Chapter 5
I knew I was going crazy.
How would crazy people know if they are crazy? No one would know how other people think, to realize if they are all normal inside — after all, there could only be one mind per person.
By logic alone, life requires some kind of stimulation to continue existing — or willing to continue to live, at any rate. If someone truly desires to die, to lack any and all reasons to live, it would be hilariously easy for them to just snuff out, like a candle without oxygen, suffocating all on their own.
As of currently, I couldn’t even trust my own mind.
Obviously, I said, you knew this all along, didn’t you?
I should have known about this ever since I started having conversations with myself, pretending that there were others that I could talk with. Sane people usually wouldn’t hear voices in their own head, after all.
True enough, true enough… but it is a bit too late for that now, isn’t it? Whatever that happened to our mind overtime had obviously been affecting how Elisa thinks. Elisa even made several distinct speech patterns for us~
Crazy or not, we need to figure out a way to… obtain the will to live?
Smart people. People like what we were.
Humans? Or those fish people? They look like they are smart enough.
And then what? Eat them, kill them, mash them?
Devour them.
My mental state had been changing. My [Essence], a record of what I once was in my previous life, had obviously warped. The previously Elisa would never have had attempted so, or even think about eating the minds of other sentient beings.
But now, I found it very difficult to give a damn at all.
People change all the time, me. We can’t expect to stay constant forever — we would have to be dead for the mind to never change.
Elisa says people change, but usually not go cray-cray.
During my existence as a ghostly being, I had made resolutions.
Many, in fact. How many of them did you follow?
Be resolute to live. Devouring [Essence] is normal. Never condone widespread destruction. I listed out in my mind, desperately trying to remember. Never… uh…
Fuck.
I couldn’t remember.
Or maybe I did, but they rang so hollow that I couldn’t remotely pretend that they matter at all.
It was hopelessly frustrating that I couldn’t trust myself, my very being deteriorating as my mind crumbles. What is true and what isn’t? What is reliable? How would I recognize it as such?
In my realization of how precarious my mind was, it seemed to have made the crumbling all the more immediate. All of a sudden, I was reminded of hunger, of boredom, of want, screaming out at me to notice without any kind of sensation — no pain in my stomach, no headaches, no heartaches.
It would be hard for anything made of flesh and blood to imagine, this instinctual need and desire for something.
Stimulation.
Just want.
But I had more important things in my mind than contemplation. I knew what I want.
In my reverie, I had made my way out of the kelp forest again. I couldn’t remember when I did so but I knew why. I was searching, searching —
For food. [Essence].
Before me was an open expense, an uneven terrain of dirt and sand, devoid of plants of any kind. Tiny grey spots jutted out from the white terrain, like ink splatters across a plain canvas, dots across aged concrete.
My eyes couldn’t see far at all but that hardly mattered.
Above the sand was some kind of strange squid-like creatures that had mixed with an oyster, each as large as a television. Ponderously, they let their tendrils explore the surface of the dunes, tiny frills extending from the opening to keep their too-large bodies afloat from the ground, saucer plate for eyes glinting from underneath the shell.
Their tentacles would search insistently over the sand, stopping when directly over a grey spot. They would then burst into action, their limbs digging into the sand to tear out the tiny creatures hiding underneath, throwing them into their mouths.
My mind suddenly drew a blank, uncertain.
Why were we here again?
[Essence]...
These squid-clams were not what I came here for. Their [Essence] were so faint that their bodies seem to border on transparency, leaving only a vague outline for me to watch.
Then why…?
I came here because I tasted [Essence]. Somehow.
I couldn’t remember what it was, or how and why. It's almost like sound and smell, but much more… vague, uncertain. I couldn’t feel the sensation, smell the tantalizing scent of life or hear the heartbeat of vitality.
The strange sensation was beyond my grasp to explain in mere words alone. Afterall, how would you describe the concept smell to those born without it, recount sound to those that were deft, explain colors to those that were born blind?
But it was there, that much I was certain of, as unshaken as premonitions can be.
And all of a sudden, I was there as well.
It echoed around me like an all-encompassing fog. [Essence] of the beyond, shaking and shaking.
