[center][img]https://txt-dynamic.static.1001fonts.net/txt/b3RmLjcyLjE1MjI0Yy5WR2hsSUVoaFpHVmhiaUJVY21sa1pXNTAuMAAA/gondess-demo.regular.png[/img][h3][sup]A Collab Between [@yoshua171] & [@Zurajai].[/sup][/h3][/center][hr]
Far beneath the protruding skein of the world to the bedrock of the ocean, past great trees of stone, in the darkness of the deep a silent susurration dwelled. Like an unseen predator, it expanded its domain, filling the ocean with its siren song and a deadly, imperceptible embrace. From it, lifeforms fled, and those who failed fell upon the world’s floor and drowned in its crushing hold. It was a great pressure, an unseen blinding blackness. At its center was a shaft of oil-slick stone, a pearl of angst and discontent thrice pressed into Galbar’s stolid stone. With time the darkborne life of those forgotten ocean currents came to accept its presence and adapt and though few Vrool lived in that unbroken occlusion, some remained, their many-minded limbs coming to begrudgingly fear and revere that strange place.

[i]Whisper of the All-Sire, bite not upon mine limb. Grasp not at my bell, bless me from afar.[/i]

Their hides--so long-held apart from even the gentle light of the One-Good-Orb--shaded darker, so that dark water was indistinguishable from the pitch of their slick flesh. Many creatures, pale or dark of scale, adapted to the greater pressure of the strange artifact. Akuans--those drowned in the place--gained a subtle resilience, letting them recover from the crushing pressure of its far-flung touch.

Decades stacked upon themselves and with their passing, those mortals who gathered beneath the vast continent, in the deepest depths, began to build and linger. A clan of Akua, the Kha’ Anaku Rae, formed amidst the columns of that dark place, and so schools were corralled and controlled by their hands. Coral and oceanic flora were sown in repeating frequency upon the soil and that pillared bedrock of Khesyr and eventually they took root. Ever so slowly, in the pressure of those depths, a civilization formed, and a faint light pierced the vast Drowned Forest of Anatsa Kest.

A century passed and a great expanding ring of bioluminescent reef formed to encircle and protect the great column of pressure. While some wildlife swam unaffected within the killing embrace of the Trident, the Kha’ gave it space and revered it from a safe distance. Only their dead were given unto its great pressure.

Splits in the clan erupted, and after a period of discontent and war, the united split thrice--as if to reflect the Hadean idol. So that Kha’ Anaku Rae became the Kha’ as one, each taking their own titles to separate themselves from their former kin.

The Kha’ Wae remained in the central band of the Anatsa Kest, their get was the largest, and so they kept their grip on much of the holdings that the three had built together. Delving deeper, the Kha’ Kū’i made their home beneath, so that all which drifted down--forgotten--might feed them and theirs. Perhaps those lost to memory might rise up once more and retake their domain of eld. Their numbers were least amongst the three, and yet with few predators and fewer rivals in those depths, they claimed the most, carving their homes into the pillars beneath the sea, and growing black jagged coral. They came to rely less upon their sight, developing their hearing--and the reach of their voice--above all else. Among them came to be born many to whom deepspeak came more naturally. Yet, far above both fled the Kau Kha’ Tai and theirs were a numerous breed with far-reaching sights and ambition. Though their territories were smaller than the others, they spread out far and wide, connected by patrolled currents like great highways beneath the ocean.

Between this triquetra of Kha’ hate simmered, but time heals all wounds and so through the influence of centuries they became almost united once again. With their strength and numbers, they spread far and wide and while allies, they each held their own territories spread out across the vast tides of the hidden ocean beneath Khesyr’s stone.

Still, even with the sprawling luminescence of coral and stone, and the strength of many Akuans, the sacred peace that remained about the great Trident could not remain forever. For it had been wrought by He-Who-Spawned-the-Oceans, and so twas destined to be wielded. Yet, no Vrool had yet managed to pass the hardy defenses of the Akuan Kha’. For their numbers were great and their cleverness a thing spawned from the collective of many minds in unison. In their histories, carved in libraries shaped like stone columns was held a history of slavery and obeisance.

These Kha’ they had tasted freedom...and they were not soon to give it up. Not without a fight.

Of course, with two millennia behind them and countless battles triumphed, the Kha’ perhaps grew too arrogant in their strength. So it is that the tides of change slowly creep upon them, coming from a place of light where no longer are they fit to dwell. On this, a calm day, same as many before it, arrives a Vrool of a different sort.

