RP:Kreekitaka and the Gorgon's Song
Part of the A Line Drawn in the Sand Arc
Secret Cove, Rynvale
Mcracken (as he’s come to be known..) could have been mistaken, on first glance, for a washed-up pile of dry seaweed or a clump of flotsam rags thrown up by the ocean onto the rocks on which he was perched, his lanky frame bent toward the surf spattering his large, bare feet with foam and spume. Cloaked and cowled in these poor garments, the wanderer’s lips moved silently in a song pitched beyond the reckoning of most humanoid ears, though now and then the notes dropped low enough to be audible to dogs, even humans. The song he sang was in a language few creatures not born of the sea would recognise; an ancient, tonal tongue that could span half an ocean if the singer wished… In the distance, a pod of porpoises breached the waves, emitting clicks and whistles, leaping and diving again. “Mac” ceased singing, then, and straightened his back, peering toward the strangle monoliths further along the beach with his mismatched eyes, one ocean green, one milky pearl. His expression was grim.
Kreekitaka just -had- to investigate that sound. Because nothing similar to it had happened around here recently and if that mermaid had been right about a kraken coming to town, there were defenses that needed to be shored up. But first, an investigation. So among that pod of porpoises was quite a different being, though in its current state it may have been roughly the size of one of them if not even a little bigger. And instead of simply playing around, leaping and diving in the distance, Kree was making a beeline straight for the coast where he was pretty sure he'd heard the sound coming from. Part of him wished he'd brought backup along, but he'd felt a stop at his hometown might have caused something of a stir, given his latest adventure into the realm of magic. Hopefully Muzo could get him all separated soon so he could go back to doing proper leader things. Regardless, soon enough the eight walking legs of the sea scorpion hauled his large somewhat ungainly self onto the beach and his tail arced up over his head immediately, looking for any sign of danger, someone who might be around here--and then he caught a glimpse of who it might have been and his head tilted, because a person should not be able to make those sounds. He slowly lumbered forward, one claw near but not reaching for the jawblade he kept strapped to his back, eyes not leaving the stranger.
At the sound of those chitin-clad limbs chittering across sand and stone, the Seaborn hobo was shaken from his reverie and stood, limbs cracking and popping at the joints as the bones of the extremely elderly tend to do when required to move of a sudden. The apparent man was tall, and even under the motley rags festooning him it was obvious he was on the thin side. The cowl he wore, if one could call the raggy thing a cowl, blew back from his face with the next gust of salt-laden wind, revealing a mess of black hair, a pointed black beard, both streaked with grey, and a face too young to own either. His skin was perfectly smooth, a bit pale, like the belly of a dolphin. His odd-matched eyes fixed upon the approaching… whatever it was? .. but he made no motion to flee or to fight, merely stood his ground for a scant moment. Then “Mac” broke into a hale of laughter which did not end for an awkward amount of time. On it went, and on, fading off only to burst forth again every time the Seaborn peered Kreekitaka’s way. He fell over sideways twice, crippled by mirth, and only on the third collapse was able to speak, “Th…. thou art..” he laughed a bit more, then coughed, “.. art in something of a quandary it seems, Uyeer. What fate hast befallen thee, then? Hast thou angered a sea-witch?” Mac was enjoying this a bit too much, perhaps.
Kreekitaka paused, his facial crushers flaring a little. He'd had strange reactions from people before. Linn, for example, had believed himself to be hallucinating. Aptera the mermaid had fallen in love. Khitti (and most people) found him terrifying and repulsive. This was the first time he'd been found comical and he decided he didn't like the feeling. Mantis-like foretalons clicked against each other as he waited for the man to eventually settle down, and then he asked a question--hey, at least he was familiar with uyeer, so that was good. "No. I was in a fighTAH!, an' HHHTHis was a means TAH!oo become stronger. SomeHHHTHing wenTAH! wrong." He crossed his arms and flared his paddles, relaxing a little--at least he wouldn't be dangerous if he found Kree to be little more than a joke, right? "A minor seTAH!back, noHHHTHing more. I am aoreaDAH!ee working on fixing iTAH!." Kree, as much as I appreciate your cavalier attitude about all this, you've basically been glued to a scorpion. It's okay to be a little freaked out about it.
