy out of the circle of crewmembers and into the clearing with the Captain and North Star. He instantly whipped around to see who it was, but the gap had closed, and… he didn't really like the looks the crew were giving him. At this moment, the crowd started to murmur.
"Yeah, he's the lowest rank on the ship anyway, why should one of us have to die for him?"
"He's been here less than two years, he's not even a real part of the crew."
"He doesn't even do anything important! Any of us could do his job, but he couldn't do mine, that's for sure."
"He's a godsdamned Water Genasi! If anyone has a chance of survival, it's him."

From all around him came a litany of voices, and all of them were condemning him. In addition, the voices did not seem conflicted or mournful at all. They sounded almost relieved, that someone had said something and the rest of them were safe. The Cabin Boy whipped around, trying to meet the eyes of those he had considered family. They avoided his gaze. He swung from side to side, feeling like a caged animal, before remembering where he was and looking to the center, where the Captain still kneeled before the boat's steering wheel and North Star remained his impassive shadow. He hesitated for a minute, fear and self-loathing warring in the pit of his stomach, and then threw himself to the floor, prostrating himself before them. "Please...don't let them kill me?" Hating himself, he stared at the soaked boards before him, and then dared to peek upwards. He caught the briefest hint of softness on North Star's face, before it vanished as they began to speak. "...I guess he does have the best chance at survival." The Cabin Boy's blood froze in his veins. Of all people, he'd assumed that they at least held some affection for him. As they steadily met his gaze, stonefaced, he realized that he was dead. At his side, the Captain looked around the circle of crewmembers, and saw something in their gaze that hardened his own. "I see. And all of you are in agreement?" The Cabin Boy did not look away, but based on the way the Captain nodded, tightly, he could assume the crew's response. "...if that's your decision, I will honor it. We will deliver our Cabin Boy unto Corellon Larethian's judgement. Boy, come here."

The Cabin Boy calmly regarded the Captain, and the way the circle of crewmembers was closing in on him, and arose to his full 1.9m height, slipping the bone boot knife out of his soaked shoes. Falling into a stance, he bared his teeth at the people he'd considered family for over a year. "Come get me, then." There was no way he could give up his life without a fight, especially after he showed his neck once and was rebuffed.
"Come on now, Boy," A crewmember stepped forth, arms spread in a plea. "None of us want to do this, but if we have to pick someone, it doesn't make sense to pick anyone else. You understand, right? You'll probably survive anyway, what with being a Water Genasi and all-" Here, they were cut off, almost literally, as a vanishing point traced translucent cobwebs in the air and their forearms opened almost to the bone. As they reflexively jerked back, the Cabin Boy switched to a reverse grip on his knife and flicked the blood away. "If you want to kill me, you had best be prepared to hunt me properly."
What little sympathy for him the crew had shown on their face vanished here, and as one they moved to surround him at the edge of his range, spreading out in a formation he remembered from their protocols on dealing with confused or injured animals they encountered while charting unexplored islands. The excitement began to build in the pit of his stomach, and he showed his teeth in a savage grin as he began making probing swings to draw out his danger zone. "That's what I'm looking for. Come to me." Suddenly he was starving.
The Cabin Boy had no way of seeing himself at the moment, but the crew could, and they all took a step back in unison. His teeth had sharpened into a sharktooth shape, and in the depths of his mouth, a second row of needlepoint teeth could faintly be seen. Saliva pooled in his mouth and overflowed over his lips to splatter to the ground (where the wood strangely hissed as the liquid touched it). His hair had begun to fight gravity, thick locs standing on end as they thrashed around like living snakes. His eyes had darkened even further, becoming Stygian pools that seemed to take up even more of his face. To the members of the White Wind, he looked as though he had transformed into a sea demon, ready to drag them down into the depths. They had all heard of Ixitxachitl, but had never seen anything of the like. This horrific sight before them hardened everyone's resolve. What if they had picked someone else, and this fiend had continued to live among them? Would he one day have abandoned the facade, and begun to massacre them in their beds? It was a good thing he was dying now. As one, the grimly silent crew advanced, and the Cabin Boy became a whirlwind, knife flashing as he attempted to keep everyone else at bay as he pressed towards where the circle was thinnest.
Everyone knew how this should end. Just like a wild animal, though the Cabin Boy was a fierce combatant (far fiercer than any of them had expected), they were many, and he was one. All they had to do was wait for him to tire himself with constant defense, and they had him. However, there was a wave bearing upon them that would almost certainly kill them. They did not have time to outlast the Cabin Boy, and so they moved in aggressively. The bone knife sang through the air, and more crew members fell back with crimson stria decorating their limbs. The lucky (or perhaps unlucky) few who braved the pain and passed through the outer perimeter of the Cabin Boy's range were faced with feet, knees, elbows, and even teeth (the Cabin Boy spared a thought to how well his teeth ripped and tore through flesh, but he did not have time to develop that any further) and quickly rebuffed. He twisted one way, two quick thrusts to keep the cadre with the fishing net at bay, and then turned and lunged toward the area of the circle where he could see people retreating, and there was nothing he enjoyed more than seeing his hunters turned into prey- At this moment, as he took a step towards them, his foot didn't reach the boards of the ship. Instead, a small hand firmly grabbed his heel, making him stumble. Looking down, he saw the grim visage of North Star (of course it would be they that made it inside his guard uninjured). He felt a sinking feeling as he tried to kick his foot free, to no avail. As he twisted towards them, brandishing the bone knife, he felt a tap at the back of his neck, and then he sagged to the floor as though his strings had been cut. As his vision faded to black, he caught sight of the Captain turning away, flourishing the black metal quarterstaff he was famous for carrying. Fuck.

