The fleet held together in a tight formation, two twin columns of 3 vessels anchored on the Elf Dragonship Akera. Probing attacks from the lesser fauna had proved ineffective, with the siren song nullified by a dampening magic there were no charmed swimmers to feast upon. Even in numbers, the squids and reachers could do little to harm the ships themselves. The first of its trump cards made its way forward, rising from the depths of hidden caverns and leashed to their greatest as the leader of the Expedition. The squad of Leviathan Squid were more than capable of pulling vessels under, as they had many times before. The Citadel watched with patient wroth from above and below, the Sargassum Peepers that extended far beyond its domain tracking every shadow and from atop the Shipwreck Promontory. Its baleful gaze watched from the saltdredged chimborazite that spun and danced from crow's nest to crow's nest, measuring their approach. Tentacles caught the rearwards vessels, suckers adhering to the wooden hulls as the squad broke into hunting groups.

Unlike the merchants and lone sloops it had assaulted before, the crews did not panic or struggle alone. Gun ports slammed shut, barred or bolted and the vessels directed their bolt and shot at their ally's aggressors. Those tendrils that reached across the decks were assaulted with axe and hook, severing them in sprays of black ichor. In this manner the squid were denied a swift victory, unable to achieve true purchase the ships could not be easily pulled below the waves. The other warships slowed and closed their own ports, all but the Dragonship that coasted above them. The attack continued, blackening the sea with ink and ichor. In the concealment the squad regrouped, targetting the ship in the leftmost column - the Roebuck - and adhering to its hull below the waterline. Coiling into two groups along each side, the great old one Kolkerabber seized the keel. With a great heave the Roebuck lurched into the water, waves carrying over and through its holds. Springing back to the surface the tentacles were revealed and with another great heave the ship's hull came away from the keel with the crack of torn struts. Elven eagle riders dove from beneath the wings of the Akera, plummeting beneath the surface and savagely attacking the attached Leviathan Squid with harpoons that glowed with harsh sunlight. Their great swooping dives carried them swiftly below the surface and gracefully back into the skies in heartbeats. Despite the onslaught the squid continued their assault, hooking scrambling crew through cracks and rents in the hull and throwing them to the waiting sharks. Kolkerabber lashed the sea, spinning it's limbs to create a great vortex that obliterated the grace of the eagles in the churn. Roiling water disrupted their dives, leaving the great birds - band tailed fish eagles - stranded beneath the waves. The riders were forced to abandon their drowning mounts, fleeing from shark and reacher using little more than air bubbles and currents as steps the denizens only claim three of them. The squad retreated but it was too late for the Roebuck, broken below her waterline she swiftly capsized.

The Shipwreck Promontory revealed much to the Citadel, each crow's nest claimed bringing new boons to its sight. From the nest of Empire Hope it knew the names of every ship and all who sailed upon her, from the Almeria Lykes the course and speed of any vessel within the horizon. Yet it was to the Clan Helheim's nest the saltdredged chimborazite orb spun to now, for from atop it the Promontory became a weapon much more direct. The ocean exploded as through struck by the fist of an angry god and the Akera plummeted several fathoms before catching itself. A translucent shield sprang into place, rippling in the ongoing pressure and the dragonship brandished its ligneous wings. Kolkerabber broke from the walls of the chasm, its great beak poised to pierce hull and flesh but the dragonship met it head on. The bound spirit within lit the warship with fire, boiling the vessel dry. The Alkera's figurehead turned its neck and a lance of plasma carved into the great old one before detonating the flammable liquids that controlled its buoyancy. The blast barely moved the dragonship, tacking into the wind and nought but inert wood once more. Furious, the Citadel turned its gaze on the fleet and despite the efforts of human and elvish mages alike no ward could protect the Rodger Young from gravity. The seas rushed in to fill the chasm beneath the Akera even as she leapt to the skies once more and the dungeon's gaze carved a trench that the large troopship fell into and was smashed to kindling on the seabed below.

