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

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

Keelzaskorul stared with all six of his bronze colored eyes into the blackness of the sea. Though the light above had gone out and the gaze of the One-Good-Orb hidden behind a thick barrier of clouds, his vision peered deeply and cut through the murk. It did not take divine sight to know what was happening. 

For nearly a century Keelz had ruled over this domain. He had earned it rightly and fairly, following the decrees of the All-Tyrant to the letter. As vrool go, he had never been ambitious; it was enough to be the largest in his domain and rule over dozens of subject vrool and several thousand akua. Though he admitted it was perhaps a weakness, Keelz was never interested in being the greatest in the sea; just great. He had even been marginally kind to the akuan tribes under his protection. And now all of his hard work was being destroyed. 

A fortnight ago it had begun, as all things in the sea did. With sudden and surprising swiftness. A predator, after all, could not go gently into the dark abyss.

The arrival of another vrool had not warranted much of a complaint from the Tyrant. His realm lay on a prime trade lane between the capital in Aopoa and the western reefs Kaarnesxaturl claimed as tributaries. It was not uncommon for lesser spawn to travel through here, seeking greater glories and riches in the west. Unfortunately, it had proven to be an atypical experience this time around. Though the vrool that had arrived was no bull, only half the size of Keelz at that, he brought with him an aura of domination that the Tyrant of the Twin-Isles couldn’t simply neglect. Some measure of the other vrool’s strength was needed to make it clear Keelz would not tolerate upstarts.

That had proven to be a mistake.

One of Keelzaskorul’s retainers had gone forth with a collection of akuan warriors at his back to confront the new arrival on the edges of the reefs surrounding the island. Evidently, it had not gone well. Though Keelz could not speak to the events, that retainer and his band had not returned. And that, of course, had only been the start. Over the following days Keelz felt his grip over the islands rapidly diminishing. Those camps he kept for those few undesirables that opposed his rule had been torn apart by the offending vrool and whenever Keelz sallied forth to oppose him, his opponent had retreated. With half a dozen other vrool at his back alongside a number of reasonably loyal akua, Keelz felt he was prepared for open battle. The fact that his enemy refused to give countenance to his attempts was particularly frustrating. In the past, interlopers had faced him in battle and had fallen; this one simply refused to do the first step of that historically successful arrangement. 

So Keelz was forced to wait, watching as his pocket-empire collapsed at the hands of an enemy who refused to face him. A maddening affair, though one Keelz was uniquely prepared to handle as a vrool; unlike many of his kin, Keelz did not feel the sting of these losses. Eventually his enemy would HAVE to face him on the ground of his choosing and that would see him victorious. Then he would just need to work hard to rebuild as he had a century prior. Keelz trusted that on his island, he would have the advantage. Though nothing resembling the great ziggurat on Aopoa, a modestly fortified lagoon made for a strong defensive position and required his enemy to either cross over land to scale the walls or enter through the small mouth. Inside, Keelz could easily fight along the shore as he had painstakingly trained himself to and could, if needs called for it, draw in reinforcements from the gates. 

Yes, Keelz assured himself, a century of preparation was about to pay dividends.
[hr]
Duurl held tightly to his bident with one massive lower limb wrapped three times over along the haft, glaring in that most furious of ways only an organism with six eyes could. Bedecked in bronze helmet and panoply of thick shell and coral, Duurl was sure he made for an imposing figure. He was the largest and most powerful of the Tyrant’s Retainers and enjoyed the benefits therein; more food, to get larger, and the best prizes from hauls and tribute. He made sure to show off many of his assorted land-items acquired through plunder and trade, replete with several eating utensils. To Duurl, this indicated quite clearly that he intended to eat his enemy and he was most pleased with the clever symbolism. 

Nevertheless, no amount of self-preening could bring up his mood. Duurl was, as it were, quite furious. Five nights now he and the other retainers of Keelz had swam forth from their stronghold to oppose this invader and each time they had been left with nothing but empty stomachs and wasted energy. For a vrool of his size, such activity needed to be rewarded. Of course, he had numerous servants and a sizable land grant that provided him with all the sustenance he needed but that didn’t matter.

It was the principle of the thing, after all.

