[center][h1][b][color=0054a6]K̴̥͖̐̅̕͝r̶͌ͅe̷̳̾m̶̟͋ṃ̶̈́e̴̡͗s̵͎̅x̴͇͝ả̷͕t̶͇͑ǔ̵̠r̴̛͙l̸̶̠͖̔̊[/color][/b][/h1][/center]

[color=0054a6][i]Some time ago…[/i][/color]

A cloud of blood surged outwards, filling the little clutching grotto with its dark, arterial presence; another of the spawn lost its life in the clutches of its kin. 

The clutch of vrool spawn slowly popped from their hatchery, one by one tearing themselves free from the lumpen blob that was their egg-sac. Numerous eggs, dozens if not hundreds, sat nestled in the soft confines of the clutch and after nearly two seasons having passed they had begun to hatch. The first that had pulled themselves free, ripping through the soft exterior of their eggs, had swiftly turned towards the clutch itself to tear and bite away at its surface. As with all vrool spawn there was an inherent panic about their actions fueled by a manic instinct for self preservation; if an egg did not hatch, its contents could not kill you. Nearly half of all vrool spawn died this way, aborted by their clutchmates before they were able to hatch.

During the tumultuous period of these initial hatchings the clutch-keepers of tyrants and powerful vrool would go acquire the respective sire so that they might observe. This could be an arduous swim indeed, as the tyrant might be far afield from his grotto. Nevertheless, it was the solemn duty of the clutch-keeper to alert their master of its rising and duty was one thing kept to if life was a valued commodity. In the past the vrool had found others of their own cold-blooded kind to fill the role but ever since the advent of slavery it had been found that warm-blooded concubines served as far better clutch-keepers. They were good at staying in one place, prone to being fond of repetitive tasks, and seemed to enjoy the fairly simple and light workload of a clutch-keeper. Akuan elves in particular were highly prized for their attention to detail and sensitive ears and smell; a notably skilled Akuan clutch-keeper could hear their charge being nibbled on by fish even from the other room. 

Now, with the dread form of Kaarnesxaturl leering over the grotto, his surprisingly dedicated clutch-keeper remained back far and away; she had seen how voracious the spawn could be during the initial stages of their violent birth. The All-Tyrant, for his part, was far more intrigued. 

This was his fifth clutching over the years and like all of the powerful vrool tyrants he was free to allow his spawn full reign on themselves. Some vrool, particularly the poorest of their ilk, suffered the misfortune of having to keep their eggs apart. As Kaarnesxaturl had learned, the policy of clutch-separation had been put in place by a number of tyrants beneath him in order to weaken the lesser classes; let them spawn numerous clutches that begin life small rather than letting them have the added edge at birth over the noble-born vrool who had fed well on their siblings. It was an overtly-civilized notion to the All-Tyrant and one he could hardly stomach yet the use of force to quell the behavior was likely to be a waste; let those petty lords waste their time with use trifles. To Kaarn, it was far better to have his kin act in the old ways before he had risen; there we too many things lost, he had come to realize, over the thousand year rule of his iron tentacle. 

Nevertheless, there were more interesting things to observe than the pointless recollections of distant tyrants and their poorly managed realms. Four previous clutchings had gone quite well, although the fourth had produced no offspring to survive all the way to maturity; the largest, which had eaten all of its siblings, had then promptly died. The warlocks assured Kaarn it had nothing to do with his prime siring but instead that the idiotic whelp had simply torn its internal organs by feasting too thoroughly. Stupid thing best left dead, Kaarn had stated matter-of-factly, for he had no interest in the mentally unsound to carry on his name. Across the other three spawnings he had ten surviving offspring, each now large and dangerous. Some, of course, would always be the runts of their litter, but they yet carried his blood and name and that meant something in of itself. Here would be his last clutch for some time, Kaarn had considered, as he wished to see his youthful spawnlings grow into true terrors before siring more to replace them. 