Mcracken dragged a torn sleeve across his gaze, clearing his eyes of the briny water they’d leaked during his bout of abject hilarity, and pulled himself upright again with the aid of a jagged rock. The mirth still shone in his green eye - the pearly one lacking in expression as ever – as he offered the Uyeer a slight bow by way of apology, his spine complaining with a sound like old driftwood sticks snapping. He retook his stony seat, facing away from the open ocean, then, and gestured with a strangely gnarled hand to an open bit of sandy ground nearby. “Take thy rest a time, Uyeer, if thou wouldst.” Mac had sensed the creature’s trepidation toward him, but if this bothered him there was no sign of it. The Seaborn’s human face was smiling, lots of even white teeth, because he’d learned that land-creatures used this as a signal for non-aggression, which by and large suited his present purposes. But too, his long fingers curled into claw-shapes, fingers and thumbs clacking together in a certain way the Uyeer may understand, and from the hobo’s throat came a grunting click.. a crablike greeting. “Or if thou wish, we may wander these shores a while as we speak, for I have need to seek out a den. Thy company wouldst be well met and welcome, either way.” Though Mac cared nothing for land-dwellers, enduring them as needs must for the time, he held a fondness for all of the races of the sea - black of heart or fair, sentient or sluggish, they were all kin to him in some way, even if only by the fact they breathed the same water.
Kreekitaka twitched a facial crusher and looked as if no part of his day was spent in complete stillness--paddles were always shifting and clicking slightly, weight shifted, tails flicked. Something about this guy seemed... what was the word... off. From the strange speech impediment to the way he did crablike things--oh yeah, look who's talking, 'it's okay if I do it' whatever--it was just a bit strange to see a humanoid act that way. So rather than wander around a dark cove with a shady individual, Kree shook his head slowly and allowed the scorpion's legs to fold underneath him and rest on the sand. Apparently the scorpion half found this perfectly acceptable and lay still. "I hearDAH! a... sounDAH!," he said, cautiously. "Coming from aroun' here. Have you hearDAH! anyHHHTHing... strange, in HHHTHe pas' few minuTAH!s?" Interrogation time. The guy didn't seem like the sort who might be intrigued by a makeover--though he did appear to be in desperate need of one. Might have to slip him a business card on your way out, Kree.
Mcracken’s humanoid smile grew a little more eerie, as it stayed fixed on his face like some toothsome billboard further announcing his general “offness”. “A sound…” Mismatched gaze turning briefly to the ocean horizon, he spoke quietly, “Just the vasty song of the sea, the conversation of porpoises..” Kreekitaka had not asked him, after all, what sounds Mac had *caused*, only what he’d *heard*…The Old One cast his strange gaze back to the Uyeer, no amusement in it at all now, as he scanned the crab’s scorpiontauric (which is totally a word) form. “Tell me, Uyeer, what fell magics dost thou possess, that hath wrought this … change in thee? Hast thou such dire enemies among the land-walkers that such a change is necessity?” Time for a bit of tit-for-tat interrogation, it seems. Squid pro quo.
Kreekitaka rumbled internally and seemed, if anything, a bit more restless than before. Something was nagging at him--first the weird song, now the weird guy, and the weird guy saying he hadn't heard anything. Peculiar, and slightly disturbing. Nevertheless, continuing the conversation. "Magic, me? Fah." Kree nearly spat at the allegation and his facial crushers flared a little. "If I were magic, I wooDAH! have myseff fixeDAH! by now. No. I have no magic of my own. I hire peepo for HHHTHeir abiyiTAH!ees. An' my mosTAH! recenTAH! associaTAH! has proven... somewhaTAH! unreyiabo. I expecTAH! HHHTHis is my yasTAH! transformation." It was just kinda... inconvenient, having to change shape all the time. "WhaTAH! have you noTAH!iceDAH! abouTAH! HHHTHis pyace? AnyHHHTHing unusuoh?" Still trying to get to the bottom of this, Kree refused to allow himself to play defense the entire time.
Mcracken’s right brow arched over the pearl-hued eye below it, and though that pale eye itself remained devoid of expression, its green twin sparkled with amusement. “So thou wouldst willingly remain… thus?” His long hand swept up and down, a gesture encompassing Kreekitaka’s hybrid shape. “Forsooth, it may yet have its advantages, if thou art inclined to fisticuffs.” The low rumble in his throat may have been a chuckle, but in any case it signalled a change of topic, “And this place..” Mac’s neck cracked as he craned to glance along the westerly beach. “In truth, I be not wholly a stranger to it, nor to its tales. Many a fable is told about the fates of those who lingered here too long..” his toothy grin softened to a faint, slightly sad smile. “.. and the creatures of elder times who didst climb from the sea to wander its sands. Hark!” he flapped a gesture to the open ocean, where in the distance some kind of creatures bobbed up and down in the waves, blurry shapes, “It may be that the time hath come for legends to wake, and walk the sands again.” And in his throat began a soft, vaguely musical rasp, an echo of another ancient tune, a sound that seemed to vibrate through the air, the sand below, even the rocks, as if the Old One was attempting to soothe the world and everything immediately in it. Diminutive distant cousins of the Uyeer, little crabs scuttled from among the stones, first one then two.. then three and four.. soon, a dozen gathered about his feet, slowly waving their tiny claws in the air.