Something was about to happen, I was sure of it though I couldn’t say why or how I would know. With a strange premonition, as unshaken in my belief that the sun rises in the morning, I knew that I would find whatever I was looking for.
What was I looking for?
Then, there was a sound.
My body curled, straining to its limits as if trying to escape its shell as it reared to strike at something. My eyes stared, finding the tell-tale glow of life. There was a tantalizing and precious moment, like a mosquito caught in the blue electric light where I was drawn so incomprehensibly by an unfamiliar yet appetizing scent.
Something inside that I hadn’t realize had been gnawing at me, taking bits and pieces away. Suddenly, it conflagrated into an inferno, burning away like fire, my feeble restraints snapped without as much as a pop.
There were figures of greyish white, mildly glowing as they approached, glinting like jewels in the light of the [Beyond]. In that instant, I wondered why they were so large, seemingly lumbering in their movements, tridents in hand.
It was only after that I realized that it wasn’t that they were particularly large.
It was that we were close.
Very, very, enticingly close.
I would have objected that what happened next was completely out of my control, that it wasn’t me per se, that I had attempted to resist however meagrely. However, it would have been obvious to us that it wasn’t the case, that in my desperation condoned an action that resembled more of a beast than that of a person. I would have made excuses plead later on to justify myself that it was an act of instinct.
But then, we all knew that it would be a terrible lie.
~*~
The dirt irritated Vrraet’s gills, clogging them.
He growled slightly as he stuck a spiny finger in, cleaning out the gunk that had inevitably built up in the fleshy membranes. Flicking away the residues into a disposal gel in the corner, he refocused his efforts into his task.
In his webbed hands was a small chisel made of hardy red corals, grown with the careful feeding of red iron and wrapped with tough skin. Patiently, he continued to carve away at a jeweled stone within his hands, watching at the way the small discarded pieces flaked away in currents by his fins.
Gently, he breathed out a gulp of water within his jaws, watching the sandy particles float away into the gel on the other side of the table coral. He ran the softer part of his fingers across the surface of the bead he was making, checking for rough bumps or cracks.
His several eyes narrowed, whiskers twitching in anticipation as he deemed the overall design ready. It was dark in the room, lighted only by the luminescent bulbs of the domesticated Lystang that wrapped around the shaved stalagmites that served as shelves.
On the surface of the bead was a smaller carving, surrounded by stubbed silvery sands in the shape of a fish was a single word.
It was a strange symbol, seemingly carved with a thorn rather than a chisel into a sharp looking thing, spikes radiating from it. It was, however, unfinished.
This is the important part, he thought as he daintily brought the stone closer to his face.
From his fingertips protruded a single claw, a remnant from when their people still wandered the surface before returning to the depths. Slowly yet insistently, he scratched away at the word, deepening the mark with his own bones.
It was a time-burning work, his flesh itched as vitality drained away into the rune. It was a disconcerting feeling — the way that your body grows cold, seeping away in a spot of burning cold.
But he didn’t mind, it was a sensation that he was accustomed to. He had done this countless times before and would be likely to do so countless times after.
None of that, however, could match up to an undertaking of this scale. More difficult, detailed and intricate than anything he had ever done before.
All those charms and carved talisman he had made for the hunters, none of them could match up to the piece in his hands, the difference as great as the sea to a lake. He had shut himself into his workshop so that none may disturb his work, refusing to eat as to not break the flow. Time had passed without his knowing, even as his limbs began to wither from starvation, fogginess forming at the edge of his mind, he continued.
No, he couldn’t stop.
Both minuscular, yet unfathomably complex in its design, it was something that would more akin to a piece of art than a weapon. In times past, no sane Iasgairean would even think of doing such a thing, much less trying. If this project bears fruit, it would change the way his people view magi crafts — It would change everything, it would be revolutionary.
Too long had his people stagnated in this path, relying on raiding the land striders for materials.
The mark, prepared before the labor-intensive part of gem studding, polishing and grueling shaping of the bead, slowly took shape under his constant grinding.
It was close - so close to finishing.
Then, it was complete.