On this day--within the outer reaches just beyond the Undersea of Khesyr--arrives a Vrool of truly royal blood and with Krem’s arrival...change is just past the next reef.
[hr]
The young prince of Aopoa gazed into the dark abyss that stretched out beyond him in all directions, the inky depths of that dark and distant realm. His journey from the realm of his father, the All-Tyrant Kaarn, had found him buffeted and driven to the far reaches of the world. Gliding upon the western currents leading from the Tyrant’s reefs, Krem had wandered from the benthic domain of his spawning to find himself among the strange edifices that held aloft the oddling continent of Khesyr. Though the surface did not interest Krem farther than he could throw it, the gentle whispers of the ocean called the princeling deeper and deeper into the veritable forest of basalt columns that stood ominously in the stygian confines below. He had slowly delved deeper into the dark realm of Anasta Kest, a name unknown to him before that day. To the Vrool in the capital and the Akuan slaves who whispered of it, it was Kexestarxa. Accounts of the place had always been scarce and the weakness of the local vrool alongside the scarceness of food had kept the armies of tyrants well from that place. And though they would not admit it, Tyrants feared that place; tales of supernatural things emanated from there and all wise Tyrants gave wide berths to such alien things.

[color=0054a6][i]Obvious why…[/i][/color] asserted the laconic internal monologue of the Thirteenth-Spawn as he glided through the depths. 

His journey had taken him deep within and although the darkness was now becoming more than even he was commonly prepared for it was not enough to dissuade him. He had learned from a diminutive vrool at the outskirts of the continent’s depths more of the Akua who dwelt within. Strange folks, oddly colored, and of poor demeanor; they had no love of the vrool or even their distant kin. Nevertheless, the princeling delved further onwards. That had been nearly a week of travel behind him now and Klaar had begun to regret his choices. In this dark realm even his predatory skills were put to the test; he had to admit to himself as well that he had never truly needed to hone those skills to the razor edge his race was built for. The prey here was skittish and clever, prone to fleeing even at the first sign of threat, and those that did not remained due to a considerable sense of security in their own defenses. He had been able to win over a carcass from a relatively small Deep Drake, a deep-diving whale slain by the monstrosity, but had abandoned the corpse after only some feasting when a far larger sea serpent caught wind of his rapast. 

Now with his stomachs gurgling ferociously and demanding sustenance even to the point of consuming himself, Krem knew he was in danger. Given much longer his body would begin consuming his own muscles to maintain his life and weaken him further. The life here that he found easiest to capture and devour were too small to sustain him indefinitely and required patience enough to keep him from continuing on his journey. The idea of remaining longer beneath the continent seemed even more deadly than simply starving in his travels so Krem had continued unabated. Worse still, he noticed two days prior that he was being stalked. Though they likely believed him unaware of their presence, Krem was no measling spawn of this fetid place; he might be smaller than his siblings but he was without equal among the vrool these Akua had faced. Gripping his thrusting spear of sharpened black coral and bone in one tentacle tightly, he had continued ever onward into the murk. A voice yet called to him and no manner of distraction could pull his attentions from it; he had to know its source.

It seemed though that the lurking sightless shadows of that murky deep abyss had other stark intentions for his most regal, ostentatious fate. From afar something disturbed the currents as they passed across Krem's skin, perhaps alerting him to a more dangerous incursion that was likely soon to reach him. Then, despite that warning, a wave of chaotic currents struck at Krem and the almost soundless droning of some far off singing sea-thing reached the water-treading Krem.

Kremmesxaturl recoiled away from the currents, allowing their forcefulness to move him; it was never wise to simply stand against the tide. Spitting out a curse in the Holy Vonu, a riptide formed around Krem that pulled him from the path of the deepspeak assault. All twelve tentacles jumped to position, forming a cage of defensive, dexterous tines to strike out at his assailants. All but one were emptied save for one of his lower tentacles baring the dangerous coral barb he wielded as a weapon. As he waited, eyes peering out into the depths, a gentle hum escaped his bell that sonorously echoed off his surroundings. Though most vrool might have announced their intent for violence then and there, challenging their hidden foes, Krem was far more patient; if it had been a vrool he would not have been ambushed, after all.

From the formless deep a silence seemed to reach and grasp, but its hold could not last for long as more deepspeak was unleashed, its sound like a far off gurgling gasp. It came at him from below, but its threat was ponderous, and so something else reached before it glanced against his hide. The rippling waves of its passing deadened by forces most arcane, an unknown shape struck out at Krem, flinging forth a long, bladed shaft, which aimed for any gap in his net of arms.

With a keening howl Krem rotated to fight against the attackers though he knew full well he had stumbled well and truly into their ambush. Though he had no time now, there would be curses saved for later to sting him for not acting sooner. Sounds of two currents crashing against one another, the emanations of a school of fish being parted by a predator diving into their wake, and the din of forceful waves crashing against the seafloor roared from Krem. The deepspeak chant produced a tight area of violent, opposing riptides that struck the lance on either side and dashed it in either direction, robbing it of momentum. With the women deflected Krem launched himself away from the center mass, having seen Akua hunt large game in a similar manner; he would not be their prey, that was for certain. His intense burst of speed brought him towards one of the great pillars, the princeling intent on using it to anchor at least one side of himself from the ambush. As he arrived at the pillarous cleft he spun about, baring his weapon and tentacles with two lower limbs grabbing hold of the wall to aid in movement. With beak bared, Kremmesxaturl prepared for the next strike to fall.

