Octavian Guile morphed his skin to a dull red with light speckles. His usual, Tan with irregular brown blotches, was not formal enough for the occasion. It made him nearly invisible in the colorless depths. It allowed him to stay out of the way. It had given him privacy to study. Red, even a dull red, drew too much attention.
Through the arch in front of him awaited the Armenstine Empire court. They formed a semi-circle with a wing flanking either side of an enormous crimson shell. Emperor Timberious Klawitzer took up a huge portion of the room, easily eclipsing the size of anyone in attendance. The Emperor of all oceanic life, his armor-plated body a fortress in itself.
Klawitzer's rule had been anything but merciful since his ascension a decade prior. The law of the Ocean merciless and absolute: anything that dared touch the ocean floor belonged to him. Be it a lifeless carcass drifting down from the world above or the living, trembling in fear at his approach. Subjects live in a constant state of dread, knowing that a single misstep, a single drift too close to the seabed, could be their end. Rebellious whispers are crushed, their leaders consumed in displays of power. Dissidents dragged to the seabed, are devoured with cold indifference, their pleas lost in the deep. These executions remind all that to oppose the emperor is to oppose the cold depths themselves.
The Voice, right claw to the Emperor, quieted the court as a guard pushed Octavian through the arched doorway leading into a vast chamber. He was not the first court appearance today, and certainly not the last. However, this was likely the most intriguing topic of the day. Could Octavian or the notes of his deceased Master produce another miracle? The court was hopeful, but he knew the Emperor was desperate. Unfortunately for all of them, Octavian had not produced another miracle.
"Ah, Septavian." The Emperor finally spoke, "I see you have all your limbs today. That can't be right. A Nautorr like yourself needs to look the part." A snap of his smaller claw was the order for a Lobster Knight to approach.
Octavian had suffered this process many times and floated in place. He didn't move when the guard approached, swiftly grabbing the farthest left tentacle hanging from his face. With a practiced motion it was snipped a few inches from the base and quickly presented to the Emperor. He took it in his small claw, the tentacle still wriggling in agony, and began ripping off chunks with his mandibles. The speed at which it all happened would have been jarring and traumatic for most, but this was now as common for Octavian as the algae blooms. It was deeply unpleasant and took weeks to grow back, but Octavian could bear the humility.
"Septavian," Klawitzer began again, his words dripping with feigned affection. "I've brought you before us yet again, promising marvels and wonders. Let us hope your latest creation does not disappoint."
Octavian, his heart pounding in his chest, felt the weight of the Emperor's gaze like a physical force. Struggling to maintain his composure, he responded with a voice that betrayed none of his inner turmoil.
"My Emperor," he said, his words as smooth and rehearsed as any courtier's, "the horizon of innovation is vast and unpredictable. Yet, I stand on the brink of a discovery that will eclipse all before it. The Whale-song, majestic as it is, will pale in comparison."
The Emperor leaned forward, his skepticism plain. "Is that so? And yet, it seems I've heard such promises from you before. Thrice, if memory serves. Tell me, Octavian, why should this time be any different?"
The question hung in the water like a hook, baited and waiting for Octavian to impale himself upon it. Yet, the Nautorr, ever the master of evasion, replied without misstep. "Innovation, Your Majesty, cannot be rushed. Each failure is but a step closer to triumph. Given time, I assure you, the results will not only meet but exceed your expectations."
The Emperor's expression darkened, his patience clearly waning. "Time, Octavian, is a luxury I can ill afford. Our enemies grow bolder by the day, and with Admiral Tuxer's defeat, our need for your 'innovation' has never been more dire. You speak of steps towards triumph, yet all I see are delays and excuses."
The water grew colder, the Emperor's mood shifting like the tides. "Five days, Octavian. You have five days to deliver more than promises. Fail, and you'll find that my wrath is as cold and unforgiving as The Depths."