In the pit the violence had become all the more intense as all the eggs had now hatched or been butchered and devoured. A magnificent swarm of Kaarn’s spawn now tore into one another, the little beaks with limbs keeping maws wide over as tentacles lashed at one another to gain purchase. The tyrant had always enjoyed this part when the spawn became sluggish from stuffing their gullets. Though they had but two simple eyes to rely on, the other four yet ungrown, Kaarn swore he could see a fire in them that mirrored his own. A hearty, boiling chortle warbled from his bell, surging the water around him into tight whirlpools that rose up to press against the top of the cave’s ceiling and bubble away into nothingness. 

At long last there were but three that remained, two locked in contest with one another and a third, smaller one seemingly content with devouring what was left of a slain spawn. That one in particular caught Kaarn’s eyes, all six rolling into place to glare down at the little creature. It was small, perhaps the smallest of all his spawn that had survived the initial conflict of siblings, but there was a cunning in its eyes, an awareness Kaarn couldn’t shake. It seemed to glare back, menacingly, and Kaarn could only help but return the glower. With that Kaarn hissed at his attendants and they came swimming, the clutch-keeper in particular loath to leave the All-Tyrant waiting at the completion of these duties.

“You have served well this cycle, Kaia, and for that you have earned a continued home in my halls. You may keep the room gifted to you for services rendered; your skills will be needed soon, with my oldest sirelings no doubt soon to seek their own.”

The Akuan woman seemed to offer a begrudging smile, partly appreciating what it meant to simply enjoy a room so freely but also entirely unexcited for the arrival of Kaarn’s offspring. They were a violent lot and often looked upon her far less favourably than the tyrant himself. To him she was a prize, a trophy, and a useful one at that; to them she was an object to be tortured at their convenience. Nevertheless, she bore it all with an unfortunate grin.

One of Kaarn’s retainers, an aggressively corpulent monstrosity by the name of Rawg, pulled his way through the circular entranceway and seemed to flop down onto the ground. Baring no weapons or armor in this most sacred of places, he instead simply bore the threat of his size and powerful body. As one of the primary bodyguard retainers of Kaarn he was trusted with a level of freedom about the Ziggurat not afforded to most and often served as a herald for recent arrivals.

“My intrusion holds purpose, Lord; I present the Warlock Xes, arrived to offer sacred duties over the successful spawn.”

Just as Rawg had said, the Warlock-Lord Xes swam gently through the circular aperture that led into the spawning chamber. Unlike the collosal Rawg who needed to force his body through the entrance, the diminutive and shrivelled warlock was more than adequately sized to swim about the place with ease. Clutching a lance made of long coral bound with all manner of trinkets, the witcheries of Xes seemed to emanate out from him to affect the entire room. Even Rawg was quick to make his exit, reviling the presence of the warlock and remaining only until his master gave him freedom to leave. Kaia, for her part, was always unperturbed by warlocks as most non-vrool were. They were dangerous, without a doubt, and their attentions were nothing to bring upon yourself but that was no different from any other vrool. She stood away from the whole exchange and simply watched and waited.

“All-Tyrant, I bid thee salutations and congratulations from all my coven; another successful spawning is worthy of praise, especially for a vrool of your considerable years. We certainly wouldn’t want a repeat of the fourth spawning, after all. Luckily, you are as virile as our great creator, Kaarn.”

Kaarnesxaturl scowled at the warlock knowing full well his words carried no good will within them. Though he had come to respect the witchling creature over the years he knew Xes had a vicious sense of humor and cared little for the decorum by which most vrool behaved around their rightful overlord. The warlock had, however, proven his use time and time again over the years and Kaarn had no interest in altering that situation; let the warlock enjoy his coven so long as he continued to provide the tyrant with what he needed. Two tentacles bade the warlock closer and the wizened fish closed the distance with ample speed belied by his looks and with none of the hesitation many other creatures showed when around Kaarn.

“Three whelps survived, Warlock; an acceptable number. Better than the last time, certainly.”

