So here we are. Swimming towards an undersea cave. I dislike this. Can't smell things underwater. My hearing is all screwy. And the colours are all wierd and distorted. There are four of us. A short, stocky human-looking person, with curly black hair. Tyrone of the Gall-Gaedhil Sidhe. Besides him swims a large Grey Seal, the Selchie Muirgen, for whom we are doing this. Besides me swims Vixen, in her were-form, an anthropogenic Fox, I believe is the term. And myself, dark grey Werewolf. Bar Muirgen we are all wearing SCUBA gear and carrying weapons. Spear guns, dive knifes, and larger blades. See, Muirgen has issue with a Sea Hag. And we are going to solve these issues. But we don't know what guardians the Sea Hag has, so 'tis best to be prepared. For now though, we swim, and watch the fish, kicking our fins lazily. They are brightly coloured, most of them, although we can pick out a few camoflaged so well as to be almost invisible.
Muirgen suddenly rolls into a school of little ones striped in blue and black and yellow, snapping at them, and catching a few. She swallows them down almost whole, and the rest of the school scatters. A few pass right in front of Vixen and I, and without thinking, instinct has us snatch them out of the water. They weren't bad, although, raw fish has never been my favourite of food. Not to bad with enough salt though, and seawater supplies that. We followed the reef up towards the island, as the water gradually shallowed out until we were in but a few meters. Before us was the Atoll, a ring of dead coral breaking the surface, surrounding a shallow lagoon, inside of which rose a small peak of black rock. It was towards that that Muirgen led us.
There was only one way through the outer reef, without climbing over the razor-edged corals, and as we drew near it, we found the guards. A pair of sharks, big ones, with black dead eyes, and row on row of long sharp teeth swum in lazy circles around the gap. Tyrone raised his speargun, but I pushed it back down. There was a better way to do this. One that wouldn't draw every shark within miles down on us. I'd even had cause to practice it before. I gestured at Vixen and she nodded, guessing what I had planned. We finned forward slowly, Vixen hanging behind a touch. And slightly above me. We continued slowly, tensed, until the Sharks went for me. A kick with a fin, and I spun up, bouncing off the back of the first shark, a hand snaking out to catch the dorsal of the second. Meanwhile, Vixen had dropped onto the back of the first, grabbing it's dorsal. Thus secured, we leaned to the sides of our respective sharks, and closed fists began slamming into the gill slits. Concentrating on our quarries, we didn't notice when the other guards, who had concealed themselves behind the barrier reef, came out. Nor did we notice when Tyrone shot the first with his speargun, and Muirgen battered the second into unconciousness with carefully calculated precision.
Slowly, so slowly, the two sharks ceased to struggle, their breathing disrupted by the many blows. Gasping heavily through our regulators, Vixen and I joined the others at the edge of the reef. We finned into the sheltered lagoon, keeping low to the bottom, Muirgen watching above and behind. To a watcher from above we would have stood out like sore thumbs against the shining white sand of the lagoon bottom. There before us, rising from the glimmering white was a pillar of pitted black stone, a small peak, mayhaps a hundred meters out of the water. It's sides were studded with gaping crevasses, many of them more than large enough to admit a man, or one of the sharks we had dispatched. Muirgen led us to one of these, and we popped to the surface above it. Tyrone was the first to speak, spitting out his regulator. "Ya ne'er told us we'd be caving!" He growled. I grinned. He glared at me. "An' whats so funny, Mutt?" I would have laughed, if I'd been able to. As it was, my tail wagged. 'Twas a funny feeling, it's forcing against the water. Had my body shifting slightly, left and right, from the water resistance. Tail that wags the dog indeed.
"Like Holiday in Old Country" I forced out past my fangs, and then dove back under, descending to the mouth of the cave. It'd be dark, but I'd fought in dark places before. Behind me followed the others. We moved with great care, feeling our way alongst the rough stone walls. We didn't wish to shed our own blood. See, Witches, or at least some of them, can draw their power from pain and suffering. And I've met few casters who don't know something about magic to do with blood. That and Sharks are drawn to the stuff. Less than useful. Suddenly, the walls cut to the side. And the ceiling rose. We surfaced, and as we did, the surface of the water suddenly began to shimmer and glow. We were in a large chamber, a bubble in the middle of the mountain. At the edge of the water, on the far side, there was a shelf just above the surface, with another tunnel that led deeper into the heart of the mountain. That tunnel was lit with the same sort of glow now emanating from the surface of the pool where we were. We sculled over to the edge, and dragged ourselves out, shrugging out of our SCUBA gear. Finally able to use all my senses, I sniffed. There were all the smells associated with coasts and caves. Nothing really out of the ordinary. And the only sounds were of the lapping of the water against the walls.