Left-to-right and right-to-left high pitched noises of indecipherable nature shifted across the flesh of his bell, alerting him of some unknown communication. Then, from ahead, a slowly turning current began to manifest, as if a whirlpool had been sucked beneath the ocean and made to against him press. The discarded thrusting implement was pulled off by the swirling current and soon vanished from all perception, not that it was lost.

[hr]
Chittering arguments and calls of circumlocution swept between the members of the Kha'.

"Do see how big tis? It's grown fat from far-off crop!"

Another voice slipped swiftly through the tides, almost undetectable to their prey. "Foe-down nine. Foe-left ninety. Foe-face twenty--shut up Tis Tha', you echo much."

"Ah, what's harm then, mmn?" Tis Tha' shot back, her query followed swiftly by their shifted coordinates and an utterance of action.

[hr]
A blast of narrow force struck out, passing through a gap in limbs, to strike at Krem's side. The sound of its speaker was lost before it struck. The attack was not followed up, but the strength of the growing, churning, riptide continued to grow.

Krem’s eyes darted back and forth from the enemies hanging in the murk, their silhouettes too difficult to make out consistently in the extremely low light. He counted at least a half dozen of them, though that could easily have been a false appraisal. All the vrool knew for certain was that he was starving, outnumbered, and reacting. To continue to follow at their pace was folly; he needed to gain the initiative. Two more tentacles joined the pair already pressed against the pillar, the double brace of limbs tightening up into thick coils as he pressed himself ever closer to the stone. He waited patiently for the next communication, an errant cry of well-channeled Vonu that kept their voices directed to specific areas. When at last one spoke more freely, perhaps talking to more than just one of its comrades, Krem rotated. The hulking body of the vrool propulsed itself from the column with tidalwave force, immediately tightening and lengthening out to make for as hydrodynamic a projectile as possible. The terrifying amounts of energy generated to allow Krem to close the distance sent spiderwebs of cracks dancing out in all directions from his launching point on the pillar.

Two tentacles surged forward ahead of his torpedo-like assault, one wielding his thrusting barb while the other simply waited behind the forward guard. In less than a second he was on top of the assailant, now clearly seen as an Akua. The creature’s eyes went wide in horrified surprise at the rapidity of Krem’s dive, attempting to paddle back while thrusting forward with a spear. Kremmesxaturl’s well-trained tentacles set about their business with a literal mind of their own. The tentacle wielding his barb batted the head of the opposing spear aside just enough to miss his body by centimeters while the second rapidly enveloped the haft of the spear, tugging it with contemptuous ease from the attacker’s hands. In that instant of disarmament four more tentacles dove inwards, grasping at outstretched limbs to gain purchase and tug the foe towards Krem’s gnashing beak. 

[color=0054a6]”Change your course,”[/color] blurted out the princeling vrool, both towards his acquired hostage and the surrounding Akua; if he could not see them, he could at least let them hear him. Unlike vrool Akua cared for the lives of their kin and now Krem was betting everything on that sentiment, [color=0054a6]”Or he dies.”[/color]


Struggling vainly for but a brief moment, the Kha’ found that he was soundly caught and so fell into utter stillness. Unable to move of his own volition, Tis Tha’ released a short string of high pitched noises--far more grating upon the senses up close than they’d been from afar. Turning then to face the deadly beak of the vrool, the Kha’ swallowed and spoke in halting tongue more familiar to Krem’s mind.

“They. Leave me here to die. Come back later. Kill,” he said, no hesitation in his tone. Yet, in the akuan’s body there was a subtle tension which to Krem would be palpable against his limbs. Tis was lying.

Far off high-strung noises, their directions shifted by deepspeak’s insistence, pinged against the vrool’s many tentacles as the unseen others spoke.

[color=0054a6]”Then I will be fed.”[/color]

The Thirteenth Spawn’s threat was palpable, rippling through the waters like the aftershock of a deep-sea quake. It was clear as day that he couldn’t pass this chance by. If he did the risk to himself would be far greater, his gambit having brought him far out into open waters once more. Further still, despite the captured Akua’s best efforts to disguise his lie the deception was clear as day to Krem; though he could not hear their words exactly, the others of this one’s ambushing party were worried.

[color=0054a6]”We need not fight,”[/color] came the surprising followup to the previous threat, [color=0054a6]”I seek the voice below.”[/color]

There was a very visible release of tension around Tis’ limbs, a metaphorical slackening of the leash that indicated willingness to follow through with the promise. Though they could tighten down in an instant, even snap bones with ease with enough effort, the tentacles hinted gently at freedom. As he spoke a second throughline of his voice carried the conversation outwards towards the others, rippling Vonu riding upon verses of its own making to distant ears.

Insistent echoes argued 'cross currents like subtle whispers, barely heard, then fell silent in stark resistance to holy Vonu's call. Tis' limbs relaxed briefly, then stiffened. A great pressure built out of sight. The akuan swallowed nervously and though he could not sweat, a look of clear discomfort slipped onto his visage.