The trio had finally lost to the ravages of their conflict, the initial energy burst that all vrool spawn surged with during their hatching having left them as they fell to the bottom of the pit to rest. Their beaks opened and closed rapidly as their little bodies seemed to engorge themselves even further with water, their gills small and incapable of retaining enough oxygen to support continued aggression. It was a good thing vrool spawn did run out of energy, of course, for if they didn’t there would certainly be nothing left in the sea. Xes crawled into the grotto and plucked up the little beasts, making sure to keep tentacle far from the business end. With a tentacle-full of tentacles and beaks, Xes pulled himself free of the grotto and carried the would-be princelings to a depression in the spawning cavern meant for just such an occasion. A cut out led down and out into the open sea and through it, a connection to the siren call of Vo and Ku herself, the center of all the ocean waters.  With that the Warlock shut his eyes and began to chant in the holy vonu, summoning the eyes of the many gods the Vrool called their own, but most of all to the creator of them all.
[hr]
In the shadows of the room six eyes watched intently. The black vrool stared with lidless at the ritualized spiritual birth of three new vrool. Something had drawn the entity to this place in this most auspicious of moments, the pangs of destiny and of prophesied life yearning it closer. Though it seemed to flow into the shadows unbound by physical limitations of shape and form its essence filled the space most utterly and the gibbering warlock at the center of the room responded to the presence. The aura of black depths brought heaviness into the chamber as the witchling raised its keening calls higher and higher, the words in vonu beginning to flow together as one. 

Yes, this certainly had happened before.

Mawar, the Black Vrool, the separated limb of Klaarungraxus, felt the furor of memories past flow into its mind. It was unused to such complex thoughts, its mind once more accustomed to concepts rather than solid things. Here was the actual happenings of the world, fed to it through its own senses rather than as information pinged to it by the overmind. It was, in a sense, a sub-overmind all its own. Though the gentle grasp of a mind far greater still tethered Mawar to that distant realm of Saxus, in this moment it thought utterly to itself. This happening had been predicted.

One of the vrool spawn seemed to react to it all, wriggling violently in the unseen dark aura of the avatar of deepest depths. New energy flowed into it and the form darted forward from its spot, interrupting the ritual to dive towards nearest prey. A woman, cursed with only four limbs, was instantly attacked by the creature and blood was drawn. With little effort it was restrained, the master of this cavern acquiring the wayward clutchling and returning it to the warlock unharmed. The woman, though startled, seemed overtly unharmed; it had seemed to only draw blood with its aggression. Mawar watched with fascination, having previously experienced great curiosity where mortal lives were concerned. What had provided fresh motivation to the little beast and why had it attacked the Akuan so far from it when a perfectly viable meal saw gibbering above it? 

Mawar’s attention closed with the ritual as it began in earnest once more and a touch of destiny caught its mind. The quiet hum of Ku called to Mawar for action and the tentacle-mind-made-more felt a pull towards an idea beginning to form in the depths of its thoughts. Uttering a poem known only to the sea under its breath the soft tides began to twist and turn the cloud of blood from the Akuan woman towards the little princeling to be. As its name was chanted into the holy tides of the great blue Vo, so too was it echoed by Mawar, the blood of the Akuan woman offered up as a final gift of sustenance to it. He was named Kremmesxaturl by the warlock Xes and he would have a destiny like no other vrool before or after. Those cunning, deadly eyes opened once more, peering at the world around them with a new found awareness unlike any other. 
[hr]
[color=0054a6][i]In the present day…[/i][/color]

Krem peered casually into the distance over the vast expanse of Aopoa. The immense, continent sized reef stretched out in all directions as far as his six eyes could see. All across that tumultuous landscape the lights of growing undersea civilization could be seen, glowing vibrantly. Even well far afield from the urbanized center that had grown up around Kaarn’s ziggurat the light of villages and strongholds could be seen. Bioluminescent flora was gathered and stacked in tight bundles, used as makeshift torches as fire would be used above. Their lights, even this far out, could be seen on clear days when little refuse and particulates filled the seas. Krem let out a gentle rumble as he thought on their inhabitants. Some would be vrool of course, be they high-born or low-born, living out in the wilds either as their own personal fiefdoms or as servants to greater vrool; of these creatures Krem had little interest. Since the admittance of free Akua into the realm of Aopoa so that they might worship at Ku, many of those lights were shining from villages of warm-blooded folk. Now they were far more enticing curiosities. 