Yes, this upstart invader was coming to take everything Duurl had worked so hard to achieve. And to think, in a few weeks time his carefully laid plans to kill, eat, and thus replace Keelz were about to come to fruition!? The gall of this interloper to come and destroy such a masterfully spun web of lies! He had even sacrificed a sizable portion of his latest booty to Tekresxeret, the Tyrant-Maker, and Yaxanramat, He-Who-Watches! He secretly cursed himself for not attempting to woo Kaadinxerun, knowing the Lord of Perfection may very well have been a better option. Duurl was, after all, perfect himself; surely the wise deity would have recognized that and granted him success? 

“Graah! Storms and hurricanes, whirlwinds and whirlpools! This is Reegz’s fault!”

Duurl nodded his head vigorously, quite pleased with himself; yes, it certainly was Reegz’s fault. That pitiful whelp had simply not done enough as an underling to prepare Duurl for this eventuality. He would need to be punished severely for his impertinence at a later date. No matter, conspired Duurl, he could simply use the interloper to his own benefit. All he needed to do was take advantage of this momentary chaos to overthrow Keelz, perhaps letting the two battle it out then slaying the no-doubt weakened victor. Ah, of course! It was all so clear now!

“I’m a genius!”

The sound of sloshing water caught Duurl’s attention, pulling him from his philosophical musings to glare once more at the waves. He sat in the cut trench that made for an entrance into the lagoon and so had unbroken vision towards anyone who might try to enter. It seemed, then, that his enemy was intending to enter here first. Powerful, predatory eyes locked onto the movement and were suddenly struck with dumbfound surprise at the object of their attention.

It was an akua. An ugly akua, at that.

The creature was pale scaled with large eyes that glowed with an almost sickly reflection of the already limited moonlight. Spines and shrunken fin-like growths sprouted along its body while a nasty set of teeth were bared from its jaws. Though only its upper torso was visible thrusting from the water, Duurl could clearly see a thrusting spear clutched in one hand and a nasty looking fileting dagger held menacingly in the other. A net like structure was thrown over its shoulder, the use of which unclear to Duurl despite his immense genius. 

“You are not Vrool!” bellowed Duurl, the water around him turning into choppy white water from the power of his Vonu spoken in anger, “Where is your master so that I might address him!?”

Duurl flinched almost imperceptibly as half a dozen more heads peaked from the water, followed by a dozen more. His vision parted, eyes spreading to the left and right as the numbers increased and he swiftly lost count. That meant there was a lot of them, reasoned Duurl, as he drew up his bident and the several other assorted weapons wrapped up in other tentacles. The retainer was suddenly faced with what seemed to be a hundred Akuan warriors of some deeply strange origin, all of which had their sights set squarely on him. Duurl, being the wise and powerful vrool that he was, did the only thing he could. 

He roared out an alarm. 

As he did the Akua screeched back, yelling out battle cries in an awkward but surprisingly effective control over the holy tongue. The accented Vonu of the entire host drew up a strong wave behind Duurl, rising up and immediately pushing him out into the open water of the sea. Moments later and five more vrool drew themselves from their abodes, crevices giving way to massive monsters of flesh and fury. The riptide of the Akuan vonu tugged them out with it, the vrool warriors gladly going forward. The attackers parted to the sides as the vrool were drawn out and dove into the waves, drawing up a net of flesh around the now centered vrool retainers. It seemed Keelz’ pitched battle had finally come.
[hr]
The Tyrant of the Twin-Isles looked up from his makeshift throne, the sounds of alarm and then subsequent conflict unmistakable. With little effort he drew up his weapons and placed his bronze helmet over his bell, locking it in place. It had come sooner than expected but his enemy had at last shown himself. Keelz lifted himself on powerful tentacles, rising to his full, terrifying height of five and some odd meters. Armed and armored as he was, the hulking mass of bronze and flesh began to slide into the waters of his lagoon, making for the entrance where battle was commencing. 

As Keelzaskorul closed the distance between him and the battle unfolding just outside the gates of his stronghold an almost familiar voice played at the edges of his awareness. It seemed to prick at his hide even beneath the cool embrace of his armor, setting off sensory organs across his body. Keelz’ shuddered at the sensation, eyes tightening to slits as they sucked back into their sockets. 

Something wasn’t right... 

