As morning came to the village, an unusual feature was present in the landscape. The waves gently lapped over the shell of a massive turtle, resting on the shore surrounded by bits of driftwood, the remains of a shipwreck the village had been using as timber.

I made my way from Mrgglr’s hut over to the slumbering turtle. It seemed to sense my approach, or perhaps the piece of fish I was carrying, and slowly awoke. It didn’t lift itself off the ground, but instead angled its head towards me.

I laid the breakfast infront of it and started patting its head. “Hey Cass, how’s that leg doing? Are you resting like I told you?”

It had been a week since I had liberated Cass from Glrmgrlr, and he was still trying to master the sling. He was at the point where he could reliably hit a marked tree at 50 paces, but moving targets still eluded him.

Speaking of Cass, I had gotten tired of always calling it ‘the turtle’ or ‘it,’ so I gave it a name. Cass, after my first daughter Cassidy.

I wasn’t sure of its sex, as I never had a turtle before, and I wasn’t going to crawl under it’s shell to check. For now, I’ll just keep calling it Cass, and cross any potential bridges when we come to them. Cass seemed to like its new name though, so it probably won’t be a problem.

Since I managed to coax Cass over to this kind of secluded spot, spending the morning with my new turtle friend had become part of my routine. I would bring some food over, mainly whatever I could find leftover from yesterday, and have breakfast on the beach. It was picturesque, the rising sun, chirping birds, and massive spiky turtle. Really made you grateful for the little things in life. Things like not getting killed and devoured by gnolls, a scenario that is all too real given how close I was to disaster during the last attack. If those hunters hadn’t returned as fast as they did, I would have been bisected by a rusty hatchet.

Sitting down against Cass’s shell, I sighed and started drawing in the sand, sketching ideas for a new stretcher. I might have bitten off more than I could chew with taking over the responsibilities of Mrgglr, even for this brief period. Just yesterday I had to set a broken leg, an accident from a murloc wandering into one of the impromptu training ranges set up by the hunters. It was hectic, with the hunters panicking and freaking out everyone in the village. We were all a little tense, and the appearance of 3 hunters running like hell didn’t help with that fact. It was a bitch to get the stretcher through the forest, and when I got the patient to a bed, I found rope burns on their back. I needed to figure out how to build a better stretcher, but I was having trouble with available materials.

As I sat, I hummed a few of the other songs I remembered from Earth, mostly the calmer stuff. Cass seemed to like it, or at least they enjoyed sitting and listening to them more than trying to move on a half healed leg.

After about half an hour, a tadpole came wandering over to where we were sitting. As they were getting close, about 15 meters away, Cass turned its head towards the tadpole and released a low rumbling sound, like a very slow thunderstorm. And like thunder, it promised a destructive response for anyone who heard it. The tadpole froze up, then fell to the ground and started crying. Rushing over to help it, I scooped the little guy up and power walked towards the village. Honestly, it was a little surprising to see a tadpole without any supervision, with the threat of a gnoll raid. It couldn’t have been more than three years old, and was dangerously isolated from its peers.

Once I got it back under elder supervision, I returned to Mrgglr’s hut and looked over some of my notes. Murlocs, as it turns out, are not the most advanced people when it comes to writing. In fact, I don’t think I have ever seen any writing at all, although that may be specific to this village. But I needed to write my thoughts down to keep them straight, and I didn’t want to spend the time carving into bark. I had managed to collect some clay from the walls of the spawning pits, and formed them into tablets. They were still wet, so I couldn’t move them around, but I had set up a space on the floor where they sat and acted as a whiteboard of sorts.

I sat down and picked up a stick I had found and whittled until it had a sort of point. It wasn’t a pen, but my writing was eligible. At least to anyone who read english, which I had to presume was no one but myself. That was a big problem I was going to have to face eventually. Language, specifically the fact that I only understand the language my tribe speaks, Nerglish. I mean, I could probably start speaking in English if I spend a day or two getting my vocal chords used to the different way of pronunciation, but that wouldn’t help me much when talking to other races. In World of Warcraft every race spoke their own language, although like with English the Horde and Alliance both had faction specific ‘common’ languages, where the human or orc language was learned by other races to better communicate with each other.

I remember the first time I ran into a horde character, it was a level 1 Undead Rogue who was trying to sneak into Stormwind. They just kept saying ‘n o kil l’ while getting one shot by the guards. They were persistent though, and when I came back two hours later to get some training in swords, they were still going at it.

Right now, the language barrier wasn’t that big of an issue. As far as I know, all the murloc villages along the coast spoke Nerglish, and not enough time had passed for dialects to become unintelligible. It just meant I couldn’t question the gnoll we captured. But eventually I wanted to venture out past the forest, and see what Azeroth had to offer. Grand cities like Stormwind or Ironforge, that unfortunately didn’t have an abundance of murloc translators.