When he came to himself, the first thing he noticed was the weight. Looking down, his eyes slowly focused to find a barnacle encrusted chain looping tightly around him, being tightened around his legs as he stirred. He traced the chain back to North Star, coiling it as they moved around him with the detached air of someone on a stroll. Did they tie the fucking anchor around me?! They must really have wanted him to go down and never come up. As they began to realize he had come to, the crew of the White Wind began hurling obscenities (and some physical objects, the Cabin Boy recognized that pot lid) toward where the Cabin Boy was leaned up against the edge of the ship near the ratlines where the anchor usually lay. Looking at the faces of people he had loved, twisted with hate and fear, left him feeling empty inside.
A hush began to fall over the crew as Captain Li Lacina moved to the front of the mob. In his hands was the golden oak leaf evoking Corellon Larethian. "And so we ask that you smooth out the seas before us, taming the dark ocean for you children as you have done since the beginning. We offer you this gift, of honorable sacrifice, to reaffirm our commitment to you." As he spoke, the Captain moved towards the heavy anchor where it lay next to the Cabin Boy on the deck, and as he finished up his prayer, he placed his boot on it and began pushing it (and how insane was that, that he could slide a solid wrought iron anchor with one leg). He looked directly at the Cabin Boy as he addressed the next words to him. "I dearly hope the gods are kinder to you in the next life. Amen." At that moment, while looking him in the eyes, he flexed his leg and with that, the anchor was sent over the edge of the ship, the chain beginning to trail out behind it. There were a few breathless seconds, where the Cabin Boy and Captain maintained eye contact. Both of them looked as though they had been carved from stone, impassive statues of supplicant and arbiter. Then, the chain was pulled taut by the anchor, and yanked the Cabin Boy over the edge like a stone from a sling.

---

Well, that's the first chapter. What do you think? I've never dealt with QQ formatting before (I think it's called BBCode?) so if there's any weird formatting or anything please do let me know. I have the second chapter written up and I'll try to get that one down once I've seen if there's anything glaring people don't like. If you're reading this far, I thank you so deeply for reading the first thing I've shown The Public at large, and I aim for each chapter to be better than the last, so if you don't like it but see some potential I humbly request your feedback and you might even see it in action if you stick around Now time to learn how to threadmark and pray I don't have to do this all again

 

[SimSimma]

Whoa! I went off to class and when I came back I had watchers on my content! Whole watchers! I'm blown away, honestly. Thanks for reading even if you didn't like it! I uh, can't promise upload speed constantly, but like I said I had the second chapter written up, so I'm going to throw that up right now god I hope formatting doesn't make this one look bad. Thanks again for reading, I'm excited to provide a second chapter, and any and all feedback is highly appreciated.

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As he hit the surface, the Cabin Boy finally broke eye contact with the Captain, as water surged between them. At that point, his stony countenance shattered, as he finally allowed himself to feel the shock and magnitude of the betrayal he had experienced. He knew he had been foolish and delusional, but the Cabin Boy had allowed himself to feel as though he was becoming part of the group, even thinking of some of the crew as family. Now, when he thought of The White Wind, all he saw were the cold stares of people who had condemned him to die. Sure, a water Genasi could breathe water, but what did that have to do with anything when he was trapped weeks away from the nearest landmass? Going back to the ship wasn't an option; they'd likely just slit his throat and toss him back into the water. Honestly, all the Cabin Boy needed was the slightest amount of land to separate himself from the sea, and something to hold some water in, and he could survive. He knew from experience that he could feed himself while floating in the Sea, nutritive value notwithstanding, and during that time he would be able to find a way out; maybe slowly forming a raft out of ice over a period of months so that it was sturdy enough to survive the journey while he maintained it. Or he could speak to some animals and earn a favor, maybe catching fish for a pod of dolphins in exchange for a ride. Or he could- it didn't matter, the point was that he couldn't do any of that here. Not only was he unlikely to achieve any of his objectives while aimlessly drifting around, but cutting himself in the middle of the ocean was almost guaranteed to bring predators from miles around, predators big enough to swallow the Cabin Boy whole. He had to survive until he reached land. Firstly, however, he had to get this godsdamned anchor and chain off him!

