Dark Waters

Dark Waters

The alien form of the mound made Medo sick to his stomach. He had a fever, and he could hardly control his bear paws from shaking as he forced himself through the slimy muck in the pond. He was thin as a skeleton and with every step, he could feel his flabby flesh grate against his ribs. His usually lustrous fur had lost its sheen, mattered and filled with the woodlice that infested everything here. Panting he let out a low growl of discomfort at the heavy mucus in the air, which assaulted his sensitive bear, senses. Promptly he was rewarded with a mental lash, which made him whimper and pull harder on his harness.

“Poor thing-animal. Pull larvae from pond and soon thing-animal will feel invasive comfort again.” The voice in his head was slimy, cold and disgusting.

Leaning in, Medo put the considerable strength of his bear form into another pull. The harness he wore was too small, and the barbed hooks that was sunk into his usually thick fur ripped the sores open on his shoulders. He dared not utter a sound of discomfort for fear of another mental lashing. Finally, the larvae came free. Thrashing and writhing, the thick white bulbous thing splashed the purple muck in all directions. Its bone pincers opening and closing in constant hunger. Its mindvoice was a garble of gibberish and it made Medo dizzy. The jumbled images of vile desecration the larvae had inflicted upon the sperm whale’s innards accosted the druids mind.

He must have blacked out. He felt hungry. Actually, he felt like something else inside him was hungry. The image of a long fat worm eating its way through his innards made him vomit. Since he had ate nothing in a long time, the exercise only caused him to dry heave for a while. Then the cramps in his belly started, and he felt his extremities seize up. The bear balled up in a fetal position, lowly whimpering. He didn’t know how long passed before he realized he was not alone. In the darkness, he heard something slushing in the shallow water. The moment’s clarity gave the druid strength to call upon the Oakfather, fueling a healing spell into his abused bear form. The hunger was still there, but he felt more like himself. The bear’s superior eyesight returned, and Medo saw what was angling for him in the water. It was a big fat larvae, its bloated form forced the dirty water away in angry ripples. Letting the bear take over, Medo reared up on his haunches, ready for a fight. The disgusting thing started babbling images of devouring him in the most vile and pleasurable way. It wormed closer to the bear, equally the size of the sunken animal that the bear had become. Its bone pincers started whirring as it tried to locate the bear with its blind senses. The barbarian in Medo would have none of it. The Great Bear be damned if he was going to be ingested by some fat, slimy, retarded worm. The bear charged. With a great growl, it bore the fat larvae to the ground, ripping great chunks out of its slimy worm flesh. The mind screams were pure anguish to Medo, but he was working himself up to such a frenzy that he almost enjoyed it. Swaying back and forth, the bear connected blow after powerful blow on the fat mass of flesh. Long after the mindscreams stopped, Medo kept butchering the form of the huge larvae. Chunks of white flesh writhed and slushed down the coral walls.

“Thing-animal stop.”

Medo froze in place, unable to lift a paw to complete his frenzied work. He could control his eyes, and nothing more. The slimy wetness invading his thoughts made the frenzy drain away. This was bad. It was going to be worse than ever before. He could not imagine how he would be violated now, but the disgusting voice in his head told him how horrible it would be.
As the sickly yellow light landed on the bear, the humanoid creature leaned in. One of its three tentacle like legs rested on the back of the bear, a cracked talon sticking out of the end dripping yellow puss. Its head that of a horrible large-eyed fish with facial tentacles surrounding a pucker-like maw filled with tiny teeth. With webbed talons, it reached down and caught the salty liquid escaping from the bear’s eyes.

“You stand no chance. We have all tried to train them, but they are just commoners with bows. And they don’t really respond to proper training. They are all afraid of the pirates. I mean, come on, twelve guards protecting two hundred ?” Mr. Blackmoore was on a rant, and he was supported by the silent stone guardian who had also tried to whip the militia into shape.

Medo was confused. Sweating and shaking he had a hard time understanding that he was sitting in the wicker chair in the Last Coconut bar. The air was humid and warm, but not unpleasant. A nice breeze flowed in from the sea through the open porch at the front of the bar. The Hands of the Citadel were gathered around a model of the city that Sarin and Ik had assembled earlier that day. Across from the table the party’s warpriest, Okrin noticed Medo’s plight.
“Are you all right, druid ? You look like someone walked over your grave, and not in a good way.”
Medo shook his head and swallowed the lump of bile in his mouth. He felt sick to the stomach. He didn’t feel like reliving that dream again, and waved Okrin on with the planning. If only this godforsaken hamlet had a harper agent, so he could get in contact with Galean. Something was poisoning his mind.

“Need any help heroes ?” Vessarian, the local priest and secret templar, came into the Last Coconut. His chest bare, glistening with sweat from a long day’s hard work.