We began to head up the tunnel, each step causing the light to flare, causing flickering shadows to form and flit about the wall. The tunnel seemed to be almost perfectly level, barely a few inches of slimy water in the bottom. We began to see other tunnels branching into and off of the one we were following, but Muirgen was leading us straight. The water began to deepen, leveling out again at waist height, and it was there that they struck. They hit us at an intersection, where the tunnels widened to fit some four abreast, and two others joined. We had no warning, none at all. My reflexes gave me a chance to grab the wickedly barbed trident heading for my chest, as I spun to the side, and tore it out of its wielders grasp. Completing my spin, I stabbed down, pinning the warrior to the tunnel bottom. Standing at the tunnel entrance, I leaned forward, spreading my arms wide, and roared a challenge. Behind me I could hear the sounds of battle, but I had no time for that. I barely had time to glance down and identify my assailant before the rest of them were upon me.
A fairly well-built young male human torso, one that would be deemed quite attractive by those who pay attention to such things. Of course, at the waist, where normally there would be hips and the beginnings of legs, there were scales, and a fishlike tail. Merfolk. Now merfolk are not the pretty, friendly sorts they tend to be portrayed as these days. Yes, most merfolk are good-looking, some would even say stunning, and yes, they can talk the sweetest things. But they are vicious and ill-natured. They take pleasure in pain and torment and death. The slower the better. They used to bait sailors off of passing ships, only to have them drown under the knife. No few of Vixen's crewmen fell prey to them over the years, my shipmates and my friends. Goes to show there's always a reckoning.
But enough reminiscing. Three Mer are coming down the tunnel towards me, one with a trident and the other two wielding pairs of three-pronged daggers. The trident thrusts towards my head, and I drop, ducking under the water. A leap slams me into it's wielder, knocking him to the tunnel bottom, and I stand up, raking clawed feet across his chest and neck, as he tries to switch back to breathing through his gills. I bat away the first pair of blades coming for me, palming aside the flats, At that moment, the Mer beneath my feet rolls, dropping me again into the water. A flailing forepaw catches in a dagger-wielder's throat, and I drag myself to my feet, in the doing ripping him open. As I spin back to face the foe, a dagger scores my arm, before it's wielder goes down under an avalanche of grey blubber. The Trident-mer, having recovered his weapon, goes to thrust at Muirgen, only to have me grab his locks of sea-green hair, woven through with seaweeds and shells. I pull him back, lock a hand under his chin. I twist his neck, Back, Forth. And then, as he slumps, a hindpaw braces off his back, my left forepaw off his shoulder, and my hand in his hair yanks. His head pops off his shoulder, showering me and Muirgen in blood.
A howl of victory reverbates through the tunnel, and I glance around. Vixen is standing there, uninjured, both her blades gory to the hilt. Tyrone, too, is uninjured, or appears to be, his broadsword red to the guards. It seems Muirgen and I were the only ones to take wounds, and that perhaps on accounts of our insistence on fighting unarmed. We examined the slain. A baker's dozen had attacked, four from the side tunnel on Tyrone's side. Four from the tunnel on my side. And five at Vixen, coming from the four. Almost half were male, just over half female. Tacked on to the two Muirgen and Tyrone had dispatched at the reef, that made fifteen. A normal sized Merfolk warclan. They didn't tend to get along well in large groups. Started preying on each other if they couldn't find other things to torment. And lo and behold, the tunnel continues to deepen, until there comes a point where it dissappears under the rock. Muirgen gestures to us to follow, and Tyrone translates her barks and coughs for us. "She says we can swim it, easy. Wi'out gear."
We opt to try. Diving under and dragging ourselves along the ceiling. Again, after a short span, perhaps some fifty meters, it opens up again, and we surface, gasping in air. We are in a large domelike cavern, some hundred meters around and half that high. The walls are lit with glowing orbs of witchfire, and in the center is a large island, five sided, with ramps leading up at each corner. We approach carefully. The edges of the island are ringed with chests and crates, and plastic and metal boxes. In the center of the island is a little living area. A bed under an awning. A very luxurious bed, the sort of thing one would expect to see in a high class hotel, or possibly, a luxury cruise liner. A firepit, with a pot hung over it. A beautiful young woman is standing by the pot, stirring it, humming to herself. She is clad in a dress of a dark grey, Low at the neck, but trailing on the ground behind her. The ground which is impeccably clean, and marked with a shimmering, silvery pentacle. Not a silvered pentacled, Wodin be praised. She looks up as we approach. "Ah, my dear Muirgen. And you have brought friends I see." Her voice is that of an old crone, and there is a smell of corruption about her.