Kreekitaka was, in fact, rather inclined to fisticuffs, as anybody familiar with an uyeer might have guessed, and Kree allowed the comment to slide by without incident. Of course, all the chatter about fates of those who linger here long and elder times he sorta tuned out, a little bit, though he did question why, in that case, somebody would find it at all advantageous to build a house here. But then the singing started and immediately Kree shifted to his feet, pushing the sand aside as his body lifted its great bulk from the ground. Soothing as it may have been, it was a little reminiscent of the sound from earlier, and the whole vague feeling of unease persisted throughout his person. "Yejenns?" he repeated, a little skeptically. "STAH!ories of HHHTHe pasTAH!. PropaganDAH!a, for chiohDAH!ren." He rippled his paddles and flexed his tail a little, as if limbering himself up for something. "Such has never kepTAH! my inTAH!eresTAH!." He wasn't even particularly religious for an uyeer, though one might occasionally catch him shooting off a small prayer or oath.
Mcracken reached down to stroke the tip of one finger along the orange-tipped claw of one tiny crab, an almost paternal gesture, and the eldred humming ceased as he spoke his reply: “It be sensical to harken well to the old songs of the sea, and this I have learned in my time to be wise. I be teller of tales mayhap for children…” he nudged the smaller crustacean and it crab-walked back to its hidey-spot in the rocks. “.. but not merely for them, O hasty one..” there was a hint of amusement again, “.. for hath not the great tides of the past shaped the present, as surely as the ocean doth shape the land? All things rise and fall, and some rise again. This be the way of the world as its ages roll and swell… what good it be, to pretend otherwise?” Mac rose to his feet now, clods of sand and bits of seaweed adhered to him all over, “If thou dost change thy tune, Hasty, and wouldst have a yen to hear a tale or two, “ he looked down the long beach again, to the west, “Thou hast only to call here, through sea or sky, and I shall come to thy summons.”
Kreekitaka grunted a little. "I finDAH! my own DAH!ecisions an' actions shape my presenTAH! more HHHTHan anyHHHTHing I hearDAH! from my moHHHTHer. WhaTAH! I wanTAH, I TAH!ake, an' I am now HHHTHe mos' powerfo uyeer on HHHTHe pyaneTAH!." Well, kinda, Kree. You're certainly rich, but you don't actually have that much political influence. Admittedly, you do have pixies, which are like tiny magical nuclear options, but I'm pretty sure that's worked against you in the past, see your current form. Not that any of this was going to come up--Kree saw himself as a powerful leader and still on the rise.
Kreekitaka tilted his head a little--still, best not to let doors close without purpose... "Supposing, however, I 'change my TAH!une', whaTAH! am I TAH!oo ask, if worDAH!s make you come here?"
Mcracken was as concerned with wealth and power as the ocean itself - which is to say, not at all, if that was not obvious in his haphazard (to put it nicely) garb and the simple serenity his every word and gesture exuded. If Mac found any of the Uyeer’s present boasts amusing, he didn’t make it obvious. “Thou hast found thy feet on land, then, Hasty?” He glanced to the eight scorpion-feet the Uyeer presently owned, and nodded acknowledgement. “Then mayhap thou knowest what be the cause of disturbance in the sea-lane, twixt this land and the white city yonder?” he gestured toward Cenril. “In the deeps, unseemly rumblings fit to stir the soundest sleepers from their slumber. “ His brows knit in displeasure, “A vast disharmony, indeed. But if thou dost not know, perhaps in thy land-wise wanderings, thou mayest discover it, and return to tell me…” his green eye glinted then, “.. for in sating my curiosity, thou wouldst earn some.. reward.” And then added, as an afterthought, “Perhaps bring thy mother with thee, should she hold a liking for ancient.. tales.”
He coughed then, or laughed, at the Uyeer's request for a call-signal, "Sing the oldest song thy good mother ever taught thee."