With that in mind, I decided to take some inspiration from Earth, and started writing down a rudimentary sign language system. I remember watching a video in school that talked about how Native Americans used sign language to communicate between tribes that spoke different languages. I wanted to replicate that idea, although on a smaller scale. All I wanted to do was make a system where people could get the gist of what I was trying to say, without having to understand a word of Nerglish.

To that end, I wasn’t making any sort of alphabet. It was basically a collection of words that were common and simple, which I could string together to express more complex ideas. It was kind of like playing a game of charades, having to convey my words with just actions. I had figured out a lot of the simple stuff already, like how if I wanted to say water, I would cup my hand like I was drawing water to drink.

It wouldn’t be perfect, and it would take a while before I could sign at the same speed as my speech, but it was better than nothing. Hopefully any non-murlocs I ran into would let me try and communicate instead of just attacking me on sight like a certain group of gnolls had.

As I sketched out a few more signs, I heard footsteps coming up the ladder behind me. Now that was unusual? It had become routine for me to spend an hour or two writing by myself, and the other murlocs had mostly left me alone. Even when they needed me for something, they would normally yell from the ground level, not climb up into the hut.

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

As I started to stand up to greet my new guest, they started talking to me from the ladder in a sort of whisper. “Hey Brgllrm, Glrmgrlr wants you to help him out with something. I’ll take you to him.”

Now what would he want with me? I’m sure he’s better at using slings than I ever was. But if he was asking for my help, it must be serious. Or maybe he just wants to blame me for something, but hopefully it’s something serious. “Oh, sure. Just wait for me at the bottom, would you?”

They started climbing down, and I quickly grabbed my essentials. Bag, check. Sling, check. Impromptu first aid kit, check. Small shark tooth saw, check. Okay, that should be enough. Throwing the leather bag over my shoulder, I started to head towards the ladder. “Clear the bottom, I’m coming down!”

Once I got on the sand, my now escort started walking towards the Eastern end of the village. It was a bit over an hour past sunrise, so the village was still busy with murlocs getting ready to go hunting. As we walked, a few ambled over and asked where we were going. Before I could answer, my guide cut in. “Oh, I just needed some help with my sling, and who better to ask than their inventor. Those things are so useful, aren’t they?” They never stopped, pushing me along as they spoke.

Once we were out of earshot, they leaned over and whispered again. “Glrmgrlr said to keep this a secret. Something is happening, and he doesn’t want the village to be panicked.”

Well, that was ominous. We walked for another 10 minutes, until I saw Glrmgrlr and his son, crouching behind a large rock. He saw us and waved, motioning for me to come closer.

“There’s someone on the beach, doing something. They ain’t a gnoll, but they ain’t a murloc either. I would have gotten Mrgglr to handle this, but he isn’t here right now, so you get to figure this out.”

With a bit of a boost from Glrmgrlr, I peaked my head over the rock and saw a brown-haired figure sitting on a box near the water. He was taller than your average murloc, and dressed in green overalls that kind of resembled waders, and a white shirt. Large leather boots completed the outfit, keeping the water out of his pants. In his hands he lazily held a fishing pole, seeming more interested in staring off into the horizon than the fish currently tugging on his string.

A couple seconds after it had started to move, he realized what was happening and tried to reel in the fish. But in his haste he put too much strain on the line, and it snapped. While swearing, he stood up and opened the crate he was sitting on, retrieving a new line and replacing the broken one.

“That’s a human, Glrmgrlr. Looks like he’s fishing.”

Glrmgrlr shot me a confused look. “Fishing?”

“It’s like hunting, but you get the fish to come to you.”

Then, a voice came from the other side of the rock. At the time I didn’t understand a word of what was said, but it sounded friendly enough. Taking another look, I saw the man staring right at me and smiling.

Well, looks like it’s time to take my sign language for a test drive.

~

As Mrgglr swam south towards the council meeting spot, he tried to formulate a plan for what he was going to present to the other chiefs and oracles. Him and Glrrm had linked up with another group of murlocs heading for the council, and none of the recent villages they had passed through were under threat from gnolls. They were more established, being some of the original expansions done generations ago. Alongside the regular hunters those villages also had small groups of coastrunners, warriors trained to fight intelligent foes. They would normally patrol along their specific stretch of the coast, watching for any incursions or murlocs in distress. Now, in every village there was a small camp of them, with lookouts posted round the clock.

It was obvious that they had been too hasty with their recent expansions. For the past decade groups of as little as 10 adults had left to form new villages, wanting more freedom and opportunities to amass wealth. New villages are given sole claim to all the beaches and waters within sight of the settlement (unless it had already been claimed of course), which includes any shells that might wash ashore. A lucky murloc who could lay a claim might collect enough quality shells to last a lifetime.