As he had been thinking, the Cabin Boy had been trying to find the end of the chain, so that he might unwind it and free himself. However, this was rendered near impossible by the way his arms were completely immobilized. The Cabin Boy thought of the laissez-faire, unbothered way North Star had tightened his bonds without a single worry on their face, and shot an angry glare to the surface, where he could still see the light from the ship's lanterns dimly glowing in the distance. It might have been the fact that he'd sunk about three hundred meters in the minute since he'd hit the water, but he could swear they were farther away than where they were last time he'd checked. Actually, they were moving! There was no way that the vessel could fight even regular choppy water in its condition, how were they able to leave? Unless...it had worked? Corellon Larethian had watched The White Wind condemn him to death, and found it pleasing enough to smooth the waters before them?
The Cabin Boy couldn't believe it. He had never seen hide nor hair of the gods throughout his entire life, and now his first experience with one was their tacit acceptance of his death? Had they known the entire time that he was deadwater? Had they watched as he scrabbled from shadow to shadow, trying to hide his shame from Pelor's light, and laughed? Was this the reason for the entire storm, throwing the entire sea and sky against their ship just for him, a hammer to smite a fly? Did the gods hate him that much?

As he sank lower and lower, the Cabin Boy contemplated the pinprick of secluding light (still comfortably within the range of his extensive vision) and resented. Resented his crew for killing him. Resented the gods for letting him live long enough to know what he was losing. Resented his birth parents for throwing him out and not simply ending it before it could begin. Mostly, he resented himself, for being so feeble that he could let someone else, anyone else determine his fate. If he was stronger than them, it wouldn't matter what they thought, they would have to accept him and his cursed blood. Unfortunately, it was the White Wind doing the demanding, and he doing the accepting. The Cabin Boy continued to glare at the light when, suddenly, it winked out. Darkness crushed in on him from all sides, its weight almost physical. Shocked, the Cabin Boy drew in a quick breath, then promptly choked. Further attempts to breathe in the water also resulted in spluttering coughs that bubbled up around him (again, strange, since he wasn't breathing air). What was happening? Water Genasi are born breathing water, and that ability does not fade until the day they die. The Cabin Boy had never heard of anyone losing the ability to breathe water, but his lungs had rejected the fluid twice. Panic gripped his heart, and he began renewed attempts at thrashing his way free from the chain pulling him inexorably downwards. In a moment of inspiration, he reached out to the water around him, to freeze some around the chain and shatter it, but the Cimmerian blackness around him did not respond at all. That same blackness seemed to have permeated his mind, which was growing foggy due to the lack of oxygen. He thrashed even more desperately, but his movements were growing weaker. As the fog encroached on his consciousness, an idea struck and he moved two fingers together. They were barely able to brush each other with his current strength, but it was enough, and his razor sharp nails sliced his fingertips open, allowing blood to cloud the water. He was too numb to feel any pain, but he was still struck as if by a bolt of lightning as suddenly he could feel a thin web of fluid near his hand, spreading out in front of his inner eye. He pulled on it with all his might and it responded instantly, forming a ring that wrapped around one link on the chain and contracted. The Cabin Boy began to hear cracks and presently a dull rumble as the chain shattered. Instead of slithering off, however, the chain promptly vanished from around his body, as if it was never there. He barely had time to notice this, however, before he was made aware of the far more alarming fact that he was still sinking. Some force far greater than he was drawing him ever downward, and the water around him was still strangely hostile. Although he fought, the Cabin Boy could not stop himself from losing consciousness. His eyes slowly slid shut.

And open. Though, if he hadn't felt the muscles move, he would never have known. Inky darkness still poured into his eyes. He couldn't see. He couldn't hear or smell, taste, or even feel the susurrus of water sliding against his body. The only thing the Cabin Boy knew was that he was still choking on water, and there was nothing he could do about it. As he again lost consciousness, he wondered if this was a method of eternal torture the gods had seen fit to visit upon him.
This cycle repeated over and over, until the burning in his throat and lungs and the blackness and everything melted together and he was no longer sure when he was dreaming and when he was awake. All he knew was that he was dead, and that he was moving down.

Down.