The massive vrool could see battle was commencing from above the water, visible quite clearly as vonu ripped the surface into a maelstrom of activity. The water by then had become sloshy and red, the scent of blood unmistakable. It wasn’t that furious battle that was commencing, however, that was causing the disturbance. Every moment Keelz tarried he knew he potentially lost valuable warriors but he could shake the sensation. Biting back his animalistic urges to secure himself in a more protected environment, Keelz strode forward. There was a time for caution and a time for action and a battle was raging was ever evidence of the latter. Just as he reached the outer limits of the lagoon he dove forward, massive tentacles acting like springs to propel him into the water below. 

The monstrous entity hammered into the waves like a torpedo, kicking up huge gouts of water as he made room for himself in the sea. Before him hung an orb of oddling Akua, armed to the teeth and harrying his warriors. They had formed themselves up into a hunting sphere, diving in and twisting around one another to confuse their opponents. The vrool within had become trapped, their own arrogance leading them into the center of the conflict only to find themselves intentionally placed there. With the skill of a pod of dolphins, the Akua darted in and out of battle, resting at the edges when needed and slowly wearing their prey down. 

Keelzaskorul would have none of this.

The projectile that was his body crashed into the line, limbs flailing and lashing out with ferocious efficacy. Stabbing blades thrust into opponents, free tentacles grabbed and crushed soft bodies that couldn’t swim away fast enough, and his deadly trident dove forward to impale or dismember with equal efficiency. In an instant the orb had gone from a tightening noose to a shattered egg, the cohesion of the attackers dissipating from the astonishingly powerful shock-assault. With their warlord now tentacle-deep in battle the vrool retainers found their hearts and dove back in, diving at the shaken lines of their enemy. 

Keelz felt a rare moment of pride as he tore into his enemy, a dozen of the strange akua already dead at his hands. Blood and gore became an arterial fog of war as real battle was met and the few gains of the invaders were wiped away. Steeped in the entrails of his foe, it was hard not to feel powerful. His gaze turned outward to observe the action, battle starting to separate as individual vrool fought their way into a mess of foes to wage their own private battles with those who had earlier thought them their betters. In the distance Keelz could see his own akuan warriors closing, recognizable from the daubed war-colors and weapons his own artisans had forged. 

Excellent, this battle was over before it had started.

Keelz’ eyes went wide, pushing out to the farthest extent they could reach; there was a vrool at the head of that mass of fighters and it wasn’t one of his. The gears turned in the Tyrant’s head as quickly as possible, putting together the unfortunate conclusion that things were not going the way he had planned. Keelz cursed as he noticed the source of that untoward voice; a darkly shaded trident held in the vrool’s strongest tentacle, blacker than the deepest abyss, was whispering at him. One howl of the holy vonu shook from the descending battle line and in an instant water parted and obeyed the command. 

A riptide whirlpool forced itself into existence in the midst of the aquatic battlefield, sending everything into havoc.

The countercharge of the once-loyal akuan warriors took many of the vrool retainers by surprise. The strange akua they had originally been battling had done well enough keeping them at bay, primarily escaping the vrool rather than actually attempting to slay them. It had been a ruse of the most devilish kind, with the retainers now separated entirely from one another rather than held in a tightly packed formation. With only six eyes and twelve tentacles they could only hope to defend themselves against a tentacle-full worth of opponents and the numbers quickly warped against them. In the three dimensional environment numbers were king and soon the vrool were surrounded on all sides and forced down towards deeper water where they could be kept from the surface or the seafloor. The first of the vrool died to a hundred separate stabs, butchered from every direction until his massive body gave way and collapsed on its own weight.

Keelz, for his part, was no coward. He would die well, if that was the fate that awaited him. Diving through the curtain of blood and viscera that marked his initial assault, Keelzaskorul made for the one true enemy in all of this. The upstart vrool warrior was unarmored but bore that dread trident alongside a number of other deadly tools of murder. Finally, a heavy shield cut with slats for easy maneuvering in water was held on his left side and made for an imposing bulwark against attack. The Tyrant would have to make do. 

When the pair were nearly ten meters apart their attacks began, tentacles flaring to stop forward momentum while weapon arms within reach shot forward to stab at one another. It was clear Keelz had the advantage of size and thus reach, his tentacles able to reach across the water to strike at his foe while his shorter limbs served to parry aside blows that might threaten to pierce armor. The initial clash, unsurprisingly, went in the Tyrant’s favor as he continually smashed away at the other vrool’s defenses. The clang of metal on metal filled the waves while daggers were slashed and stabbed at outstretched limbs to gain advantage. Keelz gained first blood, slashed the edge of his blade across an overreaching limb. The strike was a solid one that bit deep but only managed to injure, failing to make his opponent drop the weapon in that tentacle. 