The lessers feasted on the fifteen hundred crew and marines, carrying their bodies into the caverns below and the Citadel glutted on their souls. The opening to the battle was coming to a close, learning from their mistakes the warships cast their shields in the path of its gaze. The deafening boom of the sea settling heralded their success and the orb skittered across to the nest of the San Suebi. Revolving atop it, the fleet's crewmen lit up like five thousand flickering candles. Scattered by the tumult, their heartbeats pulsed to the drums of fear and anger as the warfleet attempted to salvage a semblance of formation. Disbanding the Leviathan expedition, another was marshalled and unleashed. An expedition of one - a Dragon to fight a Dragon. The hearts of the elves alone beat slowly and without fear, their arrogance unwavering in the face of the sunken humans. Their own losses brought a faint sadness to be mourned later, their eagles could be replaced and even their fallen riders were too few to be viewed as anything more than a token price to pay to slay a dungeon. Yet even they skipped a beat and raced when the sea turned to shadow.

From the depths did not come Rahab, monstrous god of the Ceti. He did not come for he had never left, his scales were the blackest ocean waters, his teeth seaworn stone that never knew sunlight, his gullet the bottomless abyss. Where light failed to fall on the ocean floor, he was and cast that darkness with him. A lesser god against the Emperor of all Gods, yet with singular focus comes dominion and the waters of the Flotsam Bight became as the blackest hadopelagic trench. Even in those lightless waters the divine sea serpent could be seen with senses older than eyes, movement of depth, shadows cast by the presence of a great mass, not the mere absence of light. The Mediator's broadside met the rippling scales and was brushed inside, falling away from every onlooker into the beast and next the ship itself, smashed asunder and shrinking away into the depths of nightmare. The Akera took to the skies and its crew joined it, eagles taking flight and those old enough scaling thermal columns, sliding down the downdraft, or sprinting across the slightest turbulence like a stepping stone. It shone, dragonfire blazing from every join, the great dragonship brimming with bright light that blinded even the Citadel but it cast no ray upon the surface of Rahab's domain and the abyss rose to surpass it, jaws closing with the sound of a mountain colliding with the deepest trench. The shockwave hurled the saltdredged chimborazite from the Promontory, turned vessels to kindling and sent elves tumbling to the earth. Waves scattered the forces that had made landfall, surging across the bay as the black tower fell back to the depths and all at once the sea was light again as the first grain of seabed knew the breath of air. Summoned he was and contract fulfilled, he was no more.

Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

The doom of the dragonship was a costly one, not just that a god's oath had been expended and the price it would extract but in more practical ways. The Promontory was sundered and would need restored, the Sargassum Peepers rotted to dust by the dark of Rahab's passing. Outside its cavern walls, the Citadel was blind to the movements of the enemy. Worse, the earthly citadel of gulfweed, seastone and driftwood that would have taken a fleet ten times the size a decade to reduce and force entry had been shattered in seconds. More than a thousand cannon and eight thousand lesser guns, their painstakingly salt dried powder and all the waterlogged dead that crewed them were simply obliterated. From the great mouth in the cliff salt water surged, drowning traps and washing away defenders of all kinds. Bodies, guns and detritus crashed through the caves, wrecking themselves and the great works within. Costly but necessary. It had underestimated the Elves and their magics, grown arrogant after defeating the waveships that came to investigate the missing ships. The dragonships fire would have been devastating and its defeat could not be assured no matter the number of cannon. It captured the oncoming water, fashioning it into companies and then battalions of Undine on Ceffyl Dŵr mounts. The first level was ruined, with the hulks of its prey shattered and powerless the Shipwreck Catacombs could no longer still the limbs and spirits of all those who sailed the seas with terror and awe. The way was smoothed, the remnants and debris cleared by the waterlogged dead that maintained the halls of the Citadel and carried below. The shelves that once stored the bodies of ships were impossible to remove without destroying the Catacombs entirely and no new location would be able to replace it on such short notice so here instead the ranks of sea elementals marshalled. To support the cavalry the hall was smoothed with a shallow tide from the waters that were never far from hand, a waveless surface waiting for the thunderous charge to rise like a tsunami.