A moment passed, tension building somewhere in the murk, then capitulating, Tis Tha' let out a pleading bark.

"Stop!"

The pressure fell away, Tis relaxed, his eyes eyeing the vrool's closed maw with pleading nervousness. Still, he did not speak further, almost as if waiting. Around them, faintly illuminated particulate--stone, sand, and flecks of blood--drifted through the undersea. Then, when silence had almost outworn its welcome, six more shaded shapes drifted into the reach of vroolish eyes. Two of the strange akuans held weapons, while three more were black as pitch--barely silhouettes in the dark, their eyes glowing faintly.

One let loose their weapon, and it drifted gently in the waves. Unburdened, she swam forth and gestured to their friend.

"Let go," she said, her accent light and lilting where the paler Tis' was thick and rough. She spoke Krem's tongue with clarity, lacking indecision, her tongue familiar with its taste. "You are proven now. Few need fight among the maiole."

She paused, her azure eyes falling on his bloodied limbs, lips twisting downwards at the sight.

Her words tinged now with crashing waves and deep flung ocean's might, she further clarified. 

"You will not come to further harm." Casually she drew one taloned finger across the outside length of one arm from shoulder down to hand. Blood as black as volcanic silt slipped out gently as if at her command.

Two of the others spoke in their strange high-tongue, looks of faint disbelief on their faces. The rest remained unmoved.

Krem’s senses devoured every input the strange Akua provided, from every tentacle’s sense of touch to his two forms of hearing and everything in between. They truly were like nothing he’d ever experienced before. Though the princeling himself had better control of himself, sub-minds pinged back rampant curiosity; their language in particular was keenly sought after, the statocysts dotting his body responding to the high pitched tongue with considerable intensity. It did not take much for him to realize what the behavior meant, at least vaguely enough, and he took the woman’s behaviors as a clear sign of the honesty behind her words. Kremmesxaturl offered up a brief prayer to the All-Sire for his luck; if these had been vrool he’d been ambushed by, he was confident he would have been slain. 

[color=0054a6]”Then we are alike,”[/color] he responded in Vonu while watching with fascination at the woman’s actions. The drawing of your own blood was meaningless in vrool culture, perhaps even a sign of early onset insanity, but the heir of Aopoa was wise enough in his few years to think otherwise. He trusted the same was not required of him, blood always leaking from a light wound received from the initial ambush. 

[color=0054a6]”I seek the voice below,”[/color] reiterated Krem then, unwilling to allow the lull in activity to potentially sour his chances further. A rumble rolled through his body as the extra exertion reminded him of just how hungry he truly was. [color=0054a6]”And a meal.”[/color]

The woman nodded faintly, a regal air about her, before she turned from Krem and gestured to her kin. The others let out small noises of acknowledgement and shifted back into the mire of shadows.

Swimming to the edges of vrool vision, the akuan leader took hold of her strangely wicked weapon, then turned back to look 'pon Krem. Her eyes glimmered faintly in the murky dark, unwavering as they met his many-eyed gaze. A small smile quirked her lips, "Come, maiole, swim with me." Then, without further hesitation, the akuan turned and darted off into the black.

Krem groaned deeply, entirely displeased with the game he was fairly confident she was playing. Unlike most vrool he knew the emotional cues of mortal species well and that smile told him everything. No matter. With that he used what energy he had to keep up with her, surging through the water in tow. He trusted their words that he would go unharmed, more out of desperation than anything. A twinge of guilt came over him as one of his subminds spoke back realizations of new options arising; if they were not completely honest, he could simply eat everyone in their village.

Driving the thoughts from his mind, Krem swam onward. If nothing, he would at least have a chance to get closer to the voice that called to him in the distant depths. With that he continued to swim forward with the Akua, keeping pace with them with relative ease but feeling the sapping of his energies deeply.

[hr]
In the inky depths of the Drowned Forest it was difficult to tell how long one had been swimming or how far they had come, and with dark water stretching out in all directions Krem could scarcely tell--after a brief time--which direction he had come from.  Nonetheless, he and the Kha’ hunters traveled for some time through the waves, but after an indeterminate period had passed, the vrool might notice a faint change in the waters, as if an unseen light had touched his flesh. Moment passed and the hunters took up formation around him, with the woman swimming just ahead of him.

Slowly the gentle pull of a deepspeak current tugged at his body, easing his way through the depths. The Kha’ speakers had begun to guide his path. Where once silence had reigned, the gentle tonal hum of deepspeak now droned on and at the very edges of that undersea horizon, the illusion of illumination began to make itself known.

The woman swam ahead some, her voice reaching back through the waves to reach him. “Your name, maiole?”

Krem swam onwards, stunned by the surprising change in scenery. The thrumming vonu could be heard by anyone educated enough to listen for it and Krem himself was no mere foundling at its use. The light that began to illuminate the space before him wasn’t true light, that much Krem knew, and he had seen such acts of vonu accomplished by warlocks for their hidden laboratories. It spoke of this community’s skill with the holy tongue of Klaar and the princeling found himself surprisingly humbled by their unity. It was only then, as he praised them, that he realized he had unintentionally ignored his host.