I snarl, and she laughs. Cackles in fact. "The Wolf does not approve?" she asks, and grins, her mask dropping for a moment. her face flashes to that of an old woman, aged and worn, and then back to the beauty. "That's good! For neither do I!" She announces, and casts a final ingredient into the pot. There is a flash of green smoke, and she cackles again. Waving her hands she directs the smoke, even as we begin to rush for her. It wraps around us, binding us tighter than any chains could. Muirgen twists and writhes against the bindings, Vixen tries to cut it with her cutlass, but it is smoke. The cutlass slides through it without resistance, but it just closes back up afterwards. Only Tyrone and I don't struggle. He is chanting something in the old Irish Gael. I know the tongue, but cannot make out the words. As for me myself, I have a plan.
I struggle, twisting and writhing until the bonds tighten, and then wait, patiently. Those who do not die of age have lots of time to practice patience. And I know I will not be bound for long, unlike Grandfather Wolf. Vixen and Muirgen are still trying in vain to get loose. I wait until Tyrone's chanting reaches it's crescendo, and then, as an unearthly howl sounds, I shift fully to Human. The smoke suddenly has nothing to grip, and I vault forward as Cutyr, freshly summoned from the Faerie, leaps after me. A tie of smoke crosses in front of me, and I leap back and to the side, shifting into the Wolf in midair. I land hard, scrabbling on the rough rocky floor, twisting aside from another coil of smoke. Another leap lands me next to Muirgen, and my fangs sink into the smoky chains holding her tight. They bite deep, and a twist of my neck draws them wide enough that she can drop loose. As she lands on the ground and begins to fling herself forward, a tentacle of the smoke wraps round me, drawing me into the air. I see Cutyr loose Vixen in the same way, and leap for Tyrone, only to have another such tentacle grab him. Vixen rushes forward, Muirgen somehow keeping pace. A tentacle goes for Vixen, and Muirgen gathers herself up and leaps atop it, knocking it to the ground, even as Vixen vaults the pot to sink both her blades to the hilt in the woman's heart.
The Hag vanishes. But the smoke does not dissipate. With a snarl, Vixen kicks over the pot, and we drop to the floor. There comes a cackling from above, And a dark shape drops from the roof. 'Tis a devilfish, what these days are called Octopi. A giant of a thing, with tentacles some two meters long. There's a darkness, an evil, in it's red eyes. It has the smell of the hag about it. We rush it, biting and tearing and rending. Cutyr, Muirgen and I go for the heart of the thing, as any sensible beast would, whilst Vixen with her cutlass and saex, and Tyrone with his broadsword and my boarding axe go after the twisting, writhing, tentacles. Where the tentacles strike us, they rip skin from flesh, and flesh from bone. The beasts beak snaps at us, but Cutyr and I dodge swiftly, and as for Muirgen, her tail, swung fast, has the force behind it to knock any blow aside.
Our jaws fill with thick, noxious blood, the flesh of our prey tasting harsh, bitter and oily. A lash with my claws took an eye, even as the beast responded in kind, a flailing tentacle stripping the hide from my face. I recoil back, snarling in pain, as Muirgen severs a tentacle at the base with her teeth, drawing back after, spitting to clear her mouth. As a tentacle swings at Cutyr, he leaps, landing on the Hag's back, digging his teeth in to the top of her mantle, claws scrabbling great dark trails in her back. She trys to grab him, to tear him loose. She's still trying as Vixen lunges forward, her blades striking straight and true, just above the beak, between the eyes. The Hag shrieks, the magic binding her to the form fading and dying as she does. Where had sat a giant eight-legged monster, now lies the corpse of a withered old woman, hate clear on her features. Vixen stands, drawing her blades free of the corpse, and I limp to her side, whining from the pain. There is hardly an inch of hide left on me, and in more than one place, one can see bone. Cutyr is similarly mangled. The other three all bear lacerations, but it was on Cutyr and I that the Hag had concentrated. Cutyr too has gone to Tyrone to seek comfort, and so none of us are watching as Muirgen sheds her skin. It isn't until we hear the crystal peals of laughter, and turn to look that we see her human form.
And it is then that we realise the flaw in our plan. For where, on the way in, we had been accompanied by a seal, on the way out, our companion was to be a beautiful woman. Naked as the day she was born, and carrying a sealskin. Which she can't even use to cover herself, on accounts of doing so would turn her back into a seal. And after centuries in a single form, one desires the change of pace. But, we ignore that, and make our return. We note on the way out that the corpses of the Merfolk are missing, but we make it back to the ship in no more pieces than we were in when we left the cavern. And when Tyrone comments that never again is he going on holiday without being armed to the teeth, we all agree.
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