The Arthaag - Preamble and unedited-
The Arthaag-excerpt taken from the Deep, who claimed it from a survivor of these accounts. “The legends were true…but they weren’t at the same time. Of all the mighty terrors that roam this land, it is a cruel irony that the most horrid of these nightmares is a construction of Man. Not content with planting his black seed upon the solid earth, the ilk of the gaze of us humble creatures expands to the ravenous and bountiful seas beyond the sands that mark the end of fertility and the beginning of the Tempest that many call home. I was one such soul, a sailor drawn to the lure of riches, woman, the natural things. But like many of those upon the seas, the real reason I was here was adventure, discovery, and the obscene desire to wade in uncertainty, chaos, and possibility. No one, landlocked or unbound, was immune to the stories of others. Yet a wretched, painful truth is known by all that the most venerated tales come from the Sea, and involve both Prestigious wicked men, their lives and deaths, and the most base wrath of the calming deep void upon whose back these stories were made revealed. This is a truth all know, yet none admit.I will never set foot on Water again, not after what I have seen before my presence. And though I know full well this script will only add to the Legend of the Ocean, and my soul screams “Hypocrit!”, and that those that hear these words will be both struck with the Light of Fear and kindled with the Darkness of Man’s fervor and Spirit; the Light that beseeches all to place themselves before the new Terror just revealed before them. It is through this madness that, seeming with a will of its own, my hand takes ink to parchment, a parchment that, somehow, survived the calamity I just endured, and survived dry, whole, and ready, almost too ready, to receive these marks. Everyone knew of the Arthaag. What began as just another ship, one of a large number, that sailed as its heart desired, and carried in its shell Men of Fortune to both glory and despair; honest sailors know both happen with equal chance, and the tale the bards tell at taverns only scrape at the truth insofar as much as is needed to fill their purse. Tales of the Arthaag begin as such: “There are always two…” a warning that once its colors are sighted, a second ship is nearby, either visible soon or in time. And if the Arthaag’s flag is seen, but the second flag is not, the sprouts of concern quickly blossom into panic. None know what the second ships flag looks like, there have been no reports. And I mean none. No musings, no imagination, no drunkard boasting that he or she has seen it and is all too eager to describe it. None. I often wondered, during my stays at dock, what the crew of the Arthaag were like, before, present, and what would become of them. Today they were known as one of the most strossus-like devourers, oddly being ‘sailors’ with both intent and pleasure; often at the same time. Were they once ‘noble’ men and woman? Did they have families? Did their children eagerly await them at port? Who was their treasure for beyond themselves? What were they really after?These musings were quickly cast aside at the precipice of Night, an instant where the settings suns last glimmer fades to the depths, and the Black takes full claim of its cycle, when a macabre chill arose, and the Arthaags flag was spotted. The watchmens cry rallied the ship with terror, although our Captain and his officers showed none. Flint, cannon, and steel were readied, canvas was drawn, and though stricken with Fear, that same pinprick stirred within all aboard an untamable valor which only shows its Heart in the most dire of need. I climb to my post on the rigging, wondering with unfathomable cerebral speed how stories of this ship even existed, for all its tales end in death. And I found myself impaled by the same pinprick with the gaze of this Truth: “If the stories exist. Some must have survived.”I was stirred with vigor, and set to the task before me. I grappled the lines assigned to me, and pulled with demonic human strength. The Captain shouted his orders; All Ahead Full. Officers piled in; marines steeled themselves, Cannon-men readied their guns, their auxiliaries ready with powder and spherical death in bulk, carpenters drew planks, ready to make repairs under the barrage of flaming death; the physician and her staff stocked vial, saw, tourniquets, and one fair maiden on this staff readied her lips…and a pistol…several of them.And at each station stood prepared, men and woman, to fill the void in crew, wherewhom Death had made a vacancy.The ship gained speed. The Arthaag was seen with equal intent. And the most tormentous moment began its wicked toll. The stillness, the passage of time in tranquility in the face of an oncoming maelstrom. The winds were fair, but even a bursting gale would do little to speed the ships to their inevitable encounter. And so the ships continued to cruise. The Captain tasked a few to keep an eye for the second ship…which was surely nearby.Time passed in agonizing descent.There was no maneuvering to be done, we were in open waters, with common waves. And as the ships approached firing range, our rear guns were prepared and run’d out. The Arthaag was impossibly far when it began to fire. An almost present certainty of safety was apparent, until eight shells struck the water close to our ship. Much to close. At this distance, no cannon, no powder, no shot of human-make could achieve that distance. The command came to begin maneuvers, the helmsmen made his turns to steer clear of the incoming fire, and goad the enemy into lack-luster marksmenship. Enemy rounds missed in noted timing, which Captain and Officer filed in memory. No sign of a second ship was seen as of yet. The Arthaag was within firing range; the helm steadied for a shot; the shot was made, yet an instant later, sixteen deafening explosions were heard. A moments shock was overtook by the impact of a few shells on hull of the ship.