The Crows Cometh

Polished — 43m12s — 2022/07/22

I’ve come across numerous reports and accounts of cloud kraken, to the point that I am now well convinced they are real, though it was not until I should see the aftermath of such a beast's passing that I could allow for such a possibility. Seeing the sheer magnitude of the carnage was most unbelievable, and it was certainly hard to ignore the testimony of almost a thousand souls that lived throughout that country. They all gave the same description: that of a squid-like beast sat atop the darkest cloud that one has ever seen!

And if such an unbelievable beast had not caused the destruction, what did? It would have taken an army of men a good week to do what this monster did an hour and how could they keep that quiet? At least a few would mention it, for there are always those that refuse to lie.

When I was young and I first began in my travels, I found it hard to believe in such beasts. Over the years, as I wandered far and wide, I come across many reports of cloud kraken. The detail of the stories, and the voracity with which they are often told are usually quite consistent, despite them coming from all corners of the world. Still, I was left to wonder for decades, though I was becoming increasingly more and more convinced.

Then, I had the luck of venturing near the city of Brahlam a mere week after they had suffered an attack from such a beast—and most incredibly the defenders of the city managed to kill it! I was on another mission and Brahlam was two days out of my way—but how could I pass up such an opportunity?! Indeed, the damage and mayhem inflicted by the beast was most incredible! It stretched for miles.

This was nothing next to the monstrosity itself. Some of the corpse was removed, that the town might recover—but a large part of the creature’s carcass, including its massive head, was left to rot and serve as witness to the magnificent battle. To see the beast, even flat and lifeless, was an incredible sight! To think of what the beast must have been when it was still alive! It had tendrils as thick as tree trunks that stretched for blocks! The beast had a maw like two shovels that could fit a small house!

Necessarily, it was an abandoned stretch of town where the beast laid at its final rest. The stench was most unbearable. The area was quite ruined in the attack, and all the survivors moved to more hospitable parts of town. Yet, the beast was such an attraction that many of the locals were quite proud of the rotting remains. I imagine where it lay became a park of sorts, and that they kept them as long as they could.

— Elder Races of the World: Considerations, Arguments, and Refutations, by Aogostua Veribos, p. 657

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 14.2 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

"To arms! To arms!" The voice of the duke carried through the tent and caught in Baet’s ear. He snapped awake, threw off his blankets, and snatched up his weapons. He skittered to his feet and wondered that it was becoming a habit to fight in his skivvies. He peeled back the folds of the tent and found himself staring at the dark form of Carringten.

Carringten’s drenched face was etched with determination. Taking a second, Baet grabbed for his pants, especially since it was pouring outside. "See to the prisoners!" Carringten snapped, then turned and rushed away.

Baet braced himself for the cold, threw open the tent, and ran into the pouring rain. He turned from the sounds of fighting and headed for the tent occupied by their Ministrian prisoners. He lifted the flap of the dark tent and entered, sword first.

"Stay where you are,” he said as he entered. “You will be spared."

Meriona believed him. She expected a certain civility from the Saot guards. She knew them to be men of their word, as they’d traveled together from Camp Calderhal to Ebertin. Still, it was scant reassurance to Baet. As far as he could tell, honor only went one way between them. He had it from Toar, who had it from Celesi, that the Jay meant to betray them all in Ebertin. She meant to see them hanged—despite their rescue. This one may be pretty, but she was a snake.

And what kind of treatment would he receive from the Jaded Blades if the tables should be turned? It didn’t matter if they were after the duke or the shaman, Baet was just another victim that stood in their way.

A loud boom sounded. Sure as day, Cloud Breaker was just fired. Baet swore under his breath and wondered how the priestess got her hands on shot and powder—and also how she managed to load it—when he also heard her cry. Did she scream her boy’s name?

More surprising than the boom of Cloud Breaker was the sound of a second musket—though it sounded a good deal different from his own—tinny and cheap. He wondered if was the sound of a Pemberton GremSorter, a sound he’d only heard a few times, on rare occasions. It was not a good sound. He clenched his teeth and it hoped it came from his enemies.

Celesi screamed. Her wail of anguish played through the heavy drum of the downpour, and the sounds of battle. Baet wondered what the hell was going on out there! As if all that wasn’t enough, Scurra started screaming. "Run! Run, you fools!” she yelled. “Death comes for us all!"

Not even Baet could ignore such a call. He turned from his charges and peeked from the tent, barely able to see anything for all the water falling from the sky. At the far end of the lake, he could see birds. They flickered and reappeared in the gloom, growing as they raced on. The clouds were lit again and again by incessant lightning, and behind the increasingly massive birds came the darkest pit of a storm Baet had ever seen! Then he realized the dots before the storm weren’t birds after all. “Dragons,” he whispered—and behind them something even worse.