Down.
​

Down.​

Dow- all of a sudden his eyes flew open. The Cabin Boy wasn't sure what had changed, except the pain had vanished, and he was breathing easily again, the water once again benign. As he looked around, he noted that it was still very dark, with just enough light for his oversized obsidian orbs to take in the sight around him. First thing, he noticed that he was surrounded on either side by some foreign species of seaweed. They grew like black shoots of bamboo, tapering to a point as they curved slightly away from him. They were about 20 meters tall, and plunged directly into the shore below. Speaking of shore, there was a shoreline and lake underwater here! This could be one of the brine pools he'd read about. The shore was a dusky brown and extended in a vaguely elliptical shape around the edge of the lake. The entire perimeter was seeded with that strange seaweed, and at its widest point he'd wager this pool was 65 meters wide. The pool itself looked to contain a thin layer of water above a bleached white floor, except at the middle there was a massive black hole. It could swallow him whole, being easily 12 meters in diameter and, as far as he could see, bottomless. Though he'd never seen nor heard of anything even close to this, he supposed there were stranger things at sea (like water he couldn't breathe and chains that vanished into thin...water). As a matter of fact, if it weren't almost the size of his entire home village, the Cabin Boy would almost think that this brine pool resembled a massive eye. Actually… it was kind of uncanny...

At that moment, the eye (for that it was) moved. It rolled from left to right a bit, before seeing him and focusing in. Pain instantly exploded in the Cabin Boy's head, a searing that felt as though his brain had become a boiling liquid. The burning pain and intense pressure caused him to writhe about soundlessly, and blood from his eyes and ears began to cloud the water at his head. After what felt like hours but was more likely a fraction of a second later, the eye continued moving back to its original position, and the Cabin Boy drew in a shaky, coppery breath before saying the word that would change his life forever: "...God?". In response, a voice that had a strange accent spoke directly into his head. "Once, I was called that, yes." It took a second for the Cabin Boy to get over the shock of this eye belonging to a sentient being (how huge must it be from head to foot?) but he was emboldened by the answer. If this is who he thought it was…. "What do they call you now?"

The figure belonging to the eye gave a dry chuckle. "Most people don't call me anything anymore. I'm not supposed to be real, or so I've heard. But there are a few people up there who have maintained their belief in me." Here his voice began to ring out, as it took on a more proud, grand quality. "And those people call me Seastrider, Eye of Storms, Saltfather, He Who Watches. They call me Procan the Deep One." He laughed again at the expression that crossed the Cabin Boy's face. "I see that the meaning of this is not lost on you."
The Cabin Boy swallowed dryly. "Y-you know up there, if they ever even admit you existed, they say they killed you."
"I know what they say about us. But it wasn't quite as easy to kill us as they had expected. Considering those four were almost dead when they got me, chaining me onto this seabed and then cleaving it into a separate plane was already quite impressive enough."
"Wait!" Shock overrode fear for a second. "We're not on the same plane anymore? How did I get here? And you fought all four First Generation gods by yourself? What happened to the rest of the Deep Ones? Where are they now? And-"

"To answer your questions," The edge of amusement was clear in Procan's voice. "I imagine Sekolah is in a similar situation to the one I find myself in. Panzuriel is still rebuilding her limbs and hiding the location of her head from Procan's light. Granny Isopod is doing her best to expand her web from her hidden plane without giving herself away. Nobody knows or cares about the whereabouts of the Demogorgon, though the continued activity of the Ixitxachitl means he's probably skulking in some hell plane somewhere. By the time I was caught, Panzuriel had already been defeated and dismembered as the first victim of the sun. Sekolah had disappeared on a Hunt for Moradin, and ostensibly failed. Granny had already disappeared to her own plane to save her life, and the Demogorgon was just as likely to join them as to join me…. And I still almost got them." He could almost hear the rueful smile in the disembodied voice. "As to how you are here, well… I do apologize." At that moment they eye rolled back around in its socket and glanced directly at the Cabin Boy again. His world became red light once again, both due to the pain and the blood in the water. When he came back to himself, the first thing he heard was laughter. Not in his head, either. Booming laughter that shook the water around him to boiling, and physically pushed him into the forest of eyelashes. It continued for almost five minutes and then slowly tapered off. The Cabin Boy cautiously swam from the thicket he had fallen into, and asked, "Did- Did you find something interesting?"

"I don't think interesting begins to cover it, young deadwater." The glee was clear in his voice. The Cabin Boy immediately felt the usual flare of shame, but tamped it down. "You can look at me and see that I'm a deadwater child?" he asked. "I can see more than that, child." Procan responded. "You're one of mine."

Whatever that Cabin Boy was expecting to hear, it wasn't that. He would have fallen flat on his back if it wasn't for the whole floating underwater thing. "Are you sure? You're my ancestor?" Yet another chuckle was his answer. "Every living thing has at least some of my blood in their veins, but it runs incredibly strongly through you. It honestly explains how you survived slipping through a crack between planes without being erased from existence. There's a little Sekolah in there too, you'd probably make an amazing hunter. His children have always- why are you crying? Is the thought of being born of the Deep that repulsive to you?"
"No, no no it's not that." The Cabin Boy wiped his face out of pure habit. "I just- I've never belonged to anyone before." It all came out. Being found among the refuse, the adoption, the stares and rumors around town. Always being different, searching for his source, the ocean, the darkness, the Pull. The shame, watching the fish grow at home, the Frenzy...the Frenzies, the hunger, and the Hunt. Leaving to find the deadwater at the edges of Pelor's light, the White Wind(with focus on Li Lacina and North Star), and finally the betrayal. It all poured out, overflowing from the depths of his soul and spilling over his lips. By the time he finished talking, he was exhausted, and Procan was completely silent. "Huff...huff… so that's how I ended up here."