Krem had met plenty of warm-bloods in his time; since he was no serious contender for the throne as the Thirteenth Spawn of Kaarn, he had considerable freedoms to go about his business. He was smaller than nearly all of his kinsmen but larger than the vast majority of low-born vrool and many nobles. That size difference meant little in the ziggurat under the watchful gaze of their sire and his retainers but allowed Krem a great deal of leeway when dealing with lesser vrool. He had harmed and even slain a good number of vrool even in his relatively few years and felt fear of a far smaller number of his race. They were terribly slow-witted, at least normally, and despite his kind’s general capacity for clever thought it required much deliberation for their many-minds to come to an adequate conclusion on anything other than violence. It was warm-bloods that Krem found the more fascinating of the two races.

“Pau hana, Krem, an’ you come foa’ dis place? What's got an akamai fish like you lidat?”

Krem did not respond immediately, nor did he turn. The voice was so obviously Kaia, the heavy accent of his Vonu more than enough even without the inflection of her voice. The Akuan woman had been his shadow ever since his spawning, a baggage that he had hefted with all the derision that came with it. She was his keeper, assigned to him through the commands of the wretched witchling Xes and his father. Oh, the poisonous barbs that had fallen upon his bell for having a warm-blooded keeper. It was the fire of his youth that had planted those shackles so heavily upon his tentacles, the large scar across Kaia’s clavicle made by his very own beak before his overmind had even formed. Regardless of all the disdainful mockery he had received, however, Krem simply couldn’t bring himself to kill her and rid himself of her presence. The akuan woman had been with him since his earliest memories and had been his closest confidante even during the pangs of youth. She had never been fond of when he brought torn up fish and sea-mammals as gifts for her, a proclivity he only recently came to understand, but she was there nonetheless. It was times like these when they were alone where she let her Ku’Ano tongue speak true, dispensing with all the pleasantries she made herself use among less discerning crowds.

[color=0054a6]“I am watching.”[/color]

Kaia closed the distances with the huge cephalopod and stood beside him. There they remained for a long while, peering out across the clear ocean depths at the world around them. Such moments were far from uncommon between the pair, the furtive mind of Krem prone to bouts of melancholy that Kaia was obligated to bear witness to. As they remained unmoving but for the gentle push and pull of the tides one tentacle-mind stretched forward to slowly grab onto Kaia’s forearm, curling around it before simply sitting there passively. Kaia, for her part, moved her arm up to gently pat the dangerous creature on what amounted to his hand, reminding him she was there. Though he hated to admit it, particularly to himself, Kaia had fulfilled a role unknown to vrool; she had nearly been a caring mother for him. A black rage began to overwhelm his heart as he noticed his pitiable act of affection before Kaia’s words, as they always could, pulled him out of that dark abyss. 

“Any kine help I can give?”

The huge princeling vrool let one eye rotate down to look at his surrogate mother. This was not the first time she had melted the ice of his heart with her compassion, an oddity among vrool and unexplainable even among her kind. How could she care for one of his race, afterall, with such motherly affections? Surely his species did not deserve nor desire any of it. Perhaps it was that she had never had a child of her own, or some quirk of her mind lost on the vast majority of intelligent species. No matter the reason, she fulfilled that role gracefully and with not one demand of her pseudo-son. As always, his shell cracked quicker than he would like.

[color=0054a6]”I am lost, Kaia. I drown in my father’s halls.”[/color]

The kindly akuan gave his tentacle a squeeze just as he began to retract it, once more doing exactly what was needed to remind him of her comforting presence. She had always been good at that, even when his mind was first forming. Other than that first bite he had never attacked her, the reason why unknown to even his father’s warlocks. If he had he would have likely been harmed in return as a lesson not to damage his father’s property. So his tentacle remained, holding onto the woman who was by almost all rights his mother. She would know what to say; she always did.

“No can live like dat, likkle He’e. Moke i’a like you, choke thinking, you should be free.”