Baet’s heart dropped into his stomach. He knew what he saw—he’d seen a cloud kraken before, one day near Rottershelm, as he was headed out to the country. He’d given the description with a wild-eyed fervor to his superiors—only to be ignored. It was a freak experience, one that was never to be repeated in a lifetime—or so he thought. Still, there was a major difference between the two experiences, mostly because that cloud kraken had passed several miles off, little more than a dark splotch moving across the distant land, while this cloud kraken was headed straight for him!

“Balls!” Baet swore as the dragons rushed passed with wings thirty, forty, fifty feet across! The winged reptiles dipped low, perhaps hoping to distract the cloud kraken with a handful of humans, mixing it up with their naga neighbors. The great beasts shrieked as they rushed by. One of them bit the head off a naga and another took a swipe at Aim—but the big man dodged.

Baet was distracted. The Jaded Blades took the opportunity and jumped on the Saot guard. Two of them pinned him back as the third took his sword. Meriona screamed as she noted the mayhem rushing at them. She jumped on the back of Todehis as she tried to get past him.

“Who’s side are you on anyway?!” the armed man said, as he slapped Meriona aside. With a twisted grin of spoiled teeth, the Jaded Blade lifted Baet’s sword.

Baet’s life flashed before his eyes. He was sure of his death—but before the Jaded Blade could bring the sword to bare, the tent collapsed on top of them. A tendril of the cloud kraken gripped the canvas of the ten, which folded around Todehis, and yanked him into the air.

Already dead, Todehis dropped the sword. Baet grabbed it and managed to get a bit of distance between himself and the remaining prisoners, then turned and gaped at the terror overhead.

With an earth-shaking shriek, the cloud kraken chased after the dragons, toward the east and south, and took the worst of the storm with it. The tendrils struck the field a few more times, as they rained down among the others. Then, as quick as the beast had appeared, it was gone and the mayhem was over.

The rain lightened up immediately. Baet held his sword as he stared in open astonishment at the remaining prisoners: Meriona, Bruck, and Naiphan.

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 14.3 +_)(*&^%$#@!

Homoth laid in his tent, fast asleep as sunrise crept upon them. A sharp pain caught in his side. He lashed out at the foot that struck him, grabbed the ankle, then pushed upon the shin until his attacker fell backward.

“Save it!” Komotz roared as he sat defenseless before his brother. “We're under attack!”

Homoth blinked in the dark tent, just able to see the outline of Komotz, as a shaky Elpis gathered his axe (it’d been recovered by the Pan Iskaer) and pressed from the tent into the raging storm.

With a frown, Homoth shook off his deep sleep, threw aside his blankets, and yanked on a pair of pants, then his boots. He grabbed his long handled mallet and pressed from the tent as an explosion like nothing he'd ever heard boomed from the direction of the lake.

He turned to see Wenifas on the crest of the low ridge. “Claitennn!” she screamed, as a musket smoked in her hand.

Homoth rushed from the tent as Celesi made the top of the hill with Toar right behind her. Celesi stopped to stare in horror. Toar stepped forward as she pulled a musket from under her coat. She aimed and pulled the trigger.

The cheap musket exploded—mostly out the side—as Toar ran passed. A cloud of smoke caught the native guide. He jerked his head and dove into the grass, obviously injured. Celesi screamed and dropped to his side.

With a curse on his lips, Homoth bolted up the small rise as his brother disappeared over it, sword held high.

“Run! Run, you fools!” Scurra yelled. “Death comes for us all!"

Homoth stepped to the crest of the small rise and took in the mayhem all around him. Celesi sobbed over the downed form of Toar. Beyond the apprentice Jay, a melee stretched over the beach of the lake. Men and naga fought as their mingling blood cast the nearby waters of the lake in a red hue. Wenifas ran through the mayhem to the prone form of her boy as he lay at the edge of the water. Homoth knew he was already too late to do much about the retreating naga—but they were the least of his concerns. Over the lake, a flight of dragons was fast approaching, and they’d adjusted course and were making straight for the beach!

Several dragons took swipes at the humans and naga, as they rushed on. Homoth knocked a talon away and threatened one that looked like it might take a swipe at Celesi. The dragons raced on—followed by a sizzling mass of aggression and vitriol like nothing Homoth had ever seen. Tendrils came down among the bodies on the beach. One swept the crest, knocked Homoth sideways, and wrapped itself around the tree where Scurra was nested. With a pop, the tree ripped from the ground, as Scurra jumped and rolled in the dirt. The tree arched into the sky, was tossed aside, then splashed into the lake.