"Child." The Cabin Boy had gotten familiar enough with his voice to note the mournful quality currently coursing through it. "You have suffered much, to find your way down to me here. I am proud that my blood has resulted in such beautiful offspring. I didn't think I was still capable of feeling surprise after so long trapped down here." The Cabin Boy sniffed and gave a watery smile. "Thank you. It's a shame we're trapped down here now, but I'm glad it's with you at least."
"Are we?"
"I'm sorry?"
"Are we trapped down here? How do you think I've been able to keep abreast of everything happening above if I didn't have at least some method of reaching across the void?"

Huh. The Cabin Boy blinked. That did make sense. But then- "Why are you still on this plane, then?" A heavy bass rumble was his answer as heavy stone or metal slid against itself. "When I said those usurpers had chained me down here, I meant it literally. I am completely unable to move or exert any real power here. However, they weren't able to make me completely powerless. I have been able to maintain my eyes and ears in the shallows by returning to my first role: creating life. New species don't create themselves, and new aquatic life is constantly being discovered. All of my creations retain the ability to communicate with me, regardless of distance, and as they proliferate and adapt, my web of influence grows. As such, I have discovered how they are maintaining my bonds. The lock is an artifact known as The Pillar, kept as an exhibit by the Jasidins in the Scarlet Moth Academy, and there are two keys. One was 'lost' and subsequently found by a Quartermaster, and as such it is most likely gathering dust in a corner of Hextor's Arsenal by now. The second key...is interesting. The four that sealed me hid a copy of it within each of themselves, and as such to unlock the Pillar, it must receive the lifeblood of one of the First Gods. I'm sure you can tell which one of these is the sticking point."

The Cabin Boy knew at this point that his face was blanched periwinkle. "Kill a god? There's no way it's even possible! One would have to be a god themselves to merely approach another deity without instantly turning into ash. How can we do that with you locked here?"

"We? I am glad that you are this enthusiastic to offer aid," the Saltfather joked. "That being said, we have not laid idle since we were deposed. Between the three of us that are free, we have combed the entire world, and there is an astonishing amount of research that was almost groundbreaking. Discoveries that were one experiment away from being published, problems that were a few equations away from changing everything in their field, and the like. Funnily enough, many of the researchers that were close to changing the status quo mysteriously had to stop, sometimes abruptly. They lost funding, or a relative back home got incredibly sick and needed help...or they got incredibly sick, or worse. As it happens, when you can see every piece of research across the entire world at once, it becomes possible to connect the dots that were previously erased. As such, we have discovered a method to turn a god mortal. You really just need a bit of help from Erythnul. Don't look so shocked, you probably won't go mad just from talking to her. You have enough Sekolah in you that she'll probably like you, after a fight or two. Don't try to squirm your way out either, he just wants to know that you have teeth and you aren't afraid to use them. You know how those 'survival of the fittest' types are, you'll probably be friends by the end of it. To get an audience with her, all you have to do is join the Golden Company. Easy, right?" The grin in Procan's voice was friendly but tinged with blood at the edges. "So, are you in? I'll even throw in a little gift from yours truly, to help you survive the encounter."

The Cabin Boy had lost the capacity for fear hours ago. Well, that wasn't quite true. There was a constant current of I shouldn't be doing this I'm going to die running constantly through his mind, but he didn't care. One way or another, he'd been another dead water Genasi (hah) since birth as far as everyone else was concerned, so he really had nothing to lose. And if he was going to risk his soul, he might as well do it for the first piece of real family he'd ever known. Besides, it wasn't like he had any love lost for the gods right now (if he had his druthers he knew which one he wanted to bleed) and he wanted to spit in their face more than anything. Nothing to lose and everything to gain, his decision was already made for him.

"When you say it like that, it almost seems easy." The Cabin Boy's smile had the same edge of bloody madness as Procan's. "I'm in."
"Excellent. All that remains is for us to formalize our pact. All you have to do is touch this." From the depths of Procan's pupil, a small red squirming blob formed. As it approached, the Cabin Boy made it out as a squid, a little longer than his arm from head to tip with wicked hooks down the length of each tentacle and a mean looking club at the tip. It floated up gently until it was at chest level and paused. A more cautious man would have hesitated here, before signing a deal with the bogeyman under the bed to be used as an instrument of war between gods.