[color=0054a6]“Kremmesxaturl,”[/color] he responded, dispensing with his heritage both out of general disinterest and a sense that it would do him nothing but harm among these Akua, [color=0054a6]“Or Krem.”[/color]

A moment passed as his eyes moved separate from one another, devouring the information they could glean. Even his tentacles seemed to be acting on overdrive, their statocysts rumbling in tune with the vonu. This was, for all Krem could perceive, one of the most unique places he’d ever experienced in the sea. Not that he had seen much. Even his precocious grasp of laconic communication seemed overwhelmed, driving him to speak more than he had in the weeks of his travel.

[color=0054a6]“Where are we? What is this place?”[/color]

There was no response for a time, as if she perhaps had not heard his words. Before it could drag on, one of the other Kha' took up the slack, giving him a toothy lopsided grin. "D'nah mind Tae-nā Olūra, she is ridin' za path," the warrior said in a rather lyrical accent, the sound perhaps more familiar to the vrool.

"Name's Uak nimu," he explained, unbidden, swimming in synch with Krem, seeming undaunted by the vrool's greater size. "Ya seein' za song woven through our tides maiole. The gentle glow o' masterful Vonu ent za subtle glow of far off--ah, was za word--...." Nimu fell silent, a frown warping his features before he seemed to dismiss the issue, "Kha' grow food. No bright orb. Down 'ere it makes its own light."

That said, he fell silent, side-eying the vrool with a glint of amusement.

Krem returned the side-eyed glance with three of his own, staring at so-called Uak quizzically. His accent was thick, that much was completely apparent, but Krem was able to muddle through. Though his dialect was distinctly different from that of his keeper, Kaia, the shared inflections of the Akuan tongues spoken in Vonu were similar enough. The description of it all fascinating the vrool as he swam ever onward, now allowing for much of the movement to be driven by the current.

[color=0054a6]”I see.”[/color]

Krem retreated into his mind's-eye as the descent continued, his gaze turning away from the oddling Akua and instead towards the numerous sights about his personage. All six eyes moved separately, creating nearly a 360 degree image of the space. It was unique, to say the least, and nothing like anything he’d experienced on Aopoa. To him it was almost like going onto the surface, so different it was from the world of his birth.

Nimu bobbed his head with an appreciative smile, and returned his gaze forwards. The only sounds from then on were the occasional bursts of high-tongue and the far rarer stumbling depth of Nimu’s accent, talking idly of simple things if only to fill the time. It was a long journey, it seemed, but from time to time the hunters would dart off and return with a glowing morsel or some strange floran delicacy of the deep. Once, Olūra herself departed, returning with something larger than the rest as if not to be outdone. She ate little of it, discarding it behind her after only a few measly bites, as if to say that she was above such things as hunger. However, held within that casual carelessness was an understanding of their guest, for the leavings remained untouched by the other Kha’ and instead drifted well into the reach of Krem.

Perhaps, if he were paying close attention, he might have noticed a single furtive glance from the leader of the party.

Nonetheless they continued on for some time and though it was blacker than the foulest of Klaar’s darkest moods, the young vrool would notice that at times they strayed around entire patches of ocean as if skirting the edge of some unseen territory. The perceptive Krem might even catch the faint rumbling noises of some unknown beast lurking far off in the depths. With each league of currents crossed it became more and more apparent why no vrool legion had managed to conquer the Kha’. It was a sobering thought to consider that the akuans managed to survive this place at all, let alone thrive within it and thrive they did.

As they crossed some unseen boundary, the ghostly lights on the horizon grew markedly in brightness and number. Around Krem, the akuans seemed to collectively relax, as if before they had been ready for an attack from any direction and now they could finally breathe. Splitting away from one another, all except their leader and the two blackfleshed akuans swam each in their own directions.

For her part, Olūra slowed the pace of their reduced party before turning to regard Krem. After a moment of intensity, a small smirk tugged at the corner of her lips and she spread out her arms.

“Welcome, maiole, to Anatsa Kest.”

As the words left her lungs and bubbled through the shifting currents of the blackest sea, they passed through another unseen barrier and revealed to Krem was a vast sprawling city. Coral of all types--and plants yet unseen by the vrool--protruded from almost every available surface, turning each endless column of stone into a glowing menagerie of life. With each sweeping pass of his many eyes more details would reveal themselves to him. First the sheer vastness of the settlement, then the lush bounty of the thriving undersea metropolis. Though it was hardly bright, the ghost-like lights that danced to-and-fro in the gently shifting currents of the undersea made it seem as if the illumination itself swam alongside the akuans who called this place home.

In every direction, branching towers of coral, their growth seemingly guided by a cunning intellect, forging from their organic forms pieces of incredible artistry like spiralling towers and twisting structures--some closed off, and others with many perforations. To one side a group of akuans flitted in and out of a coral structure, gathering up--or returning--what could only be weapons. The building was full of long curving entryways and resembled a cage more than any enclosed sort of thing. As he watched an argument seemed to break out between a group of akuans who had seen him.

