Trout's Landing.
"Runnin' down to Cuba with a load of sugar! Way me boys to Cuba!" Jeb sang as he and the 'bolds made their way up the river towards the location that was once the former location of the murloc settlement before Jeb's bloodletting.
"Where's Ku-bah?" The Trap Master asked as he turned his head part way and peered at Jeb while they rowed the canoe.
"A tropical island far to the south of us. Known for cigars, rum, and Castro." Jeb stated.
"Could we go there?" One of the skirmishers asked.
"Doubtful. We'd have to go further down the river which'd take a few hours before reachin' the New River. Then we'd have to do the same until we hit the Kanawha. Rinse repeat that from the Ohio to the Mississippi. THEN we'd have to travel several days to reach the gulf where we'd then have to cross open water. Of course this is all not countin' the Coast Guard and government of Cuba itself." Jeb explained.
"Oh." The skirmisher said in a sad tone.
Jeb sighed.
"I would if I could. But we don't exactly have the time to take a trip that far down river. Hell, the rivers will end up freezin' or lowerin' in some places before long. It'd be better IF we go, to go sometime in the spring when rainfall makes 'em warm and deep."
The kobolds nodded. The wind not quite as torn from their sails as before. Jeb probably should've just told them a flat no and been done with it. But they probably wont even remember come spring time anyway, Jeb thought as they continued to row. He peered at the water below them and the mountain walls around them.
Even after a couple weeks it still hasn't gone away, Jeb thought as he could see the spots in the mountain that foretold his visceral visitation upon the murlocs not long ago. If anything it seemed like the spots were getting bigger. But he wasn't sure. He hoped he was just imagining it. Otherwise corrupted fish won't be the only things he'll have to deal with if whatever the hell he does to the land spreads even after he's long gone.
The little strips of muddy land that held the former murloc outposts didn't fill him with confidence though. The earthy mud had turned a tar black while what vegetation that clung to anything for support had either turned an ethereal blue that seemed to sway and shift in an unseen breeze or turned pitch black and almost seemed dead.
It didn't help that the tar mud seemed to be spreading into the river as well, turning the murky water a darker shade of brown. If this continues they'll have to rename it to the Blackbrier River, Jeb thought with a huff.
The sparse trees they saw that clung to whatever they could weren't much better. They seemed to have blackened and began to droop and hang like the claws of some beast ready to capture anyone that lurked below its branches for too long. What greenery that was once on them grew black, shriveled, and mean looking.
Picking one up out the water showed that the leaves seemed to have an edge to them now. Like organic knives, Jeb thought as he tossed one out and was only half surprised it gave a low whistle as it flew with far more force than he thought was possible from the blackened leaf.
That was just the more oval leaves. The points of others twisted into looking like hooks that caught on damn near anything it could get stuck to. Even those floating down the river seemed to latch onto the sides of the canoe with little issue securing themselves to the boats. A skirmisher made the unfortunate mistake of trying to pull them off and got a gash on his palm for his trouble. After that, they thought it best just to leave them to the mercy of the water.
Even the stone mountains seemed different, Jeb thought as they went. The stone had turned a brittle shale gray and seemed to crack and drop into the flowing river at the slightest breeze that blew by. It was like the stone was crumbling away. Jeb shook his head. No, he thought. No dark thoughts. Didn't stop him from turning an eye towards the kobolds. Were their horns always that sharp and ridged?
Jeb cleared his throat to disguise him shaking his head again. He knew he was affecting the kobolds physically. Their scales were darker, and had an edge to them like a shark's or gator's. So of course their horns would change as well. He's... accepted it. Mostly. If the kobolds didn't like it they'd leave, he thought as he turned his thoughts back to the last time he and the Trap Master had came this way.
They knew what staying around him would do to them and they accepted it anyway. Didn't mean he had to like it though, he thought as they rounded the bend and came upon the site of the former murloc settlement.