[color=0054a6]“You are more deserving.”[/color]

The woman laughed in that way only creatures of the sea could; it was never as full as that of air-breathers but it was hearty nevertheless. Somehow Kaia had managed to develop laugh lines living in the world that she did. To that she kicked off the floor to swim up onto his shoulder, patting his head like he was a child. It was a behavior she did somewhat frequently, though only when they were alone, and always when she thought he had said something childishly foolish but devilishly kind. 

“You know dats no how dat works, He’e. Besides, if I was free, no could be here say nice words to you. Dass why. When I float, prayin’ big Klaar heself put me back so I go hana hou.”

At that Krem turned all eyes on the left side of his head to look at Kaia; he regretted in that moment how rarely he allowed himself those moments of weakness. The mockery of his siblings had been enough to stop him from looking at her for guidance and security and even now, grown into a dangerous bull vrool, he could not break from their beaks. Right now, however, he would give himself the luxury. 

[color=0054a6]“What then?”[/color]

“Hmm, kay den. I say you go,” mumbled Kaia, seemingly thinking deeply about her suggestion, “Aurite, yea, you up and go. No moa stayin’ heya’; make youself free. Momona fo’ da picking, your life be, He’e.”

Krem rumbled his acknowledgement as his other three eyes stared out across the sea. He certainly could do exactly that; there was nothing holding him back from that freedom. His siblings came and went as they pleased, as he had plenty. He just always returned. Many vrool, particularly those who were so far from their sire’s throne, left to make room for themselves in the world. Why not he? Though more laconic than the rest of his race, and perhaps more clever, and baggaged with considerably more affection than other vrool, what truly made him so different that he could not? Nothing. A pang of awareness hit him, a thought he had had numerous times before but relegated to the depths of his mind every time. 

[color=0054a6]“You will join me.”[/color]

To that, Kaia was uncharacteristically quiet. His three left eyes stared at her, glowering with an internal glow that demanded an answer of her. In a deeply unsettling moment, she turned away. Krem’s heart fell in his chest, the massive organ thumping so powerfully that the water vibrated around him. After a long while she turned back, true sadness marring her visage and the closest thing to tears an Akua could experience underwater forming in her eyes. A smile broke through despite it all as she leaned in and hugged him around the head, his eyes remaining open despite the closeness.

“You know I can’t. I wish I could.”

Her short response and the change from her less freely used Ku’Ano accent to one more managed and restrained told him everything. The unfortunate tidings of that realization that dawned on him were enough to make even a vrool weep, if only they could. Instead he simply sank inwards, his eyes deepening in the mass of muscle and water-sacs that amounted to his skull. It gave the monstrosity a pensive look, as if his eyes were slightly closed in thought. He knew full well what she meant. She was the property of the All-Tyrant and Kaarn parted with nothing that he had personally gained. Krem reflected pensively on the idea; perhaps all mortals had to leave their mothers eventually. This was not a time for weakness on his part for it would be Kaia who would suffer far more than he. It was she who was chained here, not he.

[color=0054a6]“Then I will return.”[/color]

Kaia forced out a smile, a small laugh following suit as she set her chin down on the top of his head. As they floated there several more tentacles rose up to lay gently across Kaia’s back, holding her passively; it was the closest thing to a hug the pair had ever experienced. They remained for a long while, the gentle words of Ku emanating from the deep pit where the urstone lay just off in the distance. It was a solemn song that undersea evening, as if the ocean’s center knew their pain and mourned their parting. No mother should ever need say goodbye to their child, though every mother would. It was a story even the ocean itself could shed a tear for. In that moment dark things watched, humbled by two beings’ parting. When before had mortals wrought such empathy in the hearts of greater things? Perhaps it was the absurdity of it all; a vrool boy to leave home an akuan mother to say goodbye. This moment would be remembered in more minds than just the pair who suffered it.
Krem’s heart beat powerfully as that moment reached its crescendo; he would leave and he would return, greater still than what he was now. The hot blood in his veins, known to no vrool but Krem, demanded it.
[hr]
Far from that distant setting the black vrool Mawar mourned. Even when she had been but a submind of the vaster entity that was Klaarungraxus, when it was known simply to itself as Right-Forward Two-Down, it had felt a fascination with the mortals of Galbar. Now, with her mind more her own than ever before, Mawar felt more for their troubles than even Klaar had ever felt possible. The surprisingly lithe form of Mawar floated melancholic on the waves, keening with the song of Ku as the pair, ocean and avatar, wailed for the loss of a son for a mother. 