Kreekitaka honestly didn't know, not being particularly in tune with the feelings of an inanimate body of water, however it was beginning to seem like quite a few things had some kind of beef with Cenril and it was starting to tick him off a little. "Have HHHTHe mermaiDAH!s been speaking TAH!oo you? PsychoTAH!ic braTAH!s wiHHHTH no pyanning abiyiTAH!ee whaTAH!soever, if you ask me." He shook his head and gazed out to see, rippling his paddles. "Onyee HHHTHing I know is HHHTHe mermaiDAH!s DAH!espise humans wiHHHTH a passion, for some reason. HHHTHey seem TAH!oo have no iDAH!ea how -profiTAH!abo- humans are. You say I make my yife on yanDAH!, buTAH! I haven'TAH!--I've founDAH! HHHTHe marriage of sea an' earHHHTH TAH!oo be immenseyee rewarDAH!ing. Ask me how much I make in a DAH!ay." He crossed his arms again, some part in the back of his mind trying to even remember what the oldest song he'd been taught was, though he had a nagging suspicion that it was actually a war-chant taught to him by his father.
Mcracken listened with sharp interest as Kree spoke about the mermaids, nodding and offering the Uyeer a faint smirk at mention of the sea-people’s temperament. Forgoing any inquiry as to the crablike creature’s daily income, he instead focussed on what he himself thought to be of import, “To walk by land and sea both hast ever been in the nature of thy kind, Hasty, the gods would smile at thy revelling in it, as thou hast.” A lapping wave sent a spume of salted watery mist sloughing over the seaward rocks, and the Seaborn inhaled the moisture-laden air deeply, his exhale resembling a deep sigh. “The mermish people too are rather … hasty.” Mac’s lips pursed, as he pondered this “But indeed, they hath become quite warlike of late, there be ripples…” Mac stopped there, and shook his shaggy head, dislodging a pernicious sea-louse, of the vicious, biting kind most every sea creature generally hated for good reason, and avoided at all costs. The kind that likes to wedge itself into the cracks of a carapace, and bite.. and bite… Heedless of the small critter, which now scuttled toward the Uyeer, Mac continued, “What I seek is the truth of it.. and a return to peace.” The tone of those last few words was deep and vibrated with an ominous sort of rumble that could imply an unspoken addition: ‘at any cost’.
Kreekitaka was not going to be peaceful with a sealouse about, especially not one heading in his direction. One gigantic foretalon lifted up and stretched, revealing barbs the size of swords running all along the extremity of the limb, and the moment the creature came within range he brought the spikes down in an entirely overkill attempt to eradicate the pest. Admittedly, it was a little like dropping a building on a mosquito, but when what you have is a near-unending supply of brute force, that tends to be the first way you try to solve your problems. "I'm working on iTAH!," he said with a shrug. "HHHTHe reTAH!urn TAH!oo peace, anyhow. One of HHHTHem is quiTAH! smiTAH!en by me, an' she beyeevs I am a monsTAH!er who means TAH!oo drown hundreDAH!s of humans aTAH! once. I am using her own moTAH!ivations TAH!oo try an' civiyize her, make her proDAH!ucTAH!ive." He nodded and rubbed his claws together. The plan was as devious as it was risky, but it could potentially lead to a huge payoff. Namely, the cooperation of another race of seaborn and the avoidance of the destruction of his primary place of business.
Mcracken gave Kree a nod of approval, but whether this was aimed at the Uyeer’s cunning plan to trick the mermaid, or his annihilation of the louse wasn’t clear. Given the respective natures of both mermaids and pernicious sea-lice, it was quite likely he approved of both. “For aeons,” he began, and as he spoke, Mac started strolling off at a slow amble along the beach to the west, still talking as he went as if taking it utterly for granted that the bristling Uyeer would follow, “.. the mermish tribes hath waged war upon war only amongst themselves, as they ever have, forsaking all but the most intermittent of contact with land-walkers..” If Kreekitaka had paid any attention at all his mother’s tales and songs of yore, he might be aware of what sort of contact these legends described - predatory, territorial, occasionally romantic, but in any case almost always ending in disaster or death for the land-walkers. “Once, they had higher powers to govern over their behaviours, for the sake of all. Such powers are … ahem, grown old and few, and so the mermish hath become bold once more..” If Kree wasn’t tagging along, Mac’s voice would be pretty faint by now, “.. perhaps they be angered too, by these rumblings along the seabeds, perhaps for another reason.” He shrugged his shoulders, which clacked and popped, “..about which I possess but little knowledge, for in this age they are grown insolent and will not speak to…” he paused, “… anyone, whom they ought.” The Seaborn coughed again, but continued on his way, his steps slow and heavy, as though he bore upon him a great weight.