The Cabin Boy? He reached forward with his left hand and firmly grasped the squid by a tentacle. Or, at least, he tried to. The second his finger brushed its skin, it came alive in a flash of motion and whipped around his arm. All ten of its tentacles whipped around his arm, and he immediately grunted in pain as the sharp hooks dug into the flesh of his arm, and even deeper than that, deeper than physically possible. The Cabin Boy felt the hooks settle into his soul, nestling in almost like the Pull did all those years ago. It hurt. He sucked in a quick breath and coughed blood back out. His vision began to darken around the edges. As everything faded to black, he faintly heard the last few words from Procan: "Go forth, my First Mate, and together we will return the world to the Blood Sea."

The First Mate dreamed of seas of boiling blood, and an eternal feeding frenzy as everyone ate or was eaten, in waters that twisted infinitely in upon themselves as if they were the coils of a giant copper serpent. When he awoke, he was face down on a rocky shore he had never seen before. He was sore everywhere. The First Mate sat up. He perfectly remembered everything that he'd seen, but it seemed impossible. He had come back? And now he was going to obtain the lifeblood of Corellon Larethian? Maybe he'd just been dreaming since he went unconscious? He blearily scrubbed at his face with his left hand, and then paused and squinted. There were some markings on his arm. The First Mate made them out to be a black ink tattoo of a squid, with its head on his left breast over his heart, and its hooked tentacles snaking over his shoulder and down his arm to end in vicious clubs just before his wrist. These tentacles occasionally writhed and pulsed as though the squid was alive. As he focused on it, he could again see the abyss in his mind's eye, almost as if he were there. He surmised that this method would allow him to contact Procan should he find anything. This confirmed that he was not dreaming. Joy and panic warred for supremacy in his chest. He was really doing this. He let out a chuckle, and in a few seconds he was flat on his back laughing uproariously. As it petered out, he dragged himself to his feet. Ignoring the protests from his body, he began to lurch his way along the coast.

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That's Chapter 2! The Deal has been struck. I have another section written up that I'm not sure will be an extra or a chapter in an of itself, given that it deals with the backstory of our young (newly promoted!) First Mate and how he ended up on the ship at all. Let me know what would make the most sense/what you would prefer as readers. In addition, I'm a few thousand words into the next chapter.

 

[SimSimma]

Hi again! This is a little something I had whipped up, just to tide y'all over! It's a little strange, in as far as getting a bit deeper into the eldritch horror vibe I want to give this story, and as such I would love any feedback as to how it reads or feels. Don't wanna drag on too long here, but thanks to all the people who've read so far! I was expecting single digit readers and I'm so honestly blown away. It's motivating me to keep writing, that's for sure
Anyway, it's 3:30 AM and a bitch has her Machine Design quiz in eight hours, so I'm gonna call it here...