Octavian knew the words and dramatics were just for show, a play for the court, but what a show it was! Emperor Klawitzer was intimidating. Octavian wanted to shrivel to a speck and float away from this monster. Huge spikes, adorned with skeletal remains around their bases, seemed to grow taller, sharper, and more cragged as his demand rumbled through the chamber. The shifting of his carapaced legs kicked up a fine black dust that reflected light shining from within his brilliant crimson shell. The effect blocked everything surrounding him, the light and reflections highlighting the shelled monster in the center. Like staring into the abyss, just with a very hungry crab at the center.
"M... My Emperor" He stumbled, his composure fainting "Five days is more than generous. Thank you, your Maje-"
"LEAVE!" The Emperor bellowed. Fury dripping as bloody froth from his mandibles. Octavian needed no further prompting and gave a short bow before swimming back through the arch he entered, blood trailing his severed tentacle. Today he was grateful to just be 'Septavian'.
***
Octavian returned to his lab, mind reeling, anger festering. He closed the slab door and stopped, trying to regain control. He knew humiliation was the only control the Emperor had over the situation. Without Octavian, the Emperor would lose the war. Octavian knew it, the court knew it, the Emperor knew it. This was a way for Klawitzer to save face in front of the court - And have a snack. That glutton.
He took a moment to gather his thoughts before he forced the memories into his second mind. As an Octopus, he had the unique distinction of having multiple brains. While not a large benefit, it did allow him to retain more raw information, his second brain acting as a sort of library. It was important to know how to manage the relationship between the two. Octavian's former master had trained him in proper internal categorization and memory technique before stuffing him in the basement to read, and read, and read. Then he had to go kill himself leaving me to fix this mess.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
Now that the stress of the day was safely tucked away, he straightened and morphed, taking on a comfortable tan with brown blotches, and floated to his workspace. In a drawer of his desk, hidden under a false bottom, was a stone etched with a glowing red rune. His former master, Oth'ikarius. Or at least, a piece of him. He retrieved it and was immediately assaulted by the familiar voice inside his mind.
"Stupid child! Stupid child! Stu-" The voice began chiding. It was always profane, at first, before it was given direction. Distraction.
"Rune fracturing and reconstruction." Octavian spoke aloud, cutting it off. The stone's voice stopped abruptly, pausing a few moments before speaking again.
"The essence of these experiments lay not merely in the manipulation of mystical symbols but in dissecting the very fabric of magical linguistics that underpins our reality. The process of rune fracturing is a meticulous one, requiring the steady hand of one versed in --" It would carry on like that until it ran out of relevant material on the topic, the topic was changed, or one dropped the stone. When you picked it up again, it would hurl further insults at you until queried again.
Octavian would rather sequester the faintly glowing rock to a corner of his chambers and wait for the next poor soul to discover it. However, the next soul would come far too quickly for Octavian's taste. No, he couldn't refuse the knowledge spewing from it. Lessons he never got to complete before he was thrown to the crabs.
He sat at his desk, stone suctioned to his tentacle, and began transcribing where he'd left off the day before. He had begun the slow and arduous process of transcribing the stone's rambling to written word. Although it was a simple thing to do, the loose mind didn't make it easy. It often rambled, refusing to stop or repeat itself. The closest he could do was tell the rock to start over if he missed an important section. Sometimes this set him back a few minutes, other times a few hours waiting to get back to the part he had missed. Despite the time sink, Octavian discovered it was well worth it. It had allowed him to design the Whale-song, outshining the inventions of even the most senior Nautorrs.
With his Master gone, Octavian was able to choose his studies. At first, the task had been too daunting. Octavian was alone, undertrained, the other Nautorrs looking to pick him and his former master apart for all their secrets, and they had.
When Oth'ikarius disappeared, the Elder Nautorrs were allowed to ransack his lab, taking anything they wanted. Books, scrolls, tablets, experiments, and even desk toys were looted from the workspace before it was reluctantly returned to Octavian.