Hearing the commotion, Olūra burbled softly, seeming to laugh at their foolishness. The displeased Kha’ rushed the armory, but just as they neared it, the entire structure twisted and a hollow [i]thrum[/i] shook the water. The coral had shut itself and--apparently--it had been grown in such a devilishly clever manner that the motion created a deepspeak utterance, for the would-be assailants were sent tumbling back through the waves. They were soon gathered by another group of akuans, chiding them and leading them away.

Olūra shook her head, her mantle drifting lightly in the water. “Some suffer at the sight of your kind. Their pride is fragile. Worry not. Despite them, you are safe and welcome here, maiole...Kremmesxaturl.”

The other black-scaled Kha’ shared a glance, then looked to their leader, letting out a number of barely audible vibrations. Olūra nodded in response and waved them off. They departed together, darting away with surprising velocity. Casually, Olūra gestured to him, turning to swim at a more leisurely pace.

“If you have questions…” she trailed off, letting him infer the rest of her statement.

For his part, Krem had observed with intensity unequaled by species of simpler and lessened senses. Every inch of his body was dotted with some form of sensory organ or nerve bundle, each new morsel of information devoured and digested by numerous minds. Though his kind often suffered from slow wittedness Krem felt no such compunctions, his cognizant mind active in its consumption of the raw data left out for him. In this time he had seen things unlike anything he had trapped in the realm of Aopoa and even more that was far more similar than these Kha’ Akua would like to believe. Even their response to him, their aggression in the face of his danger, was more alike to vrool than otherwise. Despite the potential danger posed by an angered populace, however, in this low light, more than enough for voracious vrool eyes, he was king. He had fed well off what they had provided, enough to feel energy roaring in his veins. What was far more interesting than their reactions, however, was that of the structure itself.

His mind acted quickly, picking apart what information he had gleaned. The city itself was large, though dwarfed by the sprawl that spilled from around Aopoa, but lacked the design of mortal planners. It was alive, that much was certain, and this concept alone played at the fantastical in Krem’s thoughts. If he was right, and he was sure he was, he knew this Anasta Kest was one of the great wonders of Klaar’s world. Words from Olūra, his guide and patron in this place, brought him back out from the oceanic depths of his mind.

[color=0054a6]“It thinks. How?”[/color] His question came simply, thunderously, as if there was now something powering his interest forward. Another thought burst through his brain, rippling out into words, [color=0054a6]”Where is its heart?”[/color]

The waves rippled out from the thunder of his question and though the bustling of the Undersea’s greatest city took paltry notice, it was as if the currents about them had been struck to utter stillness. A tilted head, widened eyes, briefly parted lips, then a guarded expression, and a wary gaze. Olūra searched his visage for a time, allowing the silence to stretch between them, forming patterns that revealed the importance of his question. Still, though she was faced with a vrool of royal brood--his size speaking of many conquests, his words speaking of a deep and calculating intelligence--the Kha’ woman did not seem daunted. A small smile touched her eyes.

“You are like coral turned inside itself. Soft outside, but sharp within,” she regarded him a moment, then frowned. “No...perhaps the suppleness of your flesh is an illusion as well. You are more like a javelin. The core of you is sharp, and though the rest is smooth, it is just as much a weapon.” She nodded, satisfied with her simile. To this Krem offered no thanks, simply a continuation of his glowing, six-eyed attention.

Turning briefly, high-tongue casting out into the waters, Olūra increased her pace, facing him once more. She navigated the corridors of the city with the ease of one who has made it an extension of themselves. Without looking at her path, she spoke to him, assured that she would get where she needed to without the aid of her eyes.

To Krem she said these words. “It is customary to treat guests--our new maiole especially--with a small feast and honors for their accomplishment. However, I see that the sharpness of your curiosity will cut unnecessarily if it is not first sated.” She gave him a small, if winsome, smile, as if to tell him that she knew the hunger of his mind far outstripped that of his belly.

“Still...you must obey my words here as if I were your…” she paused a moment, searching for a word, “...mmn All-Tyrant.” She nodded to herself, satisfied that she had remembered this thing. A flush of iridescent color spread from her cheeks over her black-scaled hide, before vanishing with the shifting of the light and her mind’s focus.

“Will you agree to this maiole-Kremmesxaturl?” Her gaze then was heavy, as if behind it was held the weight of responsibility far outshining the light of her individual existence, or even that of Krem’s royal blood. There was a formalness to her tone as well, a somberness in her manner. Further, he would realize that she had stopped speaking in a more familiar akuan language, but had said the words in High-tongue and Holy Vonu both. Several akuans around them glanced in their direction, but quickly turned away--as if pointedly ignoring them. Some of them seemed more startled at the sight of Olūra than by his magnificent many-limbed form.

“In this, at least, you must submit yourself,” she clarified. “I will not betray this trust. I swear it on my name-entire,” she continued, pressing a hand over her bosom, three fingers together so the thumb and pinky made the two smaller tines.