Compared to the last two times he's been here. It was like something changed in the air. Before there was the scent of death and decay mixed with fish and river. But that had all passed and now the air was nothing different from the other patches of land along the river. Right down to the tar mud.
But where it was in a few spots last time, the entire area was pitch black mud. They beached their canoes and got out. They were on edge as they prepared for whatever had made the place its home since last time. No tracks so far, Jeb thought as he and the others began to spread out. Their eyes on any spot that might conceal an enemy.
The skies were barren of scavenger birds. Either because the pickings were long since picked over, or because something spooked even carrion eaters. But if it was either of those then there'd be tracks. But as Jeb and them moved through the thick tar mud that lived up to its new name by sticking to them like tar and made every step an endeavor, he was just more and more confused. Then again, nothings made sense in months, he thought. For all he knew it could be the ghosts of murlocs dragging anything into the dark mud.
Then again, maybe he shouldn't challenge it so soon. Especially since it stunk to high heaven and not just because of the mud and river muck churned up. Even he could tell something was off. No tracks. No signs that anything was here. The only thing left behind was the skeletons of buildings that couldn't be fully swallowed by the mud. But everything else was gone like nothing happened.
Yet still no tracks, Jeb thought as that single fact made him more and more uneasy. He nor the kobolds would care that much if something came by and snatched the rotting meat or bones. But there would be something to tell them that. Scat, tracks, anything to make them not so damn tense.
But nothing. The mud was lacking anything resembling tracks or footprints. Turning around Jeb found out why. Despite being thick and a pain to walk through, it filled in their path pretty quickly to the point that barely a hint remained that told him they were even there before. If that wasn't worrying, the mud seemed to have gotten deeper in some places.
The only reason they knew that was that several kobolds found themselves walking on the reed roofs of former murloc buildings that had been swallowed by the mud. While they weren't that tall, it was enough that they made an extra measure to watch where they stepped.
He really wished something would just happen already, Jeb thought. Have something jump out, scare the shit out of 'em, then die so they can go home. But no such reprieve came as they spent possibly an hour searching over the muddy bog. About the only thing that didn't seem bothered by the area was swarms of insects that took the chance to bother them all!
Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.
At least the kobolds had scales to keep the majority of pests off them. Jeb had to make do with swatting at and inhaling a lungful of the bastards! Eventually he got tired of the pests and conjured a ball of balefire and swiped the air with it! But even eldritch flame wasn't enough to deter the swarms of bugs and they continued to harass Jeb and the 'bolds as they made the grueling search for whatever was now lurking here.
Jeb was about to ask the Trap Master if anything was different from when the skirmishers came when he stopped himself. The first time the kobolds saw this place it was probably dead bodies and ruin. How were they supposed to know what was normal and not around here? For all they knew, the pitch black mud and swarms of bugs were normal for a place like this. To be fair, it was. Just not for late fall/early winter.
Jeb even recalled when the Trap Master went with him to scout out the landscape around his cabin. Despite being a capable hunter, he was surprised by just how rough the terrain of the Appalachians can get. But even they knew there was something different, Jeb thought.
"God, wish somethin' would happen already." Jeb muttered after swatting at some more bugs.
"I know the feeling. It's always the waiting." The Trap Master replied.
"Found something!" One of the skirmishers called out.
"'Bout time." Jeb muttered as he and the others slogged through the mud towards the skirmisher.
When they got there they found... a dead bird on a muddy rock. It was a raven and looked like it was gutted by something but Jeb wasn't sure what.
"That's it?"
"Well, it was something different." The skirmisher said.
"Yeah, it is." Jeb replied and took a step closer.
"Almost looks like an animal did it." Jeb stated.
"But?"
"But if it did, where's the other animal?"
The kobolds looked around on high alert, ready for the arrival of some sort of predator. But as the tense seconds turned into irritated minutes they all turned back to the bird and examined it some more. As Jeb examined the bird, a crow flew down and landed on the Trap Master's shoulder with little fear.