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Normally, meeting a figure whose existence every Church denies might cause some consternation, or a little internal turmoil. Our First Mate, however, took it almost in stride. After all, it's something he'd considered many times before, given the way he'd grown up.
Generally, a Genasi's bloodline is fairly easy to discern. They generally have personalities that match the natural phenomena they're aligned with. As a matter of fact, many Genasi tribes believe that the conditions under which you are born are a gift from the extraplanar figure you're descended from, and will name you based on these conditions on the spot. So if you met an air Genasi named Sirocco, you might expect them to be a warm, maybe sensual person. But if you met one named Gale, you could expect a hothead or someone with a forceful personality.
The First Mate doesn't know his name, or the conditions under which he was born. He was found among the refuse at the edge of a human town, after a heavy rain, as the stray dogs nosed his infant body and wondered if it was still okay to eat meat if it was blue. The grizzled veteran who saved and raised the First Mate never gave him one, referring to him as "Boy" (though he used to call him "Girl" until the First Mate grew old enough to correct him). But even without a name, he knew he wasn't descended from any of the usual names when it came to water deities.
Firstly, where water generally splashes and ripples and announces its presence, the First Mate was quiet. He could comfortably go days without talking, and even spent a few years completely nonverbal. That being said, unlike many of the placid Lake and Stream Genasi that were common, the First Mate was brimming with energy, and intensely curious besides. While he mostly napped through the day due to his light sensitivity, it wasn't uncommon for a person to look up during their family dinner to find a pair of faintly glowing bright green eyes staring directly at them through the window. On rare occasions you'd find him just standing in your house.
But the main thing that told him he wasn't like other Genasi was the beach. Genasi generally love being around their namesakes. (In our previous example, you might find Sirocco lying supine on a sand dune or Gale dancing barefoot in the eye of a storm) As a teenager, he put a lot of time and energy into trying to find what water was his, visiting lakes and rivers and chasing storms across the country, hoping to find that Pull other Genasi wrote about. Eventually, his searches took him to the shore, where the ocean and the beach danced their eternal two-step. He swam in the water for the entire day, but didn't feel anything beyond the usual buzz brought about by water. As night fell, he began to reluctantly exit the water but suddenly, he stopped short. At the exact moment the sun slipped below the horizon, he felt the finest gossamer thread brush past his consciousness, causing every hair on his head to stand on end. Dread and anticipation warred in the pit of his stomach as he slowly turned around. Hoping against hope, he walked deeper into the water and submerged himself fully. As he slipped beneath the surface and began to breathe the water, the thread became stronger and more solid, and started faintly tugging at the base of his spine. The Pull. Fuck.
There could be no reason for him to only feel The Pull when the sun was down - unless he was a deadwater child. Deadwater referred to the fact that nothing would thrive in water outside of Pelor's light, and those that felt it's Pull were destined to suffer. One of the cursed who nobody would claim, because in their blood was the end of the world. Even though, officially, the Deep Ones never existed, everyone knew the reason that deadwater children just vanished when their local Church found out about them. It showed that the gods remembered, and were afraid. Those that believed in The Deep Ones described(in quiet voices, but if you knew how to look, they were easy to find) how the first gods Gruumsh, Moradin, Corellon Larethian and Pelor, fought for weeks, day and night, to chain The Deep Ones to the bottom of the sea, and subjugate the sea so that it might be made to part for the creation of dry land. Those stories had always thrilled him, but for the wrong reasons. Where most people cheered as they heard about Sekolah and Procan and Demogorgon and the rest were pushed down into eternal sleep, and the world was brought to order, he had always been rapt as storytellers described the world before the fall of The Deep Ones. At that time, there was no dry land (though there were buildings, towers and temples and observatories, that survived until the present day). Gruumsh also hadn't wrapped the sky around the planet to control the waves, and Pelor hadn't hung the sun. When Sekolah swam the sea and Procan walked the bottom, the seas were filled with boiling blood as animals ate, and were eaten in an eternal feeding frenzy. There was no sun, no alien light from elsewhere, but nearly every living thing exhibited some form of bioluminescence, painting the entire area in a dull red glow. Finally, the sea wasn't yet bent to the rules of moon and wave, and it writhed and undulated as if it was alive, a titanic copper serpent that spanned the entire earth.
Picturing this tableau often left him dizzy with excitement, and aching to hunt. It was usually those urges that got him out into the yard, cajoling his father until he'd reluctantly show him a few things he picked up in the army (or later, just spar with him, until he grew too good for even that).
Looking back at that, it's honestly laughable that he was surprised that he was deadwater at all. He wondered if anyone else had seen the signs, and resolved to act as if he'd found his Pull in the ocean during the day, instead. As was the custom, he collected some of the water around him to take home with him.
Two months later, he could say one thing. "Deadwater" was a complete misnomer. He'd kept the water in a glass aquarium under his bed since he got back home, and while the small creatures previously living there had died, there was... new life inhabiting the tank. A few weeks in, some strange fish had begun rapidly growing, feasting on the festering corpses of the flora and fauna that had died there previously. He had been shocked by the speed with which the fish had grown from microscopic specks, so small he'd thought they were just detritus at first, to fish about the length of his finger and shaped like flat arrowheads. They had spines along the edges of their body that looked wickedly sharp that they used to carve up the corpses of the larger animals they feasted on. As he watched them, The Pull at the base of his spine tightened to an insistent pressure. On a whim, he used razor sharp nails to open his skin at the finger, and let a drop of blood fall into the tank.
Immediately, the tank quieted, as in unison the fish stopped their bottom feeding to stare at the shining turquoise teardrop that splashed into the water, sinking slowly while somehow avoiding the dispersion expected from a similar liquid. There was a moment of silence, one heartbeat, and then the water was whipped to boiling by the frenzy of hundreds of living daggers hurling themselves in the same direction. In the fray, many scores opened in the flesh of some fish as their neighbors tore by and ripped into them uncaringly. As the drop off deadwater Genasi blood settled on the floor of the tank, the aquarium became a bloodbath as fish fought to the death. He watched with his heart in his throat. This was worlds beyond what he'd expected. Tears rolled freely down his face as he stared unblinking at the scene before him. He couldn't believe how...how beautiful this was! Was this what the time before Light looked like? He wondered which great deity had ignited that frenzy. Honestly, watching this made him kind of feel like a deity himself. The rush was indescribable.
He continued to stare at the tank for what felt like seconds (he later learns it was just under eighteen hours) until it was over, and fish corpses floated at the top of the tank in a thick layer. There was one survivor; a fish who was now pressed to the bottom of the tank, ignoring the blood that streamed from half a dozen gloaming wounds as it greedily shoved its face into the droplet as if its life depended on it (Who knows? Maybe it did?). Hundreds of lives, snuffed out just like that. He blinked, and almost immediately fell over as he realized how faint he felt. He was starving. It felt as if sharp teeth were tearing at his insides, and for a second his eyes strayed to the tank, with its scores of fish aberration corpses, scythed wheat ready for harvest. He swallowed, but managed to fight back from the precipice of madness. It wasn't worth it, he reasoned. There would likely be more fish spawning in the tank, and feeding them would help them grow even larger. Interestingly enough, once he said this to himself, the pain decreased to almost nothing, leaving behind the normal dull ache of hunger. He pushed the tank back under the bed and stumbled out of the room. Several hours later, when he came back sated and ready for sleep, he peeked in on the tank and was surprised to see the tiny specks he knew to be new fish, showing up much earlier than he'd expected. In addition, the fish that had previously won appeared to still be alive, and the bleeding had stopped. To his eyes, it had also grown slightly! Nothing alarming, but instead of the length of his index finger, it was probably about that of his middle finger instead. The excitement began to creep up his spine, but he resisted his urges and fought himself to sleep. When he awoke, he sprung out of bed and had his face pressed to the tank seconds later. The fish had already grown to full size, and he observed them as he got ready for the day. Not even bones remained of the ones that had died last night. After a moment's pause, he grinned as he pricked himself again and let another drop of blood fall into the tank.

