Murmurings at Los Malecón

[Cristobal De Quijas]

On a rainy day long past, in a dust-spackled book on philosophy, Cristobal had once read that every man's life had crucial turning points: junctions where, once a path was chosen or decision made, there was no turning back. It had been a dull kind of book, truth be told, but the nobleman was suddenly and starkly reminded of that one passage. Here, with no uncertainty, was a decision he'd likely have no turning back from. Was his sister important enough to risk his life any further?

A foolish question, immediately dismissed.

Cristobal steeled his nerves once and for all, accepted the necessity of the tapestry of lies he had chosen, and grimaced. "Unless things go according to a rather convoluted and fortuitous path, I'm a dead man walking already: whether here or back in Quijas. Which is perhaps why Domingo went so far as to direct me to yourself, despite my being a stranger to whom he owes nothing. But as far as I am aware, only Domingo knows of my exit." The drably-attired nobleman shrugged "I was cautious in how I left, and certainly nobody hailed me upon my egress from the manor grounds. But as to whether someone did quietly spy my movements without comment, I have no way of knowing."

[Los Malecón]

Gervasio reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a cigarette and a matchbook. “No way of being sure, I suppose. Guess that’s just a risk we’ll have to take, eh? And I hope you don’t mind if I smoke. Get the feeling this is gonna be pretty draining business. Feel free to help yourself to one if you’d like.”

He took a puff and closed his eyes, going quiet for a few moments. “Truth be told, I can figure why you’re here. I get clients referred to me by a few people around these parts, lookin’ for all sorts of information, but the few Domingo sends over always want a particular kind. Man has a lot of compassion for you types, considering he found himself in a similar situation when he was around your age.

“Now the understanding is you’re willing to pay for this information, regardless of whether you find the person or persons you’re looking for alive. We can discuss the exact amount later. That being said, I suggest you get asking: Our Supreme Thaumaturge goes through his ‘cattle’ real quick.”

[Cristobal De Quijas]

Supreme Thaumaturge? Cattle? None of what Gervasio hinted at boded well for his sister or himself.

Cristobal gathered his thoughts and did what he could to shake off the ever-encroaching haze of fatigue. He was certain of one thing, however: he would need to weave as much truth as was safe into what he told Gervasio.

Outwardly, the weary nobleman sighed "As you have already guessed, I am Cristobal Melgarejo De Quijas. I have come here seeking my sister Ysabel and her infant child. I am less concerned about her paramour, except to the extent that he might prove to be an obstacle to my retrieval of Ysabel. It is an unpleasant thing, the possibility of losing a beloved member of one's family."

Cristobal reached into a pocket as he continued "I am certainly prepared to pay. I have brought a token of that payment with me" then handed over the pouch of bishani he'd brought. "However, if money is not of prime interest to you, I can also offer you gainful employment within Qadis should helping me result in your own need to escape this place. I have considerable influence within the Qijas family brokerages and their affiliates."

Finally, he added "Please understand that this is something where I have no recourse for failure. If I do not succeed, I am dead, whether it is by the hands of your townsfolk or my own family's poisoners." Cristobal was struck by inspiration, thanks to Mayor Liscaris' bottle of wine.

Cristobal locked his eyes on Gervasio "You might have heard rumours of Quijas' trade troubles with Darleone, and for whatever reason the name Los Malecón became linked to those." Cristobal raised his hand "No, don't ask, my family isn't involved in matters of Darleone trade."

The nobleman continued "However, when my overly adventurous sibling eloped with the wretched man who brought her to this place, it must have been just the piece in the puzzle for someone in the primary Ducal household. Ostensibly, I was sent here by my parents as a matter of family interest, but my work for the brokerages requires me to have access to all the documents received by my family, and saw the order from the Ducal household itself."

Cristobal permitted himself a quiet, despairing chuckle, visualising the true state of his predicament to lend it emotional weight "Officially, of course, I have 'dashed off of my own accord' so if I fail, it doesn't reflect upon Quijas. However, if I am killed here, it will be all the excuse the Ducal household needs to wipe this town off the map as a peace offering to those superstitious elves in Darleone. It's not like House Quijas doesn't notice when bank officials like Segostro go off to visit no-name little towns in the middle of nowhere, after all."