Then, dropping the high tongue, she spoke her name, a regal air about her, its like expressed in perfect Vonu which few might achieve.

“Kha’ Kū’i Tae-nā Olūra Mai Kotoa, by this name I swear.”

The currents about them swirled and churned in a display of her conviction, speaking against his smooth flesh the essence of her seriousness and--to some small degree--her very nature. As the currents stilled, he would notice that those Kha’ nearby now either gawked at the display...or had fled into their coral abodes. Regardless of their actions...there was utter silence, as if every one of them now held their breath, anticipating his reply. Olūra did not blink or waver. She simply held his gaze and awaited his response.

[color=0054a6]“I obey.”[/color]

The ease with which his answer came may have startled others, the nature of the vrool opposed to such quick willingness to give up their individuality. To Krem, this was an easy thing to give. He had spent his entire life under the vast shadow of his father; to follow the demands of an Akua, temporarily at that, was something that would not gall him greatly. In the end, she had sworn as well to not abuse his oath; if she did, it would be on her head. Half-a-dozen orbs of blazing light stared down at the woman, lightning dancing in the confines of his skulless head. In the depths of his mind an awareness had electrified itself into existence. There was more to Olūra than a simple hunt-leader and Krem intended to find out what.

From her there was only the briefest hesitation as she looked the vrool up and down, before nodding. “So sworn is it by blood and blood; by Klaar, and by a current not of sire, but greater in its adherence to every oath ancient and newborn both.” She lightly made a sign as if slashing over her heart, then nodded again and turned.

“Follow.”

With a sudden burst of energetic movement she swept forwards, a trail of muttered Vonu casting out behind her, ensuring he could follow her path, even despite the confusing mire of the great Anatsa Kest.

Path-to-path they swam within, each a great throughway, while others branched out and were soon forgotten. They moved ever inwards and a sense of density and grandeur grew with each passing league. Though they were swift of limb within the water, and all others parted before them, it took a long time to reach what Krem could only guess could be their destination.

She slowed, a certain carefulness in her actions, a reverence in her strokes. Before them was the largest coral structure in the city, stretching vertically far beyond their meager mortal sight. She stopped then for a moment, muttering a Vonu chant that might evoke a sliver of remembrance. The worship of his father, perhaps by akuan servants who might see him as a greater entity. A respect earned even among all those many vrool who fought and clawed their way upwards at risk of life and limb...ever seeking the pinnacle of existence. Whispered words of old and gnarled sorcerers, ever scheming as they sought to make return the ocean’s prodigious sire, in all his magnificent mass and magnanimous majesty.

When she had finished she bid him lower his eyes from the great monument that spiralled up and out of so many pillars of stone, intertwining in a beautiful rising column, glowing to the point of blindness as if to hold fast against the cloying dark. Into this great throng they went, and though the colossal edifice was spacious, they found few residents therein. Those they came upon merely bowed or gave brief, quiet, words of respect, before passing on their way. By and large, Tae-nā Olūra ignored them, though when the occasional elder spoke to her, she gave to them motions that were surely those of respect.

After a short time the paths opened up and both were afforded room to stretch, the vrool especially. Here Olūra paused and flicked her limbs, swiveling in the water to face him. Behind her was a long stretch of gradually reduced illumination, all held within a truly cavernous corridor. The position of each glowing flora were grown in specific locations, and when seen together elicited an impression of twisting currents or an expanding shroud of tentacles. Strange imagery, given how insular the Kha’ seemed to be--and further, how they held the vrool largely in contempt as revealed by those would-be attackers at the outskirts of the city.

Olūra spoke, “Weapons. Belongings of any kind. Let them drift,” she gestured, her hand opening to show that he must leave them here. “This is a sacred place,” she gestured around them, taking in the whole of the structure, then especially the great corridor before them. Meeting his many eyes again she nodded, “The temple, it is Tuhin-ga O'mua.” The words--though vaguely familiar--had totally alien meaning, despite the fact that she had taken to speaking only the holy Vonu.

She glanced behind her meaningfully to the open maw, which seemed to descend into deeper and deeper darkness. “In the temple we speak quietly, but here…” she trailed off, a gentle care in her voice as it drafted to him upon the almost placid currents.

“Here only those through which the Vonu flows, may speak.”

Slowly she began to traverse the darkness, knowing he would follow. The deeper they went, the more familiar the place would feel to Krem as the interplay of unearthly power began to ripple through the water in the form of deepspeak far beyond that of mortal ken.

Throughout the entire journey into the depths of the Tuhin-ga O’mua Krem had remained silent. Each new order had resulted in action, his scant-few weapons left behind in some distant passage. Though his eyes had looked on at each passerby with some level of vague curiosity they too he had mostly ignored; his focus had moved on to darker things by then. He continued to follow in the dark waters of that stygian temple, eyes peering into the lightless depths with razor focus. A gentle, throaty hum began to emanate from his bill that rumbled out in the form of a vonu interplay with the symphony of sound rolling out from all around him.