This act of loss simply could not go unanswered. 

Mawar and Ku, two voices of the ocean, rose their gentle hum into a cacophony of oceanic voices. The dirge of the sea rose up, an orchestra belting out a tune of both woeful desolation and absolute love. In the oceans just west of Kubrajzar a massive maelstrom formed, water from all directions being twisted into that single point. Huge black clouds gathered in the skies, crackling with lightning and thunder before billowing forth enough water to fill every lake on the surface of Galbar. Waves rose and crashed the size of mountains, churning the surface into a violent mess. 

Despite the magnificent furor of the storm above, the ocean below was the complete opposite side of the proverbial coin. All the energy that churned the surface and drew in millions of gallons of water filled the sea bed with nutrients and the richness of life. Though the surface roiled above, giving the image akin to a stormy day on the surface, there was a refreshing current in the water that filled the seafloor with hope. The storm was utterly massive, large enough to blanket an entire archipelago in its dark embrace, but it brought the gift of devotion as the ultimate symbol of a mother’s loss and love. 

With that the storm began to move, slowly and inexorably, eastward to the coast of Kubrajzar. Though the storm certainly seemed ferocious in nature, wherever land and life was the eye of the storm followed. Gentle rains and soft winds, spears of golden or silvery light thrusting through the clouds, would herald a mother’s love and pain to the world. For as any good mother, though they felt hurt and pain in their hearts for their children’s loss and suffering, they would never let it harm those they loved. And Mawar, for her part, understood the pains of a mother with distinct clarity. To the Akua it would be named Makuakane Makuahine; the Mother’s Heart.
[hr]
[hider=Summary]
Before the present day, we see the fourth spawning of the All-Tyrant Kaarn. Shown to have had ten successful, still extant offspring, Kaarnesxaturl is seeking one last spawning. With the assistance of the clutch-keeper Kaia, an Akuan servant owned by the All-tyrant, and the Warlock-Lord Xes, the spawning goes over without a hitch. Three vrool spawn survive the initial encounter, two fairly large spawn and one noticeably smaller one. The smallest already shows a flash of destiny about it. 

With Mawar watching, Xes goes through the process of providing true Vonu names to the spawn to recognize them as true vrool. The Warlock’s ritual is stopped by the smallest spawn, who would be Kremmesxaturl, when it dives at the Akuan woman and draws her blood. Mawar notices a clear sense of prophecy about the spawn Krem and draws Kaia’s blood into the would-be princeling. The rest of the ritual goes without incident and the spawn are raised in an appropriately vrool manner. 

Flashing forward, Krem has been shown to be raised with Kaia as his keeper due to his hot-blooded nature. Krem develops a sense of youthful attachment to Kaia who serves as a surrogate mother to him in her own way. Though mocked for this attachment, Krem grows up to be the quintessential vrool despite his personality differences. In a moment of weakness, Krem expresses his feelings of imprisonment by remaining among his kin. Kaia, doing the motherly thing, tells Krem to leave if he wishes. They both share a moment of anguish when Krem requests come with him, knowing full well she can’t.

Far from Aopoa and Kaarn’s ziggurat, Mawar continues to watch. Alongside Ku, the voice of the ocean, Mawar sings into being a massive storm. Despite the outwardly destructive nature of the storm, it calms when nearing life and brings nutrients and good health through its churning of the seas wherever it goes. 
[/hider]

[hider= MP Summary]
Start 5MP/5DP

>5 MP - Consecration of the hero Kremmesxaturl.
>5 DP - Significant changing the landscape, creating the archipelago sized storm named the Mother’s Heart.

[/hider]