And then the great beast was directly over them, shrouded in cloud that bristled with electricity as it rushed on. A roar like nothing Homoth had ever heard shook the ground, as he rolled to his knees and got to his feet once more. A tentacle smashed nearby and caught hold of his brother. Komotz screamed as he was crushed and lifted into the air—but the beast was interrupted. Duboha and Elpis were upon the tendril immediately, stabbing and smashing. Carringten was quick to follow, and even Homoth got in several strikes before the tendril recoiled and pulled away. The fury of their combined attack caused the leviathan to drop his little brother—but not before it did its damage. The limp form of Komotz flopped to the ground.

Across the field, the tip of a tentacle wrapped about the legs of Saleos. His eyes bulged as he shrieked, and shot skyward. "IIEIEYEYEIiieyeiye..yi..ey..e.i...e....!" his scream faded as the tentacle whipped him into the roiling mass of cloud and blended with the sounds of the storm.

Tears ran from Homoth's eyes and mixed with rain as he watched his old friend disappear. Glazed with shock and horror, he stared at the heart of the battlefield, where a one-eyed naga fought a winged serpent—the serpent from the alley! One last tendril wrapped about the two and snapped the dueling pair off the beach.

And then the leviathan was beyond them. It continued to focus on the dragons before it—mere dots now, nearly imperceptible. Homoth stared after the impossible beast as it crawled across the sky and took the worst of the storm with it. Stunned by what he'd witnessed, Homoth rushed to his prone brother.

Komotz was a bloody mess. One of his legs was twisted at a sickening angle. Homoth dropped to his knees, stunned that the world could be so cruel. Then he caught sight of Baet, as the Saot cowered among the prisoners—as far from battle as anyone could be—and more than ever before Homoth hated the guard.

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 14.4 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

The sun peaked through the broken clouds and laid bare the atrocities of the battle. Bloodied, Creigal stood over the only naga that had not died or escaped. The wounded beast was too injured to run. Creigal figured if he watched and waited, it was likely the beast would bleed out before his eyes. He thought to offer it bandages, but did not even have a shirt.

Duboha approached and hissed as he realized the creature was still alive. He moved to strike it—but Creigal blocked his way and shook his head. “The fight is over. We have won,” the duke noted. “We shall spare it—unless it wishes to join its fallen brothers.”

Duboha turned to the beast. “Live or die?” he asked in Trohl.

“Live,” Maligno said, curious that he should be given the option. His fear suggested that they might simply watch him die anyway.

Duboha turned to the duke and shrugged. “What’s another prisoner?”

Creigal stripped the beast of its weapons. Carringten approached the duke and his captive. “Your bleeding,” the captain noted.

“Play with blades and your gonna get cut,” Creigal shrugged. “None of them are that bad. Gimme your shirt, that I can make bandages for this creature.”

Carringten set Bence’s short sword aside and began to rip his shirt into long ribbons. He glanced into the sky. “I didn’t think I’d ever see a cloud kraken,” he noted. “Indeed, I didn’t think they were really a thing.”

“I had my doubts myself,” Creigal agreed. “How are the others?”

Carringten shook his head. “A damned awful mess,” he confessed. “Saleos is gone. The younger brother is alive—barely. If he makes it through the day, it’ll be a miracle—but then, that’s the shaman’s business.”

“What of the wyrm?” Creigal asked.

Carringten stared at the duke. “There was a wyrm?”

Criegal ignored the question as he glanced about the battlefield. “Where’s Meu?”

Carringten shook his head. “If the old one was wise, she stayed in her tent.”

“Old?” Creigal replied, then forgot about it as he returned to the business at hand, the bandaging of the injured naga.

“The boy is dead,” Carringten said in a low tone.

“Claiten?” Criegal turned and stared at Wenifas as she cradled the corpse of her son. He shook his head. “What of that one?” the duke asked, as he noticed Andrus at the edge of the water.

“He had a mallet dropped on his chest,” Carringten said. “He’s lucky to be alive and sore as hell, but he should be right as rain given a few days rest.”

Near the crest of the rise, Baet attended Toar as Celesi bothered him halfway to hysterics. “What happened to our guide?” Creigal asked.

Carringten went to investigate. Baet frowned and handed a twisted bit of metal to the captain. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. Instead, he brushed Celesi out of his hair with a disdainful look and a sharp word, as he turned back to Toar.

Carringten returned to the duke. Creigal hissed as he saw the ruined musket in his captain’s hand. “A Pemberton GremSorter!” He stared at his captain in disbelief. ”Where’d they get that?!”