“At last, my foe,” roared Keelzaskorul, his beak gnashing at the water in front of him from behind the relative safety of his helm, “We do battle! Do not disappoint! I am Keelzaskorul, name yourself so I might know my meal or my conqueror!”

Keelz’ vonu ripped up the water into thick, bubbling chop that momentarily hid the pair from one another. The storm of tentacles continued to surge through the wall of white water, stabbing and slashing at one another or deflecting blows with deft parries or sudden grabs. An echoing cry of the holy tongue surged through the waves, bereft of meaning beyond vigorous intent before turning into a sentence of true verse.

[color=0054a6]”I am Kremmesxaturl,”[/color] came the verbal repost, a slipstream of water knocking one of Keelz’ blows aside with the power of the spoken word, [color=0054a6]”I will not.”[/color]

The laconic response caught Keelz off guard, especially when considering the power behind it. In that moment of laxness the young vrool shot through the cloud before them, closing the distance while Keelz’ trident head was deflected to the side. An attempt by the Tyrant to thrust back in with the weapon saw the tines deftly caught in the slats of Krem’s shield, the powerful tentacle wrapped up behind it twisting to pull the trident head off to the side. Keelz was suddenly open as Kremmesxaturl dove inside his guard and the two locked together in the fighting stance of ancient vrool. Beaks lashed at one another ferociously while tentacles fought to gain advantage, twisting and turning on one another between deadly stabs. Even here Keelz held advantage, his size and armor making it difficult for Krem to harm him, but the Tyrant of the Twin-Isles had not lived as long as he had through pride. 

This position was by design, and Keelz knew it.

Out of nowhere Keelz felt a stabbing pain, the sensation of being too deep in water. He let out a horrified screech as part of his body seemed to separately be crushed by the immense weight of the Vo, immediately attempting to break his hold with the invader. In that instant Krem thrust forward with his trident, stabbing deep into the unprotected side of Keelz. Hot blood poured forth from the wound, filling the space around the Tyrant with his own fleeting lifeforce. Keelzaskorul sank deep, screeching and flailing with what power he had left. Around him his retainers took notice, those few unharmed enough to attempt to flee making a break for it. Keelz cursed that this was his end but accepted it begrudgingly; he hoped Klaarungraxus would put in a good word for him with Txaun, for death was not a welcome place for the Vrool.

What little light there was became shaded as a massive form dove above him. The recognizable shape of Duurl hung above him, battered and bleeding but with a sinister look in his eye. Clutched in one tentacle was a stabbing blade of white coral, already stained with blood. 

“Wait, great and powerful Tyrant-to-Be!” howled Duurl, waving back a number of the Akua closing in to kill him, “I am Duurlekzural, your humble servant! I had planned all along to slay this feckless idiot and deliver his head to you! Let me serve as your retainer, mighty one, so that I might prove my loyalt-”

There was a sickening pop as the voice of the ocean reverberated outward from the inside of Duurl’s head. What once made up the bell of Duurl had sucked inwards, popping structural organs and smashing brains into a pulp. All six eyes that had once glowed brightly from his bell now were mashed into unrecognizable lumps and even his beak had shattered from the force. The rest of his body spasmed vigorously, tentacle-minds desperately trying to figure out what had killed them before slowly experiencing that death themselves. Keelz looked on in an odd mixture of shock, fascination, and horror at the event that unfolded before his eyes.

Keelz looked up and around himself after several seconds of thoughtless staring into the void. Three more of his retainers had been slain leaving one free and escaping into the depths while the other was surrounded and surrendered his weaponry. The once-Tyrant’s eyes flashed up to Krem, staring into the other gaze with acceptance.

“End it, Kremmesxaturl. You have bested me. Let me die with some dignity.” Keelz spoke with humbled tones, his vonu only gently stirring the waters around him. The response that came was not what Keelz expected.