[color=0054a6]”We are close,”[/color] spilled the thoughts of the princeling aloud, awareness of proximity to his goal intensifying.

There was no reply, only the darkness and the silence. They swam for an indeterminate amount of time and with each stroke the pressure of the water--and the murmur of arcane Vonu--grew in intensity and volume.

Finally, they passed from the great corridor and into a huge chamber filled with a tower of water that disappeared in both directions. Beneath them, far far below, the sound of something familiar spread.

“Behold,” she whispered, reverence thick in her resonant Vonu, “The Stygian Column.” Her words shook in the calm water and were swallowed as if by a great maw as their resonance was utterly subsumed by the immortal hymn of the unseen edifice.

Krem’s eyes followed the column downward, the glowing orbs marveling at the sight below. Every one of his senses was on fire, devouring the voice of the distant pillar sitting at the deepest point of the pit. At the farthest reaches of his perception he noticed his tentacles twitching with fascination. The voice of the depths spoke to him on a level he could hardly understand. A gentle hum escaped his bell, the deep tongue rolling from his body to echo back the call of the deep. With that his lower tentacles set him off from the deep, pushing his form into the open waters. Now lost to the world around him, Krem descended slowly into the darkness.

Likely lost in the call of the black-water edifice, Olūra called out; the strength of her Vonu writ with anxiety and fear. Behind him, beyond his attention, she swam forwards before he entered the Column and she could not follow. Her fear was not for what he might do, but for what might happen to him. For upon his entrance into the Column the pressures of those far-flung depths they twisted at his flesh, begging for his death.

The first waves of pressure emanating from the pillar struck Kremmesxaturl, his bell warping from the powerful waves of force. Telluric energy drove him downwards while Krem’s many-minds railed at the challenge. Tentacles struck out against the unending pressure of the Trident, fighting to grab purchase onto the pillar, ever being kept inches away. Again and again those mighty limbs thrashed at the water around him, kicking in all directions to push him every centimeter he can earn. With immense strain and struggle his first tentacle grabbed onto the pillar, immediately pulling itself about and tightening down to drag Krem closer. His rumbling form rippled like crashing waves as it fought upwards, one tentacle after the other snagging onto the edifice to begin the ascent. 

Seconds turned to minutes and those dragged ever onward, stacking up as Krem battled his way upwards. By now his brain had lost nearly all blood flow, his hide paled by the pressure dragging him backwards. Despite all that difficulty his soul roared, fighting for every inch. The top of the pillar, where the Trident roared its gravitational power, seemed so distant even as the last few feet were closed. Beyond the worst reaches of the Trident swam Olūra, gaze locked on the path of the Vrool princeling. 

Inches from the top, his prize just outside of reach, Krem slipped. The basaltic rock of the pillar gave way, crumbling beneath tentacle, threatening to drive the royal Vrool downwards to the very bottom of the pillar. With a roar of defiance, his voice opening up into a throaty song of the divine tongue, Krem struck back. The Holy Vonu poured from his beak and bell, vibrating the water into a violent roil, two immense forces battling between one another for reach. With a single moment of pause in the oppressive barrage of force, Krem lashed out with one powerful limb. The tentacle shot through the water as a thunderbolt, emanating the very same gravitational force exuded by the trident; in that moment, everything stopped.

Clinging to the trident’s shaft, just where that black pearl handle met the deadly tines, Krem’s reach held with flesh-whitening tightness. The immense gravitational forces of the trident abated, the anger and rage poured into it by its creator calmed in the hands of a new master. Krem rose in the waters, freed from the troubling force of the dread polearm while his eyes gazed with fascination down at its form. With one simple tug the Hadean Trident came free, the deadly weapon unleashing one rumbling echo of Vonu to assert its new-found loyalty. The Hadean Trident had found its fated master and at last Kremmesxaturl had come to collect. 

[hider=Post Summary]
Many years ago…

Kremmesxaturl, princeling Vrool of the All-Tyrant’s Realm, has left the relative safety of his palatial abode. His search first took him northwards, towards the oddling continent of Khesyr. Beneath the stilted landmass a civilization of Akua has thrived, deep in the darkness below that strange place. They are the Kha.

Despite the dangers of his intended path, a voice calls to him incessantly. Krem’s path takes him directly into the waters of the pillared abyss, straight into the ambush of the natives. Though powerful in his own right, the Vrool battles in unfamiliar environs against a far more numerous foe. Nevertheless, he successfully takes a prisoner to bargain for his safety; words are had. With all confusion cleared up, he is welcomed deeper into the abyss.

A description of the Kha is given in detail, of their city built around an ancient artifact placed there by Klaarungraxus himself. Their civilization proves uniquely adapted to the environment, if notably odd. With direction from a Akua known to him as Olūra, Klaarungraxus is guided more and more towards the voice awaiting him. At long last he gazes upon the Hadean Trident. With considerable effort he drives himself towards its pillar to draw it and claim its power for himself.

Thus continues the Saga of Krem.
[/hider]