It bead glinted innocuously, laying still within his grasp. To the untrained eye, it would be just a simple piece of jewelry, curious in design but nothing special. An intriguing bauble, nothing more.
But appearance could be deceiving, as Vrraet well knew. The charm that he held contained a power unlike anything the magis had ever harnessed, sealed like a hurricane within a shard of glass, dormant yet powerful in nature.
Before, the bead could be carved on by fingers alone, malleable and soft, fragile enough that a stray scratch could crack its surface. Now that the mark was whole, it was as if the material had suddenly morphed into something entirely different. Solid — as if it had more subsistence within itself than any mere rock, as if superimposed upon it was something greater. Vrraet knew within himself that nothing they had would be able to leave as much as a print upon the bead.
It would long outlast himself, the weapon it would enhance, the city itself. It was perfect, a thing that would go down in legends as a masterpiece of the ages.
He realized he had been staring at the bead when his arms ached despite being in the water. Shaking himself free from his entranced state, he returned back to work.
Yes. Finish before admiring.
He reached for the weapon of his choice — a trident, typical fare of the Iasgairean, useful for both defending, hunting or as a tool. Vrraet’s, however, had been modified extensively. Instead of the corrals and obsidian mix, he had commandeered and reused some of the loots the raiders had got from the land striders, inlaying the prongs with gold instead, veins trailing down to the empty socket in the middle.
While gold is soft and too shiny to be a viable tool for physical attacks, it proved to be an extremely good conductor and resistant to rust. It might be a tad heavier, but it was well worth to be able to channel the magic of the deeps.
Carefully yet jubilantly, he slotted the bead within. As soon as the bead came in contact with the gold, it began shining a yellow light, leaking out from the gems studded within. Vrraet’s beard tingled in familiarity as he sensed a charge building within the weapon.
However, he knew that the power within was no mere mimicry of the devastating blast wielded by the Wutwyrms, fueled with nature’s power.
No, his was much different from that. His was true magi craft, harnessing the energy from beyond the mortal realms.
Such a weapon would undoubtedly turn the Iasgaireans into a true power of the sea!
Before any of that though, he decided that it was good time to get some food.
Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.
~*~
The council chamber was a circular spacious cavern made of living coral and stone, pillars of multi-colored rock reaching for the ceiling as daylight streamed in from above into the chamber. The hall was carefully scrubbed and cleaned to prevent the sand and dirt so prevalent in the waters from entering and staining it.
The scene would have been if it weren’t for the Iasgaireans.
The council was once again consumed with the fruitless argument between the Saighgair and Bygail, the two respective party that dominates the culture of the Iasgairean. Angry trills and rumbled were traded back and forth, threatening to overwhelm each other in a contest of loudness.
Of course, while heated debates and occasional fights between the odd thousand Iasgaireans weren’t all that uncommon, the commotion of today was rather unusual. In fact, it had never happened before.
“That’s why we must send the hunters forth! We couldn’t possibly let whatever destroyed the Sacred Vessels roam free!” The representative of the Bygail screeched, tentacles spraying.
“We can’t spare any more warriors,” the Saighgair speaker said, “Winter is approaching fast and the food stock is short. The hunters must hunt to fill our bellies instead, not on excursions for phantom creatures.”
“Do we have no piety? Do we renounce our ancestors, our children then?” Another spoke up, “Such a blatant attack on the Sacred Vessels couldn’t possibly be accidental! It is a malicious foe – and a dangerous one that could reduce - reduce our ancestors to dust. What if it decides to attack us then? What then?”
“Winter is coming and we cannot trade the people’s life for revenge! The hunters must first fill our needs and may defend throughout the winter, but we cannot spare any more parties on these attacks.”
The raiding party had suffered numerous losses in their last attack on the floating vessels of the land striders. The innocuous ‘ships’ that braved their waters had been boarded in the usual fashion, corral harpoons flung atop the wooden vessels for the Iasgaireans warriors to climb up.
However, the land striders had been more prepared than they thought, having tough iron spears piercing them through their moment the moment they appeared broadside. As a result, the Saighgair had lost valuable warriors and was forced to retreat, reevaluating their strategy for their next raid was they recuperated.