“She’s has sixteen guns on the bow!”Unmovable crew-members took an instants reprieve to indulge in terror, then went right back to it. The rear gun-crew had started to reload, the Captain began his clock, to wait for the next volley, he relayed the information to the helm, who also began its clock. The rear guns were ordered to fire at will. I was near enough to hear one of the Officers mutter: “Impossible” and I soon realized why. Sixteen more shells were already on their way, much, much too soon. A good deal more struck us this time, and at our most vulnerable vector. At an instant, the Captain shouted for the starboard battery to be ready to fire, the helm to begin a hard turn, and for the port sails to be dropped. On the gun-deck, the two rear most guns were rendered useless, toss about like pebbles. Though a few of the crew manning them survived, the crews of two others did not. With immediate speed, those that could moved into the liberated positions, and backup crews filled in the remaining vacancies. The gun captains ordered the ports open, and the guns were heaved into sight, ready to return the favor most graciously gifted to them.At the same time, men laid crushed, still alive underneath cannon, skewered by lethal servings of splinters, and one woman laid askew in obscene position breathing heavy, but slowly, for a cannonball had struck her in the chest and reduced her rib-cage in similar fashion as to the splinters that had tasted the blood of her fellow crew mates. As fortune would have it, none saw her grab a nearby pistol, and speed herself on her journey to the Depths.Nurses dragged, carried, and heaved those that had a chance to the medical bay. And one fair maidens lips had already been put to work, on male and female alike. On deck, no sign of the Arthaag’s consort was yet sighted, as of yet this concerned only a few, chiefly those of higher rank.The Ships maneuvers quickly placed its broadside within sight of its target. Yet as the first able cannon was at vista, sixteen quakening sounds promptly placed Santa Muerte onboard yet again.This reload time…its not possible.What kind of human can load that many, and still fire in unisonThese guns were not made by manThese and other thoughts circled as vultures across the minds of the Ships officers. Yet the bulk of the crew was pure of these and focused with zealous impulse on their tasks. The carpenters were ordered to keep the rudder and its mechanisms secured. The medics began their treatments. The helm ran its course. And all aboard were gripped with purpose.The volleys delivered their verdict. More graced passage through the Sweet Caress. Despite this, not a single of our guns were damaged, or even hindered in the slightest. As if any who watched demanded a quality battle. Vacancies were filled, faster than before, and soon our guns were spitting Death right back at the Arthaag.From my position, I could see damage of caliber done to the enemy.And more was dealt.And before my mind could grasp at what fortune allowed us a third salvo, I triumphed at even more destruction on the enemy.Yet she was closing in.Few noticed that the enemy did not return fire, not even with its superior reload time. She steered herself abreast our ship, ready to deliver the salvos of quality some unseen force demanded.Those are four-chambered guns!My god, theres two decks worth.This is a battle worth dying inHope those Marine lads are ready for a fight!….Where is Her crew?…The Arthaag was crewless.No helmsmen. No Marines. No officers.No Captain.She slid up right next to us, smiled at us with two decks of four-chambered guns, took another three salvos from us, and began to pull away.Normal humans would have gone mad long before the Arthaag was within firing range. Yet aboard this ship, only a slight confusion pinged…and then Rage.The Captain shouted, imbued with maniacal nerve:“Don’t turn your back on us, devil-spawn! Stand and fight!!!”With the same speed She approached, She pulled away.Our sails were loosed. Our cannons loaded once more.And, God as my witness, we began to hunt the Arthaag.Repairs were being made. Injured were being treated; some were even back at their post; and some even forbade our Maidens final gift, and preferred to die at their station. And while the whole crew shared in our Captain rancor, tacticians emerged among the officers. Questions were asked, reports were made, observations were transmuted into facts, and conclusions were drawn.Those guns were only seen on her larboard side, the starboard is void of firepower.The reload time of the bow guns is not guaranteed on the four-chamered.She is very maneuverable, speed is her ally.Cursed as she is, she’s still a ship, and she floats like all the rest, making her rear the most vulnerable.Damage was done in notable measure on her hull, which means she’s sinkable.We cannot engage her guns, bow or aside, we need to hit her rear or her gunless breast.Her gunless breast is most likely heavily armored.Plate, along with wood, was seen among her planking. She’s bound to have that side plated with Iron.We have shot that can melt Plate and reduce plank to uselessness, but in short supply.And those shots are volatile, loading and firing will be all the more delicate.Sound and sturdy crew will be a must on the guns, and replacement munitions must be quick.“We can do this.”What of the second ship?“…”And at last…from a Mist spawned on our starboard side, were seen the flashes of guns.“INCOMING FIRE!!!!!” shouted a crew-memberAs the whistles of loaded Death begin to rain down upon us, True Terror gripped the stock. Several soon mean with instant end as we chased the Arthaag down the lane, but the real Doom came from the angle of the Aim.The came down as Artillery.Only 3 shells rained on our Heavenly Ship, and cause great Damage therin…As Officer turned to Madman, the Arthaag in front of us begain a series of timed shots, that seem too much like ClockWork to the now Horrified Captain.As noted stock rained down on us that forced our helmsmen to make specific maneauvers to avoid, the Arthaag blasted it Magazine and it, itself Exploded in a dying immense of Flame…and then we heard it…The Shot of the Massacre…the shot from the Mist now sudden, loud as the night above and as bright as the Mist from whence it came…We soon realized that as the final shots of the Arthaag were meant to steer our ship in certain fashion, The Shot of the Massacre, a most Benevolent blade of folded steel could be seen rising from an unknown set of sails hidden in the Mist Aside.The Blast, the Trail, the Sound, and the Streak were of such Majesty that all aboard knew and watch as its final slip land abroad and Detonated us hale and whole…A Shot of such sublimity that all could only witness and endure…as our ship, comrades and Sails were Exploded in a grand reverie of burning Death.And thus I end my tale.
The-Anariarch
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