The Trap Master looked in shock at the rather uncaring look on the black bird's face as it turned and cocked its head as it looked around. As the Trap Master made to shoo the bird away, it opened its beak and spoke in a raspy voice.
"Trap."
"What?" The Trap Master asked the strange bird.
"Trap." The bird rasped again cryptically.
"What?" Jeb asked as he reached out to touch the dead raven on the rock.
The Trap Master flung his claw out and caught Jeb's arm before it got too close to the dead bird.
"Don't."
"Why no-" Jeb started before the Trap Master pointed to a bit of mud next to the dead bird.
Jeb, now freed, moved his hand gingerly to what appeared to be a bit of fishing line. He freed it from the mud as gently as he could and revealed a loop of line that encircled the dead bird.
"Huh. Nice eye."
"It wasn't me. It was the-" The Trap Master started before turning and noticing the crow was now gone from his shoulder.
"Well whoever it was, tell 'em nice eye." Jeb replied and made to follow the line to its source.
Which wasn't any easier as the mud continued to cling and stick to them as they followed the line. All the while, the Trap Master kept his eyes to the sky in search of the strange crow. One of the skirmishers came up to him.
"What are you looking for?"
"The crow." The Trap Master declared.
"What crow?"
Before the Trap Master could speak, Jeb held up a finger and signaled them to be quiet as they found the source of the fishing line. A place that looked familiar to Jeb. He grunted and pulled on the fishing line, earning surprised gurgles as a small string of eldritch flavored murlocs were pulled from their former nesting ground.
The reason he didn't even see it was that the river weeds that used to cover it had blackened and did a scary good job of camouflaging it. Jeb rolled his eyes as the small murlocs that weren't even as big as his boot and pulled aside the black curtain and beheld the small murloc colony that lurked behind it.
It seems the murlocs either didn't stay long up river and returned, or their maturity period was damn fast. He was guessing the former though by the way the eldritch murlocs turned their glassy eyes up at him with a measure of recognition.
Then they started throwing mud at him.
At least it wasn't rocks or anything, Jeb thought as he stared down at the nest of murlocs that looked like something out of the twilight zone. Their fishy flesh were similar murky browns and blacks with mouths full of small pointed fangs that would no doubt puncture even the tough leather of his boots. That was about the only similarity among them though. Some had glowing orbs like angler fish, others had glowing blue spots on their sides that lit up in the dark. Others were almost see-through and he could see their small organs moving within! Some had black eyes and looked right at him while others were glassy white and only seemed to know where they were because of the others calling out in their gurgling tongue.
Then there were the crawfish fries. Or whatever the hell they were, Jeb thought as he saw the little fries of crawfish creatures that now had darkened shells, but were only marginally bigger, as they started to slowly crawl towards him like a small swarm of black shellfish.
"Well... this is somethin'." Jeb declared as he and the 'bolds stared down at the swarm of murlocs.
"I thought you said they left?" The Trap Master asked.
"I did! Saw 'em jump in the river and leave." Jeb replied and conjured a bitter blue before tossing it into the group of murlocs.
The tossing of mud ceased as they and the crawfish fries looked at the apple barely bigger than they were. Then they descended on it. Their little needle-like fangs biting away at the flesh while the fries took what scraps were thrown their way during the little feeding frenzy.
Jeb chuckled and conjured another.
"Must've came back."
"We can see that. But why?" The Trap Master asked.
"Who knows. Hey? Why are you lil fellers back here?" Jeb asked.
If the murlocs understood him, he couldn't understand them as they gurgled their tongue while eating the constant flow of bitter blues.
"Could be anythin' really. Predators, weather, or maybe even other murlocs."
"Well what should we do with them?" The Trap Master asked.
"Leave 'em." Jeb declared and conjured a couple more apples and tossed them further into the grotto.
"Why? Won't they become a problem later?" The Trap Master asked as he and the other skirmishers followed after Jeb.
