A Melancholy Serenade Of Crimson Shores

[CRP Goon 71]

A Melancholy Serenade Of Crimson Shores

 

 

 

The winds off the coast of Nevaehlen carry the familiar scent of salt, seaweed and driftwood. Pristine waters glitter in the light of the sun as it beats down upon the soft sand bordering the reclaimed village. Fish dart between rays of light in the shallows, and nearby trees cast shade upon the rippling water. Soon, however, the cries of seagulls and crashing of waves finds itself joined by another.

 

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A child skips along the road, tossing pebbles and kicking rocks. He whistles to himself, curly blonde hair obscuring his sight on occasion. It’s not long before he stops. The call of the beach finds him. He strays from the main road, intrigued by the crash of the waves and the beautiful mounds of sand. He’s soon intrigued by another call, though. One far more sinister. One that proved fatal to answer.

 

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To those within the sandstone walls of The Vale, the sounds of nature would have been cut through by an eerie, chilling call. A beautiful chorus arises from the water. The alluring wail imploring all with a curious mind to seek out its origin. It would hang in the air, sounding quite peaceful, sad almost. The melody grows in volume. Swelling and fading with the waves, before it is silenced altogether. For three short moments, the sound of the waves returns, cascading in after the quick recession of the peculiar song. The silence is short-lived, however. The ear-splitting screech of a child in fear and pain splits through the shining, summer afternoon before the cry is abruptly silenced with a choking gurgle. Pink foam soon caresses the beach, before the song resumes. Beauty juxtaposed only by its dreadful origin.

 

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The rangers of Nevaehlen are quick to answer. A young druidess and a warrior walking the sunlit path are the first to find all that remains of the blonde haired boy. Crimson shores accompany the melancholy serenade. Soon, the approaching Malii are thrust into battle. Blue, scaly creatures leap from the edge of the shallow waters with teeth and claws. The first to rise are met with steel and malice, tumbling back to be reclaimed by the sea in a wave of darkened blood and flying oily scales. 

 

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A once peaceful beach now rolls over with chaos. Sand flies as the feet of approaching warriors - laden with weapons and armor - answer the call of the sea and rise to the challenge. Teeth and claws find themselves clashing with the blades of The Vale’s warriors. Elven steel, some wrought from fallen stars, others from only the finest ores, pierce through the flesh of the sirens. Cries of allure, intrigue and deception soon turn into waves and waves of furious screeches. Something deeper lies beyond. 

 

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The sharpened skills and honed blades of the Mali’ame fight back the never-ending tide of writhing creatures. The beach is assaulted, the army of the sea beckons any and all who dare test their mettle to meet them where red tides roll sandy hills. The ‘ame are not without their wounds as the ferocity of the ocean’s terrors bites, slashes and tears into cloth, armor and flesh alike. The air sings with the cries of death and is laden with the salty copper taste of blood and seawater. The warriors of Nevaehlen fight hard to defend their shores and in the end the waves of scaled monsters are fought back. The last of the sirens left furiously ensnared by a certain pink haired ‘ame and dealt with swiftly. 

 

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The beach stills once more. The tide ever-swirling, now bearing a deep, dark red hue. Three dozen sirens are visible circling in the churning waters nearshore with countless more undoubtedly awaiting in the depths. A deep, rumbling cry soon calls from the depths. Something big emerges, shying wisely away from the surface. It is visible to the battle-tested onlookers only by the spines protruding from its back and the subtle glow from its throat illuminating its lithe shape. This grotesque siren had skirmished with the elven warriors and lost. An eerie final call sounds from the water as all of the sirens still. It soon retreats along with its spawn to the deep waters, waiting to return.

[WestCarolina 1779]

Alongside her kin, Miven Caerme'onn defended the shores from the coined, 'slimy warts.' As the Bruin grew accustom to the eery, screeching cries of the Sirens, the last had been killed bringing peace to the beaches. Herding her youngest, as well as the others, amber eyes caught glimpse of a retreating shadow past the pink-headed Damien. "This is only the first."