Mrgglr sighed, his outer eyelid shut tight to keep the rushing water at bay. This new obsession with shells the younger generations had developed was disconcerting. It used to be that you would do whatever was needed by the tribe, purely out of love for the people around you. Now, there was an underlying reason for helping, a less than noble motivation.

Although he had to admit, it was convenient to just be able to give someone a shell and get a new pouch, instead of having to go catch a certain fish the pouchmaker was craving that day. Plus, it wasn’t like people were only doing things for shells, they still pitched in when they were called upon. They just devoted more of their free time to obtaining shells than to helping out their fellow murlocs.

But there was little time to dwell on what the youth were doing these days, as the group was nearing the meeting place for the grand council. It was visible on the horizon, where a lone building stood on an islet just off the coast of the Longshore. The structure was tall, perhaps a little over twice the height of an average hut, and was constructed out of clay, packed into bricks and held together with what Mrgglr was told was some kind of paste that was able to dry and harden over time. Humans had constructed it long before the murloc people had arrived in Westfall, before they were pushed out of the deeps. Its purpose was to let ships know where they were, and to warn them of any imminent collisions in the rocky waters near the shore. The blinding light had served as a warning for human ships to stay away, but for the murlocs it had served as a beacon instead.

After the raid, Old Murk-Eye decided to take residence in the lighthouse, and transformed the islet into the first murloc settlement on the Longshore. Mrgglr remembered when they were invited to resettle on the Longshore, they had to first pass through the lighthouse and give tribute to Old Murk-Eye in the form of one of their prized breeding pairs of Sea Crawlers. It was tough because they only had brought two pairs to start up a new consortium of the blue crabs, and what stung even more was seeing them being served at dinner that night.

Mrgglr understood why they ate them. Breeding crabs was hard work, and it took a skilled hand. No one living on the Longshire but his family had experience with crab rearing, and his father had declined the offer to work for Old-Murk Eye personally. It was just so wasteful, and inviting disaster upon his family. If the last pair hadn’t survived as long as they did, the Sea Crawlers might have vanished from the Longshore, and with them his family's livelihood.

But that was a lifetime ago, and he had not returned since. Now the location for the grand council was set at the lighthouse, with Old Murk-Eye as the host. It would be interesting to see how the lighthouse had changed over the years, if it had grown or stagnated. Old Murk-Eye must have been in his mid 20s when he raided the lighthouse, and 40 years had passed since then. He should be in his 60s, one of the oldest murlocs Mrgglr could remember. How he had the energy to run a whole tribe was beyond Mrgglr, but somehow Old Murk-Eye was still on top.

As they reached the islet, a group of coastrunners were present to help them up the old peer. They offered to carry the group's bags, and led them to a small clearing next to the lighthouse, where a circle of temporary huts had been created. It seemed like there were too many guests for everyone to stay within the lighthouse or its attached hut. That was fine with Mrgglr, it let him build a deeper connection with the local spirits. He might be able to find a quiet place by the water to meditate while everyone was busy talking and unpacking their things.

He quickly found his designated hut, and dropped his bag on the floor. It didn’t have anything too precious in it, most of that was kept in his belt pouches. But when he exited the hut, a group was waiting for him outside. At the head of that group stood a familiar figure, one Mrgglr remembered well from his youth. It was Old Murk-Eye, seemingly unaffected by the ravages of time.

“Mrgglr, how are you doing? I remember the day you and your family first came to my lighthouse. Did your father ever figure out that Sea Crawler thing?”

“Greetings, Grand Chief. Yes, he managed to sustain a small group of them at his village, at least until he had to leave.”

Old Murk-Eye shook his head, causing the many shells he wore to jangle against each other. “A shame what happened to that village. You just never know with sharks. But I’m glad you’re here, some of my tidehunters managed to catch a wild Sea Crawler, and my cook might need some help preparing it. Would you be so kind as to lend your expertise on the matter?”

I stared at him, a smile plastered across his face. In front of all these people, there was only one response. “Of course, Grand Chief. It would be my pleasure.”

He clapped, causing another cacophony from his jewelry. “Perfect, I’ll have one of my boys lead you to the kitchen.”

With that, he and his lackeys left the camp, moving towards the pier where another group had just arrived. Even with the request, one thought dominated Mrgglr’s mind. He was already feeling the effect of age. Sore bones, weakened muscles, deteriorating eyesight. But here was a murloc almost two decades older than him that looked like he was in his twenties. He might have even gotten bigger since the last time Mrgglr saw him, if his memories could be believed.

By the Deep Mother, how was that possible?