Below the catacombs the waterlogged dead tramped tirelessly, continuing their march and new life was birthed to replace those broken by the weight of the great serpent's attention passing. The caves were sea worn and carved, descending for many levels, riddled with tunnels of air and water that permitted travel between them for hunters and hunters of hunters. The Driftwood Citadels innards were no place for peaceful existence. Saltwater ran endlessly for here nothing could ever truly dry, no floor knew air and the bioluminescence that lit the craggy walls fed on blood. For a dungeon of it's level, death blossomed endlessly within. Shrimp fed on algae, were devoured in turn by myriad crustaceans, fish, eels and other lesser life. More vicious creatures ravaged the schools, glutting and swelling in an attempt to reach evolution. Most did not succeed, consumed after vicious brawls by the very evolutions they sought to become. Even those fell prey to the elites and level bosses, who sprayed blood and viscera like paint, literally in some cases, and from the gore algae bloomed, bright and hungry. What remained of the broken hulls was ferried below, down and down, level after level, traps and emplacements disarming and rearming in their passage. The Citadel would not be denied its prizes, however paltry they now were.

The invaders kept it waiting two days, regrouping and regaining their strength. The wait was interminable and it was with great relief the dungeon observed the flares launched into the Catacombs. Eagle riders followed, wings flapping fiercely in the damp, lifeless air. A heavy rain of seawater saw them retreat and shrouded the elementals that lurked in the shipwreck's shelves. Marines followed, two mailed tercio companies marching in lockstep with shields raised against the seafall and enemy both and weapons ready. They advanced two hundred metres before turning at an angle and reforming from a packed to a hollow square and launching more flares. Already the waters were up to the humans' knees and the flares quickly drowned but it was seemingly enough. Two more, then two more again companies advanced in column, passing between the squares. The men trembled in the cold and wet more than fear but that was to be expected. The seafall was endless now, no longer conjured but looped by cunning drains and pumps to a reservoir in the ceiling. With six companies in the catacombs it was time, and the elementals charged. Their tread was the thunder of the fiercest ocean storms, their hoofbeats the crash of waves breaking. The men were not cowed, their drummers sounding fast march and the columns flowed seamlessly to overlapping hollow squares. Fire lashed out from the squares at the rear, the first two companies providing fire but their shot merely splashed through the living sea falling towards them. Boarding pikes and axes readied to meet the ethereal riders, edges gleaming with more than mere magic. They were tools of the sea held by men of the same and that had weight the dungeon knew would spell the end of many of its cavalry. If allowed.

Hooves thundered on all sides and moments before impact the Ceffyl Dŵr used their powers, horse and rider both turning to mist that blew past the ranks of fire and shaft. Once inside the square the fog took form once more and the elementals hammered into the back of the ranks. Undine leapt onto the soldiers with a splash and sank into them. They became the breath in the lungs of their unwilling husbands, the shoes on their feet and tripped those they possessed into the knee high saltwater. The Ceffyl Dŵr spirited away the remainder, forming beneath the legs of struggling men and carrying them into the air. It was a masterstroke, eighteen hundred men, the entire muster of the Little Victory and Towaich slaughtered at in moments. Then an elf entered the hall, crowned in willow and robed in reeds, striding atop the water's surface. "Aiya lúmenn' omentielva." They said and all at once they were flesh no more, had never been anything other than the stillest water. Their form fell to the surface without a ripple that spread and quieted all the raging froth. Seafall just became one with the surface and where it contacted the elementals they too were stilled. Men rose from the glasslike surface coughing, crying and leaking a body's worth of still water. The Undine were undone in heartbeats but the Ceffyl Dŵr that had made it into the air survived longer, until the still waters fell from the reservoir above. Their captive riders fell and were not caught, rupturing on contact with water that could no longer be moved. Not even two hundred dead, for all that power. All it took to rob the Citadel of its victory was the sacrifice of one elven lord. The companies reformed in hoarse shouts and orders as the elves and human command entered the Catacombs. Mages spoke on behalf of another and the Catacombs were claimed by Almirante Cochrane of the Thalassocracy of Sepharad.