Rugged Rocks
Kreekitaka figured that at this point he was on this being's good side, regardless of who or what it was, and figured that it was acceptable to follow after him, carapace clicking and clacking as he walked, watching the rocks carefully to avoid slipping on them. One thing inconvenient about being fused with a big creature is a lack of mobility in narrow places. Deciding to listen for the purpose of information-gathering, he tilted his head a little at his mentioning of higher powers and decided to interrupt the story right about here. "Higher powers?" he asked, latching onto that, as well as the mention that the mer weren't speaking to said higher powers. "You mean krakens? My mermaiDAH! speaks of a kraken. She beyeeveDAH! I was senTAH! by one, TAH!oo assisTAH! in HHHTHe 'war efforTAH!'. Perhaps HHHTHey -are- speaking TAH!oo a kraken, an' iTAH! is infyuencing HHHTHem in mayicious ways?" Kree's people had never really had much faith in the krakens, since their attempts to spread peace and balance usually didn't work out so well in uyeer societies.
Mcracken said, "Aye, old and few.. and forgetful.. cantankerous…mayhap a little mad…” This was a low mutter, barely audible in the blustering winds that battered the monolithic rocks, ruffling the gulls which perched upon them. As though suddenly remembering he had company, the Old One glanced over his shoulder toward Kreekitaka, “Perhaps then there be yet another reason for this mermish obstinance. What I do know is, were they to fotsake their quibbling against one another, and rise together against the land, even without a kraken shoaling them to war the seas will fill with blood and wreckage, hunters will be hunted… “ His voice carried a tone that, even more than his words, offered Kree a glimpse of the horrors which may follow. His next words were another bout of muttering, “Not all of kraken-kind lust for the taste of shipwrecked flesh….as if a mere cup of wood be any threat to the deep… “
Guarded Path
Kreekitaka snorted in derision and amusement at this and rippled his paddles lightly while tapping his chest--an uyeer chuckle. "Near as I can work ouTAH!, HHHTHese mermaiDAH!s are buTAH! few, an' more, incompeTAH!enTAH! buffoons. I'DAH! wager HHHTHaTAH! I cooDAH! annihiyaTAH! HHHTHeir enTAH!ire movemenTAH! wiHHHTH my weapon in four minuTAH!s or yess." This guy didn't seem to quite grasp the lack of seriousness this problem actually was. Keeping that in mind, he paused a little. "So assuming HHHTHey are simpyee an annoyance, whaTAH! ess mighTAH! HHHTHrow HHHTHe ocean off-bayance?" This was said mostly to humor his tour guide--he still wasn't convinced there was anything at all that was completely wrong.
Mcracken gave Kreekitaka a long and ambiguously thoughtful look, and it was some time before he actually replied, “The sea hath clouded in the straits, the corals are waning..the paths of the fish are unnaturally divergent, they cannot hear the call of their ancestors… and all of this began with that accursed rumble, whose origins are beyond my ken.” The air about them grew abruptly cold as the wind blustered in from the sea with greater force. Gulls abandoned the rocks in a great white, yawping cloud. Somewhere, either from afar or very near, it was hard to tell which, a low pitched harmony wended through the squalling sea-breeze, bringing to mind the sadness of widowed fishwives and lonely old things of the deep, who have slept too long in their cavernous beds and become out of touch with the world at large. By then the pair were approaching a stand of rocks which owned peculiar shapes, and this seemed to cheer the Seaborn somewhat. His heavy tread quickened – or rather, become less slow and measured. “Come now, Hasty, for I have things to show thee, and a tale to tell…”
Kreekitaka hadn't noticed much of those things, but then he did tend to be more of a middle man rather than an actual farmer or rancher. He also had spent a decent amount of time out of the water as of late, so that might be another part of his out-of-touchness. As such, he didn't actually have any comment on the talk of the rumbling. When he started to pick up his pace...or at least lighten, a little, Kree clattered his paddles lightly--well, might as well keep following, right? It was interesting enough, anyhow. "I won'TAH! even have TAH!oo sing for iTAH!.?" he quipped, running a claw lightly against the strangely-formed stones.
Volcanic Menagerie
Sometimes local urchins, sons and daughters of Rynvalian seafarers, sneak out here to play at slaying gorgons, leviathans and other oceanic beasts, seeing those shapes quite plainly in the weirdly-formed slag. The stones themselves are said to be alive and on the march, moving so slowly along the trail that mortals cannot perceive their progress. It’s probably only a fishwife’s tale, but an ancient custom is for men to tip their hats at the gorgon-shaped rock as they pass by, so as not to invoke her ire. To the east the path all but vanishes into a maze of monoliths, and to the west softens into a stretch of white sand.