Not that Cristobal knew the banker Segostro all that well - their business paths never really crossed - but Carlito's ramblings of earlier that day had given him another thread to weave into the tapestry of deceit. Gossip, hints, shadows, all woven together with an air of plausibility and left in the laps of those who would spread it - this was how Quijans typically handled the economic intrigue required to undermine competitors. Nobody in commerce was clean, so invariably something stuck - and the same concept surely applied to this wretched town reeking of fish and the mentally deranged.

Cristobal smiled weakly "Perhaps you can see the difficulty I am in? If a generous offering of bishani can save the lives of my sister, her child and myself whilst simultaneously preventing wider bloodshed, then I am happy to spend freely. I hope you can help."

[Los Malecón]

Gervasio felt the bag of bishani in his hand as he listened to Cristobal, a smile creeping onto his face. Although he remained attentive to Cristobal’s explanation, this fat little pouch was all the convincing he needed. The employment offer caught his interest as well, though he doubted he had any professional skills that would help him with one of those fancy jobs. Though if someone like Liscaris could end up being mayor, maybe just having connections would be enough. This was his chance to finally jump ship, and if he could count on Cristobal’s promises, his future looked damn bright.

His smile faltered once Cristobal finished speaking. Taking another drag from his cigarrete, he closed his eyes and sat in silence. “We need to move tonight. Depending on what sacrificial group your sister and her child were assigned to, they may still be alive. If we wait until tomorrow, I can promise you they will be dead.”

He opened his eyes, and his expression darkened considerably. “What you see around you – these run-down buildings, the poor villagers, the deranged wandering the streets – is not Los Malecón. The true Los Malecón is beneath this town, far away from the eyes of Pal Tahrenor. Most of us commoners live and die without ever glimpsing it. Only the most faithful among us even know of its existence.”

“No doubt you’ve heard of Noitura by now. Probably dismissed him as some queer little idol worshipped by ignorant, backwater people, and I wouldn’t blame you if you did. But he is very real. His monstrous spawn, the Noitu, are the masters of this town – abominations born from a twisted fusion of corpses and sea life. And their boss, Supreme Thaumaturge Xiomara, is the founder and leader of Los Malecón.

“Everything in Los Malecón runs on a promise from Xiomara: if you’re faithful to Noitura and stand out as an exceptional believer, you will be blessed with eternal life as a Noitu. The previous mayor, Viscaris’s father, received this gift decades ago. I don’t know how many Noitu are beneath this village, but I’ll tell you this: if the surface Los Malecón is attacked, they will bring things to a quick and bloody end.”

Gervasio stood, took one last puff from his cigarette, then put it out in a nearby ashtray. “We can access the real Los Malecón from the church. I have a decent idea of where they would be keeping your family, but we have to be careful. If we’re seen, we’re dead; and death would only be the beginning of our nightmare.”

[Cristobal De Quijas]

Cristobal paled at the thought he might already be too late: the night was already halfway through, after all. "Then move we must, and promptly. I shall follow your lead. How do we best avoid being caught?"

The nobleman made a mental note of the name Xiomara, but internally dismissed the rest of the superstitious and mythologising drivel Gervasio had interspersed into his explanations. Creatures that powerful had gone the way of the Changers, surely, and at the same time. But such grotesque details would make a good story to cover for those taken by the malforming plague that seemed to afflict some members of the wretched town.

[Los Malecón]

“We’ll sneak out through the window,” Gervasio said, walking to the door and jiggling the lock. “Regulars here keep to themselves, so nobody should come looking for us. All the same, I’d rather they not see us leave. If they think we’re still here, that’s one less thing to worry about.”

Once Gervasio was satisfied with the lock, he crossed the room to the window and opened it. Peering down, he smiled at their luck: They were right above the storage shack, which meant another roof between them and the ground. He looked over his shoulder at Cristobal. “Follow my lead, and be as quiet as possible.”

He climbed out the window onto the shack’s roof, then carefully approached the ledge and looked down. Not too bad of a jump. Kneeling, he turned and grabbed the ledge with one hand, then lowered himself so he would only fall a few feet. Landing with a light thud, he took in his surroundings and mentally reviewed the route while waiting for Cristobal. If they stuck to the alleys, they should be at the Church within several minutes.

When Cristobal landed, Gervasio motioned for him to follow. “Stay close,” he whispered, leading him through the adjacent alley. He doubted they would face any danger so close to the inn, but the area surrounding the Church was another story. One misstep could easily get them spotted by the Guard.