Carringten shook his head. “I didn’t care to ask.”

“To think those things are still out in the world.”

“Doing their job—discouraging others from adopting the musket,” Carringten noted as he inspected the broken weapon. “Celesi said it was hers. Toar must have run passed her as she fired. You can see the powder blew out the side and must have caught our worthy guide in the face,” the captain stated. “He’s alive, though the right half of his face is a mess. I fear he might lose the eye.”

Creigal frowned. “She’s lucky it only blew out the side of the gun, and didn’t explode back on her, the way it was designed.”

“Must not have had a full pack of powder—which means it wasn’t Baet that showed them how to do it,” Carringten noted.

Creigal stared at his captain. “Do you think he would?”

“Not in the least,” Carringten replied. “As far as I can tell, he’s quite attached to the young guard.”

“What a nasty bit of devilry,” Creigal said. “I can see how these GremSorters have been so persuasive, but I can’t say I’m proud of my father for commissioning their creation in the first place.”

“Is it so sinister to sell faulty weapons to your enemies?” Carringten asked. “Still, it’s never good when the old demons return to haunt those that created them. Shall I rid us of the evidence?”

Creigal gave a wave. “Yes, and ask among the others. See that they don’t have any more of these faulty weapons among them.”

Carringten nodded and launched the shattered musket into the lake. With a sigh, he turned and looked over the wasted beach with a frown. Meanwhile, the prisoners looked on, stunned by the sudden and strange violence they’d witnessed.

“Who watches the prisoners?” Creigal wondered.

“Elpis has an eye on ‘em, though I can’t tell which,” a grim smile spread across Carringten’s face. “A tendril came down on their tent—which is why we’re down to three. The camp in general is a bit of a mess. The good news is that most of the horses are unhurt, though a few managed to get loose. I only hope we have enough.“

“Well, there are less of us to ride, so…” Creigal began with a morbid shrug. “What a ruinous day,” he continued, as he stared about those still gathered.

“And what has happened to the sister that warned us? What has happened to her brother?” Carringten asked.

Creigal could not answer. He gave a shrug and turned his attention back to the captured naga.

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 14.5 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

Sore and injured, Scurra limped through the woods at the edge of the lake and searched among the undergrowth. She berated herself for allowing the others to set camp at the edge of the lake—yet she’d given them all the warning she could! Instead, she focused on her task and looked for any of the plants or mushrooms her brother had taught her over the years. He’d shown her a hundred different plants, and each seemed to have a dozen different applications, though she could only remember a fraction of them. She searched for the ones she remembered and wondered how many plants she’d stepped over that could have done exactly what she needed—if only she knew it.

At least her brother knew—but he was shrunken, bedraggled, heavily effected by the darkness of her dreams. Ever so slowly, he hobbled through the woods, and poked about the undergrowth.

She wondered, did he see what she saw? Was the dark dream worse for him, or was it simply the same as it’d always been? Admittedly, he also suffered spells. But his dreams were always light and easy on the other side. On this side is where he struggled. He flopped and foamed, and looked like he was about to die; eyes bugged, his body wracked, and his breath coming in sharp gasps. It was why his tongue was so mangled, why he refused to talk. She asked him about it once, how was it that she always suffered the dark dreams, while he played with angels. He’d said he’d never needed nightmares to know of the evil that stalked the waking world. Then he asked if she wished to trade, with his twisted tongue and thick language, that took her forever to decipher. She shuddered to think of the harm he’d inflicted upon himself, of all the draughts of strange of awful brew he drank and all the pungent poultices he’d used to wrap his face. Was it not better to suffer on the other side, that at least she might maintain her beauty?

Scurra shook her head. All too often, she stepped into her dreams and found herself unable to do anything to change their outcome. She seemed fated to know the darkest moments of her life long before she should ever encounter them—though she had to admit it was not all her darkest moments. Why were there no dreams of her worthless husband and the beatings he gave her before he left? Was it because such a thing was all too avoidable if only she had an inkling of his true character? At least he only lasted a few years.

Scurra chanced upon a colony of numb root. She took several stocks and thanked the plant for showing itself to her in her hour of need. She showed her brother, and he smiled. A moment later, he found sugar petal, which among other things would keep a wound from getting infected. He thanked the delicate flower and took nearly half of what he found, as there were a lot of cuts among her friends. With these two medicines in hand, the siblings decided it was time to return to the others and treat them as they could.