The depleted hunters, however, gave rise to this scenario. Hunted food wouldn’t last long underwater even when stored in the Frozen Caverns but it would stave off having to rely on their domesticated Crodhvegs at least two weeks. Every year, they were hard-pressed to meet the growing demands of the population, and now a mysterious attack on their birth chambers proved to be an extremely ominous end to the year.
And the winter wasn’t even here yet.
As the Saighgairs — the hunters found their hands tied with addressing the food shortage, the public outcry had been fiercer than ever.
“Then what of our young? The children that were to be our descendants? The birth site was ruined, ruined! Hundreds of lives, lost! Are we to suffer without a chance to repay then?”
“One of the birth sites, it is not the end of the world!”
As of yesterday, a pillar of smoky water was found to be erupting from one of the hidden birth sanctums near the western coastline. Normally, the location would be guarded with countless carnivores that would attack all interlopers away or at least drive them away, where only the birthmothers — Stjernmah were able to approach and hold off the beasts with their magic.
With such defenses, it was entirely unexpected that the site could be under any conceivable threat. When the sentries at the west coast, notified of the incident by a nearby herder, arrived at the birth sanctum, it was much too late. The guardians were nowhere to be found, leaving only dirt and unidentifiable mush floating to the surface like so many corpses. The Sacred Vessels, passed down the family lines to preserve lineage, were all either destroyed or missing.
As such, it was inevitable that it would cause a huge uproar when the problem was revealed to the council on the same day.
Of course, Vrraet remarked to himself that he should care about the incident but couldn’t seem to muster the desire — or need, to actually act upon it. As a reclusive researcher, his reappearance would usually be the trill of the day but it became apparent that it was overshadowed by the attack.
Feeling decidedly dejected by the heartless dismissal, he resigned himself to the sidelines. Afterall, he was a person the serve his people foremost, not himself, even as he simmered in rage.
Yes, a model Bygail.
That didn’t him from feeling unhappy about the incident at all though. The wrapped bundle behind his back seemed to dig in ever so slightly into his fin, demanding his attention.
He had planned to advertise his newest success to the council afterward, to announce the ability of the weapon that could give them an edge over the land striders, specialized and designed for those that strange metal-wearing freaks that thought themselves impenetrable under their armor.
It could have been a new age...
Nonetheless, there would be other opportunities, he decided.
“ENOUGH!” a voice screeched out, snapping him out of his thoughts. Abruptly, he realized that he had been so absorbed in his thoughts, he had tuned out most of the council worthless bickering.
The speaker, a voice that all self-respecting Iasgairean would recognize, belonged to the Sgnirmah, the Queen Mother. Her large form had been silent until then, lumbering at the top of the chamber in her immovable majesty. A caste all of her own, the Sgnirmah had ruled over the Iasgairean for generations and many generations more.
Usually, she would not interject in the council meetings, leaving the people to rule themselves. However, it appeared that she too had tired of the senseless argument that had unfolded beneath her.
As one, the Iasgaireans, Bygail and Saighgair alike both silenced their voices, heads suddenly bowed down and eyes averted, cowed by her absolute authority. An irresistible pressure built within their mind until their tentacles began to writhe, their bodies involuntarily bending until they prostrate themselves on the spot.
Slowly, her form uncoiled from the ceiling, the lumbering mass of her bloated stomach stretching in a way that could only be called grotesque.
Vrraet wouldn’t be the one foolish enough to remark upon that in any occasion though. Sgnirmah’s jaw was rather large and the monarch had been known to employ capital punishment upon any transgressors she sees fit.
While her involvement was unusual, it was hardly unreasonable. Afterall, it was her eggs that had been stolen — or worse, destroyed. Having a large replacement population so suddenly removed from the pool of resources was a severe blow to their people, possibly impacting the way their society would function for the next few years.
If it meant that rather aggressive behavior of the Iasgairean would be restrained, however, it also could prove to be an opportunity for his invention to shine. The odds of that happening any time would be rather small at this time though, seeing that the aggressive raiding was somewhat stymied.