"Maybe. But..."
"But?"
"But what if I thought the same thing about you lot when I first saw you?" Jeb asked in a grim tone.
"Then we wouldn't be here. And you would probably still be in your cabin." The Trap Master stated.
"Probably. But then I wouldn't have a wife, or kids, or the rest of you."
"But what does this have to do with the murlocs?"
"Who knows, maybe they'll be a pest down the road. Or maybe they'll join our motely crew." Jeb declared.
The Trap Master snorted, but followed after Jeb. The mystery of the murlocs settled as they returned to their canoes and made to return home.
-----
They watched the Dark Thing return to the wooden boats. Watched as the scaled things also followed it. The Dark Thing was strange, the little murlocs thought as they watched from the black bank of their ruined home.
The Dark Thing brought ruin to what was supposed to be their home if the bones and rotted flesh of those they saw was anything to go by. But at the same time, the corpses were different than them. Blues, greens, and even purples to their browns and blacks. Even the armored things that spawned and followed them were different to the even larger corpses that were outside upon their hatching.
The Dark Thing brought change as well as ruin.
It changed them. In flesh at first and thought nothing of it as they sought succor among kin further up where the waters were berthed. At first they were welcomed, warily. They had enough in flesh that they had found shelter from the fish that preyed upon them during their swim.
But then their minds changed. While the others built huts and posts, they lurked in stagnant pools and near the stone like that of their former spawning chamber. While the others frequented the water and pulled from it fish, they made traps that caught many more things. Birds, fish, even the dumber of their fairer kin that couldn't see their clever traps.
They ate it all because it was food.
But as the bright orb came and went, it started becoming more obvious. They were more clever than their kin. Meaner too. Why wouldn't they be when the others were reluctant to share what they caught but was expected to share what was theirs?
Their last day among their fairer, dumber, kin was when a spawning of young had been dumb enough to fall into one of their mud traps. They had exhausted themselves trying to get free and gurgling for help that when the water came they were too weak to simply swim with the tide. Or they were just too dumb to realize that any of them could've simply climbed out of the mud trap.
They ate them. Of course they did. They did not survive and so they were food. But the others did not think so and attacked them! But they were dumb while they were clever. While the others' home was open to attack, theirs was trapped and took many of them. Those of them that died were only those that had been outside of their hole in search of food.
Once the pale orb hung over head did the attacks stop and they made a break for the dark water once again. Despite the dark and cold water, they still lost some to fish that lurked deeper. But they returned to their former home where they found the ruins and death of those they now deemed lesser than them for just like the others, they were not clever.
But they were.
They challenged the flying things that picked at the dead for the rotted flesh and ruins. It was then that they learned to use the dead as bait for the living. Let the others fight while they lurked and waited. When the flying things grew wise to their traps did they flee the area. Leaving the rotted remains to the victors.
They collected the flesh and what was still good. Which wasn't much. The Dark Thing and death and decay did not leave much to work with. Among the dead was tangled messes of shiny thread that was strong and worked to strangle any land-bound beast that came to feast on flesh or drink of the river while the mud slowed and hindered the beasts, it hid and held firm to them.
But as well as for traps that fed them, it also had another purpose. A purpose that they would now use. The armored things that had died that day with the Dark Thing left behind plates of armor. Plates of armor that when tied together with the strong thread and sealed with dark mud could float.
They would wait for the pale orb to rise again before leaving their former home and following after the Dark Thing to lessen attacks from the vengeful flying things. The Dark Thing offered change. Good change for them. Bad for their former kin. It offered them food. They weren't sure about the strange scaled things that followed it around. But they seemed dumb to them. Not clever.
So they would follow. The Dark Thing would change them more. Then the waters will be theirs. No more will they fall prey to the fish or their dumber kin. No more would they fight over rotted scraps with flying things. Then they will change more. Then more of the waters would be theirs!
They would claim the waters. For them and the Dark Thing!