Oth'ikarius was prolific in his field spending decades gathering an amazing assortment of magical artefacts. One such artifact was a tablet filled with ancient script. While the writing wasn't magical in itself, it was a sister script to the rune script that did impart magic. As such, deciphering one often led to discoveries in the other. His master had only recently acquired it and much of it had yet to be deciphered. However, Octavian had made the astute observation that the mysterious glowing stone was more important than the ancient script. Simply by way of him never seeing it before. He was absolutely certain the stone was of more importance. Either Oth'ikarius hid it from me my entire three-year tutelage, or he left it to me before he disappeared.
He'd made the gut decision to leave the tablet and take the stone moments before the lab was set upon and deconstructed. When, days later, the rock had yet to do anything out of the ordinary, he slowly grew horrified by his rash decision. While yes, the rock was interesting and at the time he had to have it, Octavian simply could not pry any information out of it. It was just a rock. A rock with a glowing unknown rune on its surface. A useless rock, from what he could tell. He could gleam no insight into the runes on its surface. The literature he would have referred to was taken, leaving him to wallow with the peculiar stone.
Then one day he picked it up and it began berating him. The fact that it did so in his master's voice made it all the more unbearable to hold the stone. It took him hours before he could hold it for more than a few moments. Once he overcame the personal turmoil, he began experimenting.
For hours he toiled in the miserable exchange of minds getting nowhere with the mad ravings of the voice. He began to hypothesize the stone was a piece of his master, a copy of Oth'ikarius's mind to help Octavian once he left. It would be a strangely generous act for his master but one that Octavian knew was also a real possibility. He often expected Octavian to do the impossible, why not this as well? Except the damn thing was no help at all. Whenever Octavian asked about where his master went or what to do, the voice would berate him harder. No matter how hard he pleaded, it would not respond to Octavian's personal questions, insisting on demeaning him instead.
The breakthrough happened on day three when he had finally gotten around to asking about the glowing rune on the surface. He hadn't asked before, simply because he never believed he would get a straight answer. Until he did.
"The rune inscribed upon the surface of this stone is a complex amalgamation of ancient symbols derived from the arcane language of the Eldritch. Each line and curve is meticulously crafted to resonate with magical energies..."
While it wasn't much, it had given him the important hint he needed. Every day since had been spent peppering the rock with question after question followed by wild transcribing. He was a Nautorr after all, and what Nautorr didn't have shelves full of magic theory?
On the outside, it looked like Octavian was scrambling. Whenever someone would enter his lab they were greeted by the same view; a hunched Octopus dipping a Scribler into his ink bubble and writing furiously. The rumors were not kind. Creating the Whale-song shifted public opinion. Now most saw his mad ravings as a genius at work, rather than a child scrambling to fill his master's shoes. There were even some rumors that Octavian had whacked Oth'ikarius himself. Of course there was no evidence to support it. For how scientific the Nautorr mind could be, it often found patterns in superstition.
Oth'ikarius' stone completed its ramblings and Octavian placed the Scribler and the stone on his desk. Once the voice finished a section, he only had a few moments to put it away or ask another question before it began assaulting his mind once again. He rarely had the convenience of actually listening to the lectures he was given. The process of transcribing was too taxing so he resorted to reading the works once they were complete. He began flipping through the seaweed pages. Today upon reading, a heading stood out.
"Runic Empowerment and the Impracticality of Elementum"
Elementum was a notoriously difficult-to-implement rune. Roughly half of the outcomes from tampering with the rune led to maiming or death. Linking an Elementum rune to the Flame Matrix created a device that was largely unusable underwater. It would get mildly warm, but never to the heat of real fire. When taken on land, the same rune would create a flaming aura, usually around an activatable tool or weapon. Lighters, torches, and blazing swords were unusable in the depths. Linking the rune to the Charge Matrix resulted in even worse, often leading to the deaths of those who attempted it. Elementum can theoretically be linked to any matrix so...
Then it hit him. Octavian had found the answer to Timberious's problems. To his own problems. He smiled, wrapping a tentacle in his robes before grabbing and placing the stone back in its hidden compartment.