The Sgnirmah looked down at the reverent mass with her eyes of burning yellow, drilling into their souls with the strength of divine judgment. Her voice shook the water as she laid down her decree, “SUCH A MATTER IS WORTH NOT A DAY OF SQUABBLING, SPAWNS. AS UNFORTUNATE AS IT WAS, THE MATTER OF SUBSISTENCE TAKES PRIORITY.”
The representative of the Bygail shook in his spot, tentacles nervously tangling up.
The Sgnirmah paid him no mind and continued on, “THE SAIGHGAIR SHALL PROCEED WITH THEIR HUNT UNTIL START OF WINTER. THE MATTER OF RETRIBUTION CAN WAIT.”
And as sudden as it came, the being known as Sgnirmah went silent again. In a derisive and final manner, it had twisted back into the giant ball of flesh and scales that she usually is, her multiple eyes shutting once more.
Then there was silence for a while save for the negative pressure formed by her gargantuan movement, water filling in the void. The Iasgairean stayed still under her shadow, unmoving as they listened to the matron’s decree, a servitude of bloodlines binding them together.
It took a few moments before the first Iasgairean, a Saighgair, managed to free himself from the compulsion of the Sgnirmah, frills shaking as he recovered from the overwhelming presence of the matriarch.
It was always rather surreal, Vrraet noted, when Sgnirmah moved. It was as if an entire cliff side decided to break free and started moving, the harsh and cold Iasgairean cowering before her without even remotely harboring the thought of rebellion. As an older Bygail, he had gained a certain tolerance to the powers emanated by the queen mother, such that he could retain a clarity of mind even as his body crumpled on its own.
Others around — especially the younger ones, would find themselves a gibbering mess for a while.
Quiveringly, the Saighgair spoke, “T-the decree of Sgnirmah is heard! The Saighgair shall take no actions against the intruder until the winter is over. The matter, by her will, is concluded.”
There were no arguments against his exclamation, no disputes. Shaken out of their trance by the words, the hardy Saighgair recovered. In droves, the warrior castes streamed out of the cavernous chamber, leaving in haste.
Later on, they would say that their flight was due to their zealous loyalty to carry out her orders, but everyone knew what they were equally as frightened as the Bygails. When Vrraet himself left scant moments later, he once more found the countless dead bodies of lesser fishes and beings caught in the Sgnirmah’s presence, bloated and befouled as their feeble minds gave up upon itself.
Vrraet shuddered as he left the chamber, leaving the Bygail behind him.
Despite the rather harrowing experience that had undoubtedly knocked another few months off his lifespan, he had not forgotten his purpose. Even if Bygail failed to notice his contribution, it could be fixed easily.
Hurriedly, he sped through the deep corridors of the hive, speeding along on the directional currents carefully mapped and carved out. The corridors were wide, their sides even and smoothed by the wearing down of the water and maintenance of the Bygail. The glowing Lystang plants were left trailing on the stony ground, lighting up the pathways with their bioluminescence.
The tunnels branched off at tangents, spiraling out in a maze of caves. Vrraet, as a researcher by ability and caste, tends to stay within his designated work area. However, his relative introversion did little to prevent him from being lost within the tunnel despite having seldom traveled. The feelers around his chin wiggled, tasting the water.
From the direction of the Hunter’s Grove, the training ground of the Saighgair, the telltale hormones wafted out in a clear line. The scent, heavy with iron and aggression, formed a clear trail from their quarters to Vrraet.
Following the directions born to him, he doggedly followed until the end of the path, emerging into a cavernous cave. Whilst the name given by his people sounded rather whimsical, the reality was anything but.
Tall rocky pillars seemed to have grown out of the ground itself, drilling into the ceiling like malign bone structures, great corals spiking out as rafters in between the stone in the same manner that lampreys latch onto prey, tear at bones even when the flesh is gone.
The Saighgair, organized within their own internal castes of Warriors and stalkers, could be found standing at rapt attention around the representatives that were sent forth to the council earlier. Listening, the Saighgair representative had just finished giving a speech, doubtlessly announcing the tasks for the future.