Mcracken’s laugh was reminiscent of the boom of storm-born waves crashing against the hull of a ship. “Thou mayest consider this one a gratuity.” His slow march ended as they approached the vicinity of the imposing gorgon-shaped rock, which cast a contorted shadow on the white sands below. The Seaborn’s mirth faded as he turned his odd-colored gaze up toward the face – and it did kind of look like face up there, surrounded by some twisted ropes of solidified magma, that loosely resembled serpentine hair. “Evriale…” whispered Mac, and glanced to Kreekitaka, who might notice that the wanderer’s one sea-green eye had shifted in hue to a dull greenish-gray. The other was as ever, a plain and vacant pearl. He sighed, and his smile was wan when he next spoke. “This stone owns a song, but its words are in a tongue thou wouldst not easily comprehend. Still, it would please me greatly if thou wouldst listen..” From somewhere among the clutter of rags he wore, Mac drew forth a small stringed instrument, hardly bigger than a man’s palm, and plucked a few notes. “..for tales too have a life, of sorts, and must now and then be heard, lest they wither and die.” He mouth compressed into that wan smile again, “And this song hath not been sung for… too long, already.”
Kreekitaka tilted his head a little, thinking about that for a moment, looking up at the snake-headed rock outcropping thoughtfully. "Io yissen, since we have come HHHTHis far, buTAH!... of whaTAH! use is a TAH!ayoh if HHHTHe hearer cannoTAH! comprehenDAH! iTAH!.?" he asked, turning his attention back to the strange little talespinner. "Can a sTAH!ory truyee yive in someone who hears an' DAH!oes noTAH! know whaTAH! iTAH! means?" You know, Kree, you could have just asked for a translation in the playbill. Or clarification afterwards.
Mcracken only chuckled – despite the Uyeer’s incessant hastiness, the Old One was finding himself enjoying Kree’s company. Perhaps more so, because it had been so long since he’d had any company at all. Gnarled fingers picked a few sweet notes on the hand-lyre, the stark simplicity of the tune only addling to its air of sweetness mingled with sorrow. Maybe Kree would gain an answer to his impatient query when, after a few bars, Mac’s voice swelled into the song, a deep bass to compliment the high notes of the instrument. Indeed, the words were strange, though no doubt the Uyeer would find at least a very few somehow familiar, as though their lexicon was so ancient that just a few had survived the journey through time and into modern Seaborn-parlance. But while the words may lack meaning in terms of language, the effect they had on anyone listening would make the essence of the song all too clear… For as Mac sang, it seemed the world *shifted* slightly, so that the tale appeared to be happening all around Kree, with ghostly figures moving like the mere phantoms they were, acting out the song’s message. He’d see a tall and imposing woman in a complicated head-dress, some kind of red wrapping that obscured her gaze. She was beautiful, though, in a haunting way that even a crab might find plucking at the strings of his heart, and she walked with a grace that gave her the air of some great queen of aeons yore. One word repeated more often than others, as this vision manifested… the same word Mac had whispered to the stone.. “Evriale”. And then in a moment, this serene scenario changed, as did its accompanying music. The words Mac sang grew harsh, staccato, and in the vision appeared an iron-clad warrior, replete with sword and shield, sneaking around the creature-shaped rocks, gaining secretive ground on the unaware woman with every step. The music became more urgent, then, as if shouting her a warning.. look out!.. danger is nigh.. and carried vast sorrow, as if to express grief that the woman could not herself hear this cry to beware.
Kreekitaka did, admittedly, catch a few words, but when the world started to change, the phantom of the woman suddenly materializing and moving through the stones, his claw immediately went for the hilt of his jawblade--though it also never quite seemed to make it all the way there. Something in the music, the way the story was being told of this woman--it wasn't like the illusions before, where magic had forced something unnatural on his mind. Rather, it was like the effects of certain potions he'd heard of, where patterns wove themselves together and certain sensations caused others to occur--yet it was also natural. He'd never heard music like this, even from an orchestra. There were going to be secrets extracted from this man later, but for now Kree was just getting caught up in the emotion of it. When the music took a turn for the harsh, the armored warrior appearing, Kree's claw moved once more for his jawblade--how could this man want to do her ill? Somebody had to stop him--and yet he knew that this had all happened long ago, and he wasn't really in any position to do anything about it. Still... his paddles lifted and facial crushers flared. If, for whatever reason, this idiot was still living, Kree was going to see to it that he wouldn't be, very soon.