Before long, the Church was in sight. Gervasio slowed down in response, expecting to find guards patrolling the streets, but only saw the occasional deranged vagrant. Usually there was at least one patrol near the Church, so this struck him as highly unusual. Perhaps he and Cristobal had simply been lucky with avoiding them, but he wasn’t convinced.

“We’ll go in through the front,” Gervasio began as they neared the end of an alley. “I’ve only seen it once, but there should be – “

Gervasio immediately went quiet and grabbed Cristobal by the arm, pulling him against the wall. From there, they could see a figure standing in the street. Although its back was to them, it was obviously not human: It stood well over nine feet tall and had a white, unnaturally thin body covered with lesions and sea fungi; its bones were visible through its skin, and the back of its head resembled a bulbous mass of tumors. The monster appeared to be holding something to its face, and was making a soft slurping sound.

The slurping stopped, and the creature turned, revealing the desiccated corpse in its arms. Raising its head, it detached its long, ant eater-like snout from the body and fixed its beady black eyes on Gervasio and Cristobal. It stared at them motionlessly for nearly a minute, then turned and walked away, still carrying its victim.

“A Visitor,” Gervasio whispered as he watched it leave. “Lady Renata must be using them to purge the afflicted.” He turned to Cristobal. “They mustn’t have realized you’re missing. If they had, that thing would have been looking for you, and we’d both be dead right now. Let’s move before it decides to come back.”

[Cristobal De Quijas]

Cristobal's descent to the ground level wasn't quite as elegant as Gervasio's, as he slipped on a muddy patch and wound up with pants smeared by the muck of the alleyway. His right knee twinged in sullen response to such undignified athletics, and his ankle wasn't too keen on the escapade either.

Upon regaining his feet and what was left of his dignity, Cristobal followed his guide carefully, only slightly favouring his left leg. Despite the tense atmosphere, he was quietly pleased with how smoothly Gervasio seemed to be avoiding guards.

The young nobleman's attention was therefore entirely focused on his guide's words, attentively taking in the plan of action, when Gervasio suddenly yanked him into the shadow of some water barrels by a wall. As Cristobal peeked over the man's shoulder to see what the fuss was about, his knees nearly gave way beneath him. When he saw what the tall misshapen thing was eating, he had to close his eyes and steady himself. Cristobal suddenly recalled the vast inhuman presence which had startled him in the church, and its warning. As the grotesque shambler carried its gory dinner away, the shaken nobleman whispered hoarsely "...they are deceivers, indeed".

Suddenly the nerves Cristobal had steeled for this nocturnal visit to the church felt brittle and without substance. Yet the young nobleman knew he was too far into the plan to do other than move forwards and pray, to whatever forces existed, to bring salvation to his sister, her child, and himself. "Damn my eyes for letting me see that," Cristobal muttered "we must continue before my legs betray me."

[Los Malecón]

When they reached the Church, they found it, like the streets, unattended. The absence of guards, along with the unexpected appearance of a Visitor, did not sit well with Gervasio. Everything in his being was screaming at him to turn back, but he knew their only option was to continue on, even if their survival was becoming increasingly unlikely.

Gervasio slowly opened the double doors and stepped inside. Part of him had expected an ambush, but fortunately the Church appeared to be empty. “Like I was trying to say, there is some kind of magically-operated lift that should take us underground. I think it’s in Renata’s office. Stay close.”

He passed through a doorway on the right side of the chamber and headed down a staircase to a stone, dimly lit reception area that split off into several hallways. Leading Cristobal down one of the halls, he stopped midway at a door labeled “High Priestess Renata.” Gervasio tried to open it, only to find it locked.

“Of course,” he grumbled, stepping back. Bracing himself, he charged the door and threw his weight into it, busting it open and nearly falling on his face. When he steadied himself, his eyes widened at the sight before him: the mutilated corpse of a well-dressed male, bisected horizontally, sprawled out on the blood-covered floor; the blood led to the bookshelf at the back of the office, which was pushed aside, revealing a small, circular chamber illuminated by glowing runes.

“…Well, at least they had the courtesy to send the lift back up,” he remarked dryly, approaching the corpse and kneeling down to examine it. “This doesn’t make sense,” he said, looking at Cristobal. “This is one of Segostro’s men. I’ve seen him around town before. Why would they kill an ally?”