Vrraet felt mildly awkward as he approached the mass, having the distinct feeling that he had somehow swum into a swarm of sharks. It wasn’t soon after that the Saighgair noticed his presence, their silence suddenly broken with quiet murmurs, their eyes gazing inquisitively.
The Saighgairs have short lifespans due to their positions as front-line fighters and hunters, most seldom living beyond a few years. With the recent disastrous raid, many of the seniors had perished, leaving only the younger ones behind. With that in mind, it wasn’t too unusual that most of the Saighgairs had absolutely no idea who this mysterious Bygail is.
Oh no, not bitter at all.
It's not as if he had designed most of the weapons and armor used by the hunters.
Thirteen generations ago, that is.
The Saighgair belongs to an entirely different caste, and Vrraet had to remind himself of that constantly. Their brutish demeanor and lack of affinity with anything requiring more than two brain cells irked him in more ways than he cared to count, but looking down on his intellectually challenged compatriots would be foolish so, since they serve different purposes.
Gathering himself again, he greeted, “Saighair war leader,”
The representative greeted back with a wiggle of his feelers, “Greetings honored Elder Vrraet. This one is known as Vahisk”
The whispers didn’t die down — if any, they only got louder.
Vrraet ignored them, though he was rather pleased and relieved that he didn’t have to announce or introduce himself again. At least, it appeared that the representative, now revealing his name to be Vahisk, seemed to understand a modicum of the society they live in.
“Vahisk,” Vrraet said purposefully, corrected, “This one comes with an offer.”
At that, the other Saighgair seemed to recognize that loitering around the two would be unbecoming of their positions, quickly scattering off into their columns and docks.
The two did not avert their attention from the matter at hand. Vahisk gave an acknowledging trill, leading the pair off to the side for more privacy.
As the acting War Leader, Vahisk had access to his own personal abode, an inheritance from previous Saighgair War Leaders. The decor was simple and utilitarian, composing of a place to sleep, racks of armaments and some Lystang Glow Vines. In truth, Vrraet’s own lab could be called more decadent than this, with all the convenient glittery and somewhat shiny rocks, gems and coral pieces used in his crafts.
Two soft corals served as seats while the two made themselves comfortable, the ever current allowing sea water to circulate for any visitors to breath, such as Bygails.
Yet another advantage of the Saighgairs.
“Speak your proposition, Elder Vrraet,” Vahisk said seriously, not wasting time with formalities.
“My research bore results. This one created…” Vrraet paused, somehow unwilling to say the word out loud, “... A weapon. A weapon that may prove to be able to match the weapons of the land striders.”
Vahisk tapped rhythmically on the coral seat, deep in thought, the gills around his neck flaring.
“Then, this one suppose that Elder Vrraet would want to test the weapon,” he chimed, “The weapon, how much do you know of it? How powerful is it, to be claimed as powerful as the land-strider’s own weapons?”
“Powerful enough to bore through those metal plates the Saighgair seemed to have had so much trouble with, at the least. It is made to be aimed at a range, should be able to supplement our warriors with heavy armaments from a distance.” said Vrraet, eyes glinting, “Through the intricacies of its power is beyond what knowledge we have now. The design would certainly need to be refined at a later time, though it should do perfectly well in the hunt to come.”
“Consider this one intrigued. The metal plated vessels of the land striders have proved to be exceptionally resistant or conventional weapons, and they had become more and more common as of these few years,” Vahisk leaned forward, “If Elder’s… new design does indeed have the power to sink the vessels, then it may indeed be our savior in the battles to come.”
“Then, I suppose that we shall test the weapon.”
“Is the weapon in Elder’s possession currently?”
Vrraet affirmed, reaching behind his back to unhook the bundle, wrapped in preserved kelp. Gingerly, he slowly unraveled the package, picking it apart. Not before long, the gilded trident was revealed, glinting in the light. Trails of light glowed dimly throughout the metal bits, making the weapon substantially more shiny than it was.
Vahisk trilled in interest, gazing intensely at the weapon, murmuring, “... A trident?”
“Based on it, yes.”
“But the material… that is not hardened coral—”
“Gold.”