---

He sprinted through the gloom of the forest, twisting through labyrinthine branches and vines with a practiced ease. Since the last time he'd changed a bit. The catlike curiosity was still present in his face, but it had sharpened into something more predatory. He'd filled out, with the musculature of someone who came by it naturally and not one who'd spent time lifting weights. His black hair was now about waist length, and whipped behind him in clean, thick locs. He wore nothing save for a pair of cotton pants to prevent his legs from being lacerated by thorns, and a cloth chest binding to allow him to run properly.
It had been five years since the first time he had caused a Frenzy, and since then the water had been permanently tinged red from the consistent bloodbath. He continued to tempt the fish with one drop of blood. Over time, the average size of ALL of the fish were growing, not just the winners, and he was concerned about using more blood than he already was. Tonight would be the last one. He'd just left the funeral for his father, who had died of old age not two weeks ago. While he still mourned, he also knew that there wasn't anything holding him in this town anymore. He ached for the deadwaters beyond the edge of Pelor's sunlight, and he was going to reach them no matter what. The Pull at the base of his spine throbbed in assent, low pulses teasing at his soul and constantly keeping him on edge. Presently he reached the cave in which the last Frenzy was taking place.
He had had to get rid of the tank once the fish became larger than his hand. There were too many to swim freely anymore, and so he'd gone searching and found a massive, deep underground pool in a cave in the forest on the west side of town. He'd sealed off any and all light from above, and with liberal application of salt (and blood) a hospitable environment for aberrant fish was created. Right now, two fish were locked in a war of attrition. As they grew, the fish were able to survive longer, and the Frenzies became less of a quick melee and more a drawn-out battle. This Frenzy had lasted almost a month, and the last two fish (now about the size of large dogs) had been fighting for twelve hours.
As he squatted by the edge of the water, the more perceptive of the two gladiators noticed something with its pitiful vision and was distracted for a split second. But that was a split second too long, and a quick lunge from the other one had its skull shattered as he slowly floated belly up to the top to join its brethren. The Final Champion ignored him as it whipped around and took off like a torpedo towards the bottom of the pool. However, it didn't make it. The water around it became solid like a cage, and against its will, it was pulled out of the water to violently thrash in front of him. Saliva was running like a waterfall over his lips and down his chin as he stared at the fish before him with a hunger he'd never felt before. It felt primal. If he were able to see himself, he'd notice that his teeth had become sharp points not unlike a shark's in shape, and in that vein a second row of teeth had appeared behind the first one. His eyes had gone fully black, and seemed to take up his entire face. In addition, his hair was standing on end, locs thrashing and whipping about like flags in a storm. His first successful Hunt.
Without thought he immediately bit into the heaving side of the fish, tearing a strip loose as he ignored its thrashing. He barely even tasted it as it slid over his tongue and into his throat, taking another bite without stopping to breathe. The sounds of noisy eating filled the cave for the next hour.
When he came back to himself, he was lying on the floor of the cave, covered in blood. He had ended up eating every single dead fish in the pond as well, somehow consuming well above his body weight. His chest heaved as he came down from the incredible high he had just experienced. The blood on his lips and tongue tasted better than the finest wine, and he knew it was because he had Hunted it. He had spent five years stalking the perfect meal, and the release from the experience was insane. At this moment, he realized that The Pull at the base of his spine had quieted. He felt... at peace for the first time in his life. He glanced at the pool, and at the droplet at the bottom, and turned away. He knew the port was somewhere along the shore, and he'd just walk until he found it. Someone would be staffing a ship, and need a new Cabin Boy, right?

 

[SimSimma]

Just checking in
And letting people know I'm hard at work on the next chappy
(The plan is for it to be about the same length as the first one)
I know a lot of stories start out fast and end up abandoned and I want y'all to know this story has been in my head for actual years in some form or another it's not going anywhere until it's finished!