Drowned among the dead (VOTG Chapter 2 WIP)
Warnings for Gore, Deep ocean, death.
It was still, like one of those undersea paintings, a quiet lull in an otherwise vigorous ocean, her body propelled more of a disturbance with each kick of her feet than any current. For the ocean winds were decidedly absent from this aquatic forest. The destroyed ship bore upon it, itâs wreckage strewn apart in four sections, crushing the kelp in a tousled heap. She made her way forward, fingers threaded through slick towers of kelp, they shimmered in the dwindling light, and she spread them apart like Tamaâs damask curtains. But unlike at home, she wasnât here to welcome in the morning. There was only tragedy to be found, and secrets to be uncovered and somehow Kyler Drazhan knew she would find them here. Â
With Kylerâs impairment, there was no way he could have scouted this location alone. Someone had been here before her, and likely the last wreck as well. She just wondered who.
While her father was both mourned and celebrated by the guild, he was not one to partner with any other Lord of Fortune, all his missions were executed solo. He simply had no wish to share the reward. As he tells it. She doubted the truth of that confession; she never knew him to be selfish. Strands of kelp lashed upon her face, leaving behind a trail of slime upon her cheeks. Disgusting. She did not dwell on it; she knew time was scant and navigating this undersea maze was agonizingly slow. But this time, she knew what to expect, and her lips thinned into a hard line. However, it didnât make the situation any less startling and grotesque.
She did not need to reach the wreck to find them. They had drifted here, thrown from the mouth of a mystical beast, Elle refused to consider. There was more than one victim, there were many. Like a crimson scarf caught within a thorny bush, they poked out of the tangled fray. At first, the glimpse of a tattooed arm or leather belt upset the balance of silver-emerald, then a striped blouse and a polished boot.
It coiled around their bodies, a noose to each arm and leg, as they gently bobbed with their waist and legs pointed to the surface. She counted thirteen, all held captive by this forest, all lacking a neck and a head. Just like the last wreck. Perhaps whomever alleviated these people of their heads had a use for them. It was not a pleasant thought, but she was aware that certain pirates collected severed heads as trophies.
She swam closer, inspecting their lifeless forms, daring to palpate their remains as respectfully as time allowed. Elle did her best to avoid peering directly into the cavity their head and neck used to occupy. There were puncture wounds, slits neatly stacked upon slits scouring their shoulders and backs. Their legs and lower waists remained free from injury. Must have been attacked from the frontâŠas if something enclosed around them. It was unnatural. Not something you could produce from a single sword. But perhaps a shroud of daggers? The Crows had strange weapons, all types of tools to prey upon their targets. She encircled the body, examining it closer, no signs of struggle. She darted to another body and found it treated much the same. Finally, a pattern she could cling to, whatever had made this laceration was a weapon she had never encountered, however it didnât mean it wasnât manmade. Her jubilation was cut short, for something pearlescent jutted out from the mangled flesh of a collar.
Without thinking, her hand shot out and grasped it, it sliced into her palm and a jolt of static leapt through her bones. She wrung out her hand, as the sculpted object dropped from it. A deep fissure smoked out blood, and she quickly formed a fist to stop it. What in AndrasteâsâHer eyes looked down to follow its whirling descent, but much to her horror, it had not made it far. Slack jawed, eyes wide, a nacreous fang the length of her index finger, softly landed inside the mouth of an amputated head. The flaxen colored man gazed back up at her with his jaw clearly broken, his tongue hung over his teeth, shredded by a haze of tiny crustations. She felt sick.
Monster or manâŠit was barbaric.
She flexed her hand, tiny puffs of crimson spooled out, and she quickly folded her fist again. She knew she had to do it. All this way to return with nothing. Not again, never again. She had come home empty handed too many times. She dove down, it wasnât far to go, but she found it increasingly difficult to steer with her right arm. With her left hand, she carefully pried the fang from the decaying mouth. And at that moment she had wished her eyes had not wandered from the separated face, to peer into the depths of the kelp forest, for the darkness failed to hide their pearl-like eyes, watching her, unblinking and lifeless. Unspoken screams swathed within silver teeth and tucked within the arms of the sea, they waited for someone to listen, to be reunited with their bodies, to be buried like men who kept their promises.
But the story was laid bare, Elle had seen enough and she pulled the fang close to her face. Observing its length. A precise curved incisor, sharper than a blade but as graceful as the petals of Crystal Grace. The shape plumed into a root, and Elle was not sure if it was merely the unreliable light, but she could have sworn it throbbed. Still much alive. Whatever it was. Chills pricked the back of her neck.
But one thing was certain. It did not eat its victims.