“Gold? It is metal, is it not? Is it also not soft?”
“Gold can channel magic very well,” Vrraet ran a knotted finger over the prongs, tracing the lines, “Though it was soft, it is now anything but fragile. I doubt that you would be able to break it with any weapons we have now — or theirs.”
Vahisk seemed to take it at face value, “Some form of magic, this one presume?”
“Indeed,” Vrraet said, pleased with the no-nonsense attitude of the Saighgair before him.
However, Vahisk seemed to be troubled by something. Slowly, he asked, “Could Elder do something about the… shininess then? It would be rather obvious during raids.”
“Unfortunately, no, the gold must stay in contact with the environment, or else the weapon couldn’t maintain its magic charge.”
“... Oh,” Vahisk mumbled, “...”
“...”
“... What is a magic charge?”
“The weapon couldn’t be used in quick succession. It is… just like a blow gun,” Vrraet quickly explained, realizing that despite his surprisingly prompt attitude, the Saighgair before him is still a person that knew next to nothing about magic, “It needs to draw in ambient magical energies from the surrounding before it could be used again.”
“...Oh. How long does it need to… recharge?” Vahisk asked, apparently not caring much for the intricacies of magic.
“Full power? Almost ten minutes. It could also shoot at quarter power four times for a much shorter recharge period. Or also be used as a melee weapon.”
“That is… unfortunately long.”
“As I said, it needs to be refined at a later date,”
“Very well then,” Vahisk held a hand out, clearly asking for the Bygail to hand the weapon over.
Vrraet shook his head, stating, “No, I’ll not hand it over.”
Confused, Vahisk stared back, “This one thought —”
“You misunderstood me, War Leader,” Vrraet interrupted, voice firmed and forcibly calming his mind down, “I simply ask that I shall be the wielder of the weapon,”
Vahisk paused, the tentacles at his chin twisting into a complicated knot, “... This one cannot recommend that. A hunt is dangerous, and it requires forms of physical exertion that is beyond most Bygail.”
Vrraet insisted, gills flaring, “Even if you were to use it, I doubt any Saighgair in the hunt could use it or give me any detail that would be useful in my research.”
Vahisk leaned back slightly, seemingly displeased. He thought for a while, saying nothing in the uneasy silence.
It was a while before he spoke again, “It will be dangerous. Too dangerous for... research, this one would presume so. Would testing within the Sanctuary be sufficient?”
“Not combat tests.”
Vahisk slowly scratched the plating around his jaws with a clawed finger, displeased. He gradually said, “Then, this one request that during the hunt, any time that Elder is outside of the Sanctuary, you shall listen and obey my instructions.”
Vrraet tilted his head, “That sounds fair,”
“And before Elder… use your weapon, you must notify this one,” Vahisk continued,“This one has the responsibility to organize the hunters, and any deaths within the hunt are one less warrior to defend the Iasgairean.”
Vrraet trilled an agreement.
“If that is all,” Vahisk stood up, glancing out the room beyond the curtain of kelps, “This one will request that Elder returns in two tides. Please equip yourself with whatever you need, this one is afraid that we have naught that would help you in your quest. A Bygail being part of the Hunt is… unconventional.”
Vrraet stood up as well, carefully wrapping the trident back up in its kelp covering. As he was done, he said “Very well, I shall be back. I thank you for your time.”
“For our sake, this one hopes that the test is successful.”
“For the Iasgairean, you mean,” Vrraet corrected.
“No, for ours,” Vahisk abruptly said, eyes turning back with a startling intensity, the guise of pleasantry slipping, “Elder, forgive my insubordination, but I have a feeling about this.”
Vrraet was mildly taken back, intrigued, “Feeling?”
“Whilst you had been a researcher, I had spent my life leading the hunters.” his voice was dark, strained, “And my experience is telling me that there is something… strange. One way or another, we would probably find trouble — or worse, have it find us.”
Mildly disturbed, Vrraet left the room, refusing to look back at the Saighgairean. For the rest of the night, he found his thoughts to be filled with rather sharp... things. Teeth, or something equally dangerous.
Not ominous at all.