Mcracken’s own expression had grown dark – nay, positively murderous – as the ancient tale took shape about them, and his voice grew strident, the words expressing an outrage so deep that even the few persistent gulls pecking about for scraps on the shore bristled their feathers and skrarked in umbrage. The phantasmal warrior came closer, closer to the woman, until all he had to do was step out from behind a leviathan-shaped rock and he’d be upon her! But instead of attacking with his sword, the villain held before him his shield – a thing of polished metal, scoured and burnished to a high sheen. His mouth opened in a silent roar as he leapt toward the queenly female, who wheeled about, her head-dress abruptly unfurling into a seething crown of serpents… no, it was tentacles! … that lashed in furious frenzy at the warrior. The woman’s gaze, thus revealed, was as red as her ‘hair’, and her eyes bulged in rage… no, wait, something more.. something terrible… Once again the music shifted key, the song’s words redolent with heartrending loss, for as the woman glared at her assailant, her own reflection cast in the warrior’s shining shield seemed to blaze a-fire with a terrible magic! Suddenly the woman’s flesh turned a stony grey, her supple limbs grew still, her lovely lips frozen open amid a cry that never had a chance to be heard… For it was clear she had become stone, a twisted mockery of her former living glory, and the music would tell Kreekitaka that by this heinous, treacherous act the world had lost its greatest treasure. Maybe the way Mac’s green eye had dulled, the way the words broke in his throat, would provide a hint that the ‘world’ in question was more specifically Mac’s world… The song came to its end, then, the Seaborn’s voice fading to whisper, that word again.. Evriale.. and the vision faded too.
Kreekitaka tried to process what all had just happened, and found it difficult. The emotion of the song was one of the hardest things to deal with. There was a woman, the greatest being in the world, if the song was to be believed--and certainly the feelings and sensations it brought to him told him of this--and a warrior who clearly meant her ill, a cowardly villain, hiding behind a shield. And yet... something nagged at him about it. The woman's own reflection had done her in, and the man hadn't even swung his weapon--she'd struck with lethal intent, while he merely defended, yet somehow -he- was to blame for this... Bizarre. Very odd. Kree shook his head, trying to clear it a little and failing. Several moral questions started bubbling to the surface. He knew his attempt to defend his wealth against the council of his city had made him a monster in the eyes of several, but before he'd been considering the magic and tactics he'd been using. Now he wondered if the very act itself was, from a certain point of view, monstrous. Had the council been defending itself against him? Had he been the one to strike with lethal intent? Would it come back to bite him, as it had Evriale? After a long silence during which he found no answers, he settled himself down on the stone, no longer in any hurry to go anywhere--after all, someone who could evoke these questions might be able to answer them. "HHHTHaTAH! was amazing," he said quietly, slowly. "How is iTAH! DAH!one?"
Mcracken drew in a deep breath, exhaled as a slight cough for the air here was too dry for his liking, and shrugged, “It be an ancient tongue…” And that, it seemed, was all the explanation he was going to offer the Uyeer. “Thou hast my thanks for hearing it.” The raggedy man lifted himself from his own perch and approached the gorgon-stone. From the depths of his motley garments, he drew a few small items that were placed with obvious reverence at its ‘feet’, almost as if he was completing some sort of ritual. As he straightened again, Mac’s mood shifted from grim solemnity to something lighter, and he turned his odd-eyed gaze on Kreekitaka. “Thou was saying that the old tales grippeth not thine interest…” Was that a smirk on his face now?!
Kreekitaka watched him go through with his odd ritual--not unlike the way he'd seen land-dwellers mark a grave site. The realization finally clicked--this person was -old-. Very old. ...and smirking. Kree grunted at that last part and gestured vaguely with a claw. "Music aoways hepps," he said, though it wasn't really as much of a face-saving gesture as he'd expected it to be. He was pretty much certain the guy had just handily trumped him and, admittedly, if he thought about it, he probably wouldn't even be all that mad at him for it. "Is HHHTHere any way TAH!oo yearn iTAH!.?" he asked. "HHHTHe ancienTAH! yanguage, I mean." Imagine the sales pitch you could give by causing visions of fantastic clothing just spring to life in the world around you. Or a warcry that spawns the image of a thousand phantasmal warriors to join your crusade. Or... well, the tales you could tell with it
Macracken said, “Aye…” and nodded the affirmative, stepping back to take his former seat. “I couldst teach thee the old tongue,” his brows arched slightly, his lips still carrying a hint of smirk, “If thou hast the patience, Hasty. For to learn it complete wouldst take...some time."
Kreekitaka rumbled a little. "I have a gooDAH! minDAH! for yanguage. I yearneDAH! how TAH!oo speak, sign an' reaDAH! yanDAH! common, an' I know HHHTHe yanguages of my peepo an' HHHTHe mermish. I have patience." As... direct as Kree tended to be in most scenarios, being the sort who goes fishing with a stick of dynamite... he may have been blunt, but he wasn't dull.