Komotz was given a double dose of numb root. Scurra did not like the look of him, though her brother was optimistic. Poor Komotz. Her brother set his bones, but there was little else he could do until they arrived in Excergie and could get some more exotic medicines. If all went well, they’d reach the town by the end of the day. The Oak and Beast had many friends and a fine house in the border town.

Andrus took a healthy dose of numb root, and the duke took half a dose for his numerous, though superficial, cuts. Creigal marveled at the numb root as Wenifas stitched the worst of his cuts with meticulous attention. She too wondered at the numb root's power as she pulled thread through the duke’s skin in a neat fashion—as if she were mending a favorite dress. “You do not feel it at all?” she asked.

“I feel it,” Creigal corrected. “I feel the needle puncture and pull my skin—there is simply no pain to it. There is no sharpness, only a dull tug.”

“I think I should like a piece of that root,” Wenifas noted.

Scurra shook her head. “It does not affect the emotions, my dear. It works only on the nerves.”

Wenifas paused her stitching and wiped her tears.

“If you should like, I can finish,” Scurra said, as she reached for the needle and thread.

“And what shall I do?” Wenifas pulled away. “Evereste sleeps. I much prefer to busy my hands,” she said through her tears.

With a nod, Scurra turned and went to look after Toar. The barrel of the GremSorter fragmented and blew shrapnel into the right side of native guide’s face. A couple dozen shards required removal. The largest was the size of a half bit, while the smallest fragments were the size of a pin’s head. Baet was slow and meticulous as he proceeded, though Celesi begged him to hurry. The worst was a sliver of metal that was caught at the bottom of Toar’s right eye. Celesi begged him to leave it.

“It has to come out,” Baet assured her. “The longer you leave it in, the more likely it is to get jammed in further, or jostled, which will also cause more damage—now, shush!” he snapped. He took a solid minute to build up the courage, then plucked the tiny sliver, which brought a hiss from Toar.

Under the direction of Scurra, and despite his reservations, Baet wiped a thin layer of sugar petal across the burnt half of Toar’s face, then covered it with a bit of cloth ripped from the hem of Celesi’s dress.

While the injured were attended, Carringten rounded up the horses. Andrus, Komotz, Toar and Maligno were placed in the wagon with the remains of Traust, Apulton, and the small shrouded body of Claiten. It was a crowded affair, one that Andrus immediately opposed. “I don’t want to ride with that snake!” he hissed as he stared at the injured naga.

“Well, we ain’t got the horses to ride, and since you’re the worst off among the rest of us, you have to watch and see that the naga does nothing to Komotz or Toar,” Duboha told the man as he gave him a long dagger. The naga simply ignored them and laid to one side, its breathing labored.

A somber mood hung over the party as they finally departed. Baet was the last to leave the beach. He kicked about the detritus left from the fight and noticed Claiten’s knife. With a sour face, he picked the blade from the sand and tucked it under his belt.

As they rode, Creigal felt more and more nauseous. Twice he stopped his horse and purged violently. He looked to Scurra and Krumpus to see if he should be worried.

Scurra shrugged. “It is normal to purge after taking numb root. Although it is easy on the nerves, it is hard on the digestion,” she explained. “Do not worry. It is rarely fatal.”

“Rarely?” Creigal frowned. Although he was sick several times on their way to Excergie—and with a mighty force—the duke did not die.

Wenifas sat up front of the cart with Evereste in her lap. Several miles before the pass, she turned to Elpis and noticed that tears streamed freely down his face. For a time she pretended not to see it; then, with tears of her own, she adjusted Evereste in her lap, pulled close, and wrapped an arm around the sad Jindleyak.
As Wenifas settled against him, Elpis leaned into her and confessed his emotions. "It is poor of me that, despite our losses, I think only of the Lady Yandira?"

Wenifas shook her head. She held Elpis for a long time as she thought of her own lost lover. Derris seemed so long ago and so very distant, even though it was—what? Just over a month ago since the last time she saw him? It felt like forever as the same sharp emotions welled up in her once more. Still, it was good to think of him and not Claiten—but then she did think of the boy and the tears came in unrelenting waves. She buried her face in the Jindleyak’s shoulder, then his lap, and as the tears finally subsided and exhaustion took over, she fell asleep.

So it was that the party entered Jindleyak lands. Despite the somber mood, everyone was pleased when Toar woke—except Toar. He was not pleased, as the numb root given Komotz had proved too much. Like the duke, Komotz had also spilled his guts, only without all the pomp and circumstance of Creigal's pyrotechnics. Andrus and Malgno both missed the incident since the mess did not touch them—but poor Toar was soaked with the younger brother’s sick, and quite upset about it.

If you enjoyed this, consider donating, because donating is love.