Cloud and Sea

Cloud and Sea.

Various collated accounts of the Wretch.

Housed in the Library of the Commonwealth.

The desolate sea, long still, boiled. Fish rose to the surface and ships dismantled at the sight of the unholy deep one, the Wretch of dark creation. It’s twisting, shifting form of growing and decaying sinew, faces forming and blinking out in the span of seconds, all terrified, all alone. It’s arrival unprecedented, known perhaps to figures who slunk in shadow and talked when the candle was burnt out.

The beast dragged out of the sea, toward the gateway of the Clouds, the missing range. From above, the bellows of the Wretch opened slumbering eyes. Their arms arced like lightning and crackled through the clouds, their teeth white and fierce. The eyes - the white-hot Light that seeped from those eyes bled into the ground and blinded those who dared to look.

The Darkness stood upon the tallest peak, reaching skyward as below the Avoskelle watched in fear. Their last moments of flesh, the innocent ones who took the impact of the Descent of the light. The clouds fell upon the range, flattening and transforming the land to slate. The flesh of the horned watchers petrified and left behind the mountain that would bear their name.

In the sacrifice of the Cracked, the Light stepped down upon its battlefield. The first strike shook the ground and ripped tooth from root, villages drowned and fields submerged under the wave cast from the fallen fangs. As the dust cleared, the teeth crested the water’s surface, and thus was born the Bay of Plaque.

Sword in hand and blood flowing, the darkness fought back. For weeks, the titans battled. Cities trampled, kingdoms fallen. Inconsequential. White Light and steel crashed from sky to earth, scarring the land and uprooting stone whilst the twisting shadows were stolen from the flickering edges of hearths and the cloaks of hunters.

The downfall of the Dark was the use of an avatar. The vessel of shadow, strong yes, yet nothing to the untapped vision of above.The bodies of the Wretch fell, and flesh was cleaved from bone. The towering ribs and jutting femurs sunk into the earth and lay root the Bonelands, cold and arid. Yet flesh, torn from its home, lived. The cleaved meat who grew and bred , defiling the gaze of those above who did this to It. A history of Marrun is ever changing, pulsating, bleeding. An unholy and occursed land.

Then, climbing upon the newborn mountain, the slithering tendrils of Light left us. Left us to rebuild, in fear of the sky.