Mcracken was actually joking in his own droll way when he’d made that offer, since the language in question was so complex, every syllable so multi-nuanced, that it could take a literal age for anyone to master it. Not to mention that such a lesson might reveal more about the Seaborn than he was presently willing to give up. But the Uyeer’s sheer earnestness struck an unexpected note of guilt in Mac, for was not this excitable crustacean near enough - in a way - to being kin..? So instead of exposing the jest, Mac wagged a gnarled finger at him, “Some rudimentary lessons mayhap are not out of the question. Though thine intention has best not be for greed’s sake alone..” Oh, Kree, this Old One has your number, mate. “Intentions flavour the sounds, which when so muddied may lead to.. “ he coughed softly, “.. unexpected results.”
Kreekitaka tilted his head and straightened up a little. One's intentions could flavor how the language was spoken? That was interesting indeed, and cause for another pause for thought. "So... if I were TAH!oo, for exampo, speak of a new dress I make for someone. If I mean TAH!oo make money from iTAH!, iTAH! appears DAH!ifferenTAH! HHHTHan if I am simpyee giving iTAH! away, or DAH!ispyaying iTAH! for arTAH! purposes?" How interesting. And definitely challenging. Even fun! It had been too long since he'd learned a new skill.
Mcracken’s brows pinched at this question, “If thou art lucky…” His tone clearly suggested that much.. much.. worse could happen, though he did not say what. “It is a tongue made for giving life to tales, not…” he didn’t even know the term “retail”, so left the sentence hanging. His head canted to the side then, as a thought occurred to him, “One doth suppose.. that if the singer singeth a tale to the.. uh.. wearer regarding the beauty of such garb, then it may summon visions of happiness and elegance, in a time that hast not yet come to pass..” He frowned again, “There are eldred warnings about singing songs like that, of the future…” Mac was clearly in two minds here… for really, what harm could come of simply glorifying a few items of clothing? Plus, he owed Kree a debt for listening to Evriale’s song. And there were so few left among the ocean’s ancients who might remember the old speech.. Surely, it was better that at least a little of it survive, albeit in a lesser form.. ? He coughed again. “I will teach,” he grumbled. “And be it on thine own head, if thou comest to a fool’s end by thine own folly.”
Kreekitaka pondered that for a moment. He definitely did not want to have terrible things happen to him, and these dire warnings about telling a story of the future and of trying to use it for small little conversations didn't sit very well with him. But then another thought occurred. "ITAH! is for sTAH!ories, yes? An' noTAH! of HHHTHe future..." He climbed back to his feet. "I may noTAH! yeTAH! have HHHTHe yanguage TAH!oo speak of sTAH!ories as you, buTAH! may I speak now of HHHTHe pasTAH!.? RecenTAH! pasTAH!, I aDAH!miTAH!, however I beyeev iTAH! may be reyevanTAH! an' mighTAH! benefiTAH! from being sung in HHHTHe ancienTAH! sTAH!ory-spinning yanguage." Kree, it's a story about yourself. You just want to make yourself look cool.
Mcracken regarded the Uyeer with wry and barely-concealed trepidation, but after another pause said, “Verily, it may be employed thus.” And then added, quickly, “With care.” Mac too rose to his feet, gaze cast out to the sea as if he’d heard a call inaudible to his companion. “I shall take my leave now, but hath told thee how to summon me, should thou needest. Thou hast my thanks for listening to the Song of.. “ the gorgon-stone was glanced at, and the air about them seemed to ripple with a brief return of ancient sorrow. “To the, uh, song. It hath done me much good to sing it.”
Kreekitaka paused. He must have been misunderstood--he'd intended to start telling a story, of that grand day at the Frostmaw Ball when he'd both been crowned King of Love and Beauty and single-handedly obliterated a bunch of undead giants. But, seeing as his new friend needed to leave, he nodded and stepped forward, lowering his torso and extending his claw to shake with the man. "CerTAH!ainyee, iTAH! is a song worHHHTH hearing--in facTAH!, iTAH! raises questions HHHTHaTAH! I may ask you yaTAH!er, when we boHHHTH have more time."
Mcracken was by nature a most careful listener, usually. If he had misunderstood, perhaps his urgent ocean-ward business was to blame. Still, he took a moment to grasp the tip of Kree’s claw in his own gnarled hand, “As I said to thee, all thou need do is sing out.” A crampish sort of bow followed, the Seaborn’s spine cracking as he offered it, and then he was off, pacing away into the ocean, shedding his land-lubber’s rags piece by piece, slinging each ugly garment back to the shore as the surging waters drew up around him.