[color=0054a6]”No.”[/color]

Keelz twisted his head quizzically as far as his bell would allow, eyes sinking into their sockets to make thin slits of light glow out from his head. His beak chattered three times, clicking with confusion and curiosity. Though he didn’t dare look a gift whale in the mouth it was exceedingly difficult for the once-Tyrant to come up with a reason for this behavior. It was clear Kremmesxaturl had seen through Keelz’ visage, immediately providing an answer.
[color=0054a6]”They spoke in favor of you.”[/color]

Keelz looked behind his conqueror at the collection of akuan faces. Those that he recognized, ostensibly his people, looked back with something reminiscent of respect. Keelz had never punished them severely, had never demanded ridiculous tithes of them, and had always protected them when it was needed. Though he had never done so out of kindness in the traditional sense, he had certainly gone out of his way to treat them with some level of dignity. He had even been derided for it by some of his retainers, including the now dead Duurl, but the Tyrant had never seen point to wanton cruelty. It always seemed deeply unproductive and in most cases actively harmful. 

It seemed that particularly unassuming action had paid far more dividends than preparation. 

“What then, Tyrant? Am I to go into the depths and die, wounded and weak? An unkind fate.”

Krem stared at him for a moment, eyes drawing up and down before offering some sort of emotion therein. His eyes glowed blue, a deep oddity among vrool, and it gave the young vrool a deeply alien visage. Regardless, it was clear to Keelz that the princeling was considering the answer in earnest.

[color=0054a6]”I will need comrades.”[/color] 

The statement came quickly and briefly, less an offer and more an assertion than anything. Nevertheless, Keelz saw opportunity where it was and saw no reason to deny fate its kind embrace. With the gentle glow of the One-Good-Orb above, Keelzaskorul felt certain the Seven Soft Currents had seen fit to spare him. He silently swore to offer a meal to every single one of the great pantheon and a whole platter for the All-Tyrant in recognition of this gift.

“Then you have found one.”
[hr]
[hider=Summary]
On the distant twin-isles of Naruxan and Naxuran, the Realm of Keelzaskorul is under threat. The Tyrant, a self-admitted oddity among Vrool, is in the midst of resisting against an incoming invader from across the sea. Despite his best efforts he has failed to bring his enemy to ground in a timely fashion and has made the fateful decision to return to defenses of his stronghold.

At the same time, the retainer Duurl plots betrayal. No doubt the most genius of al Vrool, Duurl plans to turn on whoever is the victor of the conflict in order to place himself as the rightful ruler of the isles. It’s only a matter of time till he succeeds…

The attack begins with a host of odd akua leading the fore, using their mastery of vonu to draw the vrool retainers to battle in open water where they can more readily be surrounded. Battle commences and the tide seems to be in the Akua’s favor before the arrival of Keelzaskorul into the fray.

A counterattack by once loyal Akua sees victory slip from Keelzaskorul’s tentacles. Single combat is met between Keelz and his opponent, revealed to be Kremmesxaturl. Though Keelz gives a good showing for himself, he is defeated by the Hero and his powerful weapon. Just as Keelz is nearly slain, his cowardly retainer Duurl attempts to throw him under the proverbial bus to save his skin. Krem has none of it.

With that, Keelz and Krem have a momentary, laconic discussion, before Keelz offers to serve Krem as a companion in his battle. Thus begins the liberation of the sea from the clutches of Kaarnesxaturl, the All-Tyrant.
[/hider]
[hider= MP Summary]
Start 5MP/0DP

>5 MP - Form the Hadean Throng (Aaxges’Xuuro), a Holy Order (spent towards Battle); Known in the tongues of surface-folk as the Hadean Throng or the Host of Krem, the Aaxges’Xuuro is a fighting force raised by Krem using the Holy Tongue to bind it. Consisting of Akua recruited both through power of oration and direct liberation as well as a growing number of vrool, the Aaxges’Xuuro is at its heart a force of liberation and revolution. The warriors of the Throng, occasionally referred to as Myrmidons in the Voduun fashion, each swear loyalty upon the Hadean Trident to see its goals accomplished. The Order, expressly religious and worshipping a reformed collection of deities from the Vroolish pantheon, has set in its sights the old order of the Tyrants as laid down by the All-Tyrant, Kaarnesxaturl. Warrior-Monks of the most truest sense, Aaxges’Xuuro fighters experience empowerment in the feats required for victory against the impossible odds presented by the Vrool Tyrants. This manifests itself in many ways but truest among all others is a prowess for the many facets of battle. 
(7 title points to hand out)

Ending 0MP/0DP
[/hider]