Sighing, he stood and looked toward the lift. “I guess it doesn’t matter. Senor Quijas, I hope you’re ready for a trip to the real Los Malecon – because gods know I’m not.”

[Cristobal De Quijas]

Cristobal's stomach turned when Gervasio mentioned magic. If the monstrosity he'd witnessed hadn't clued him on on that basic concept, then the word itself was a splash of cold water on his face. Words and numbers were his weapons in daily life. He knew nothing of mystical matters, and figured a knife probably wouldn't be of the greatest use in the face of the supernatural.

But the nobleman had no choice, not now. Cristobal stayed close, followed as quietly as he could. Earlier monstrosity or no, he almost lost the contents of his stomach as he entered Renata's chamber. He whispered, visibly paled "What in the blazes..."

Gervasio's comments barely registered for a moment. Cristobal risked, and regretted instantly, another glance at the corpse "...this was an ally?!"

But the lift beckoned. He wasn't ready. The glowing runes reminded him of how pathetic the preparations he'd made for this endeavour truly were. But the men of house Quijas weren't raised to be wilting flowers, even the accountants. "The lift then, and may my stomach endure what else we might witness. Onwards, Gervasio, lest all be lost."

[Los Malecón]

Gervasio hesitantly stepped inside the lift and turned to face the entrance, his eyes settling on the dark blue rune just beside the door – no doubt the activation mechanism. Once Cristobal was inside, he placed his hand on the rune and the door slowly closed. The inside of the lift darkened, the whirring ley lines around them providing their only light.

As the lift began to descend, he leaned against the back wall and crossed his arms. After a long silence, he spoke: “Some fifty years ago, back when I was a kid, they rounded up a bunch of the town’s children and brought us here. Our parents couldn’t come with us. I remember how scared I was at the time, thinking I did something wrong.

“Even now, I can’t say for sure why they wanted us, although I have an idea or two. I remember having tests run on me, something about magic, but not much else. I’d have dismissed it as a bad dream if not for them pulling the same thing with a new group several years later. That was my first exposure to Los Malecon’s tradition of creepy shit we’re not supposed to talk about.”

He looked at Cristobal, a nearby rune casting a crimson light on his face. “They made damn sure not to let us see any of the Noitu, though. Only a handful of us ever get to even glimpse ‘God’s chosen children’ in our lifetime. I got that honor about ten years back after landing myself in some trouble.” Pausing, he chuckled darkly. “Put the fear of God into me more than the priests’ sermons ever did.”

Soon the lift stopped and the door opened, revealing a massive circular chamber that was at least several stories in height. Like the lift, it was lit only by dim runes and ley lines running along the walls. Through the darkness they could see tall pillars encircling the center of the room and large, vaguely discernable statues lining the walls. It was far colder than the Church above, and the faint sound of rushing water could be heard in the distance.

“Brings back memories,” Gervasio said dryly, looking around. “It’s easy to get lost down here, so stick close – place is like a giant ant colony. I have a good idea of where they’re keeping your sister and the others, but if I’m wrong we may be in trouble.”

“Oh, my child… you already are.”

Renata. Gervasio instinctively pressed back against the lift door and scanned his surroundings, trying to glimpse the High Priestess through the darkness. How could he be so stupid!? He should have called the whole thing off after seeing the carnage in Renata’s office. Of course the perpetrator could still be nearby!

“We’ve had the Quijas boy under heavy surveilance since his arrival. Did you really think we wouldn’t notice his disappearance?”

Gervasio scowled. “Screw off.” He continued scanning the darkness, but he had no idea where she was; her voice was coming from all around them.

“Language, language. We’re technically still in the Church.” Pausing, she chuckled. “If you’re so insistent on seeing your sister and her child, Cristobal, I will happily arrange a meeting. You could have always asked me directly instead of gallivanting with this traitor.”

[Cristobal De Quijas]

Cristobal's chest tightened as he followed Gervasio onto the lift. This was definitely more than he'd expected, more than he'd bargained for. When they entered the large chamber, and Renata's voice cut across them, his stomach almost emptied itself once again. He grit his teeth against the cold rush of fear passing through him like an ocean wave.

He couldn't crumble now, though, or all was lost. "The problem with secrecy is that it begets even more secrecy. If I hadn't been subjected to denials of people matching my sister's description arriving, then I could have been more forthcoming myself." The terrified nobleman couldn't keep some of the emotion from his words. "But now, it seems, we have reached a place where we perchance may both embrace a semblance of honesty as the best policy. You've shown me part of your hand, however unwillingly, time to show you some of mine."

Like Gervasio, his nerves would be at greater ease if he could see the woman he was talking to, but he persisted nonetheless. "And please, don't call Gervasio a traitor. I've put him in a rather delicate position where he is compelled to act in the town's best interests. Neither he, myself, nor hopefully yourself would benefit from what would be, at the very least, an all-out boycott on trade involving Los Malećon or at worst outright military conflict with the Duchy itself."

Cristobal mustered some poise. "You say my sister and her child might be alive. This is good. That means there may be room for negotiation, depending on their physical condition. My personal stakes and goals are simple: survival for myself, my sister, and her infant. I'd also like to avoid mystical conflict within Quijan territory. Having seen one of the ...creatures" he shuddered at the memory "...roaming your streets I am certain any military intervention would escalate in severity to the point of the Corezan Consul being notified. And that's always bad for business. The Imperials can be very inflexible and overbearing with regards to how they approach supernatural threats to Imperial sovereignty. And all three duchies of Corezo have one thing in common: we like what's good for business."

The young Quijan paused "But my questions for now are simple: what do you want? What are your stakes in this? Is there a plausible compromise which lets us all get what we want?" A good negotiator knows when to shut up, Cristobal was aware, so he shut up to let Renata speak further.

[Los Malecón]

Silence followed, broken finally by Renata's laugh -- which abruptly devolved into a coughing fit, with pained gasps for air scattered throughout. As the hacking continued, Gervasio cast Cristobal an uncertain glance before returning his attention to the darkness. Maybe the old bitch had been struck down through some divine intervention, but he doubted they'd be so lucky.

A thud, then more silence.

After a while, Renata managed to speak, her voice barely above a whisper: "My stakes? Very well, child. We shall discuss my... stakes." Surrounding voices protested in an alien tongue, but Renata cut them off. "No. It is that time of the evening, after all, and I wish to move freely. Lay out my robe."

She began heaving, sobbing in agony all the while. After an uncomfortably long time, something wet splattered against the floor, and Renata crawled out of the shadows, her face drenched in sweat and mouth stained with bloody vomit. She rested her face against the ground, breathing heavily and mumbling incoherently. Gervasio stared at the broken woman, mouth agape, trying to piece together what was happening...

...oblivious to the looming figure emerging from beside him.

It was a quick death, at least. Before Gervasio could even glimpse his attacker, his head was on the ground, neatly severed from the neck, the wound instantly cauterized. The figure lowered its glowing "arm," its beady, nearly indistinguishable eyes fixed on Cristobal. It resembled a fusion between a tapeworm and an eel, abnormally thin and milky white in color, its height about eight feet, and supported by its coiled, snake-like tail. A decorative maroon robe with the width of a thin tree covered its body, its foreign, almost tribal appearance unlike anything in Corezo. Tentacles extended from each of the robe's four sleeves, each nearly as thick as the body itself.

Despite lacking any sort of mouth, the monster spoke, its raspy voice projecting throughout the room: "Senor Quijas. Cristobal. I sincerely thank you for exposing this traitor to us. I've had my suspicions about Gervasio here for some time, but until now I hadn't been able to catch him acting against the Church." Pausing, it looked down at Renata, then back to the darkness. "Get her cleaned up and into bed. I shouldn't have exited her so quickly at her age."

Several cloaked figures stepped forward, and one gently lifted the gasping Renata. The worm sighed, shaking its head. "Don't think I cannot appreciate your love for your family, Cristobal. I raised Renata from infancy, not only to mask myself among the humans, but as my own daughter. Watching her succumb to her humanity has been painful these past few years, but soon she will be rewarded for her lifetime of faithfulness." Glancing at Gervasio's corpse, it chuckled. "Our traitor, on the other hand, will remain in eternal oblivion. Such is the fate of those who oppose God."

It stared down at Cristobal. "With God on our side, Cristobal, we have nothing to fear from you humans. My 'stake,' as you put it, is only to see His will made manifest. Your boycotts, your militaries," -- it scoffed --, "mean nothing to God, so do not delude yourself into thinking you can bargain with us. We do not fear the Grand Prophet and his heretics beneath the sea, and we certainly do not fear your kind.

"I am High Councillor Atloi, guardian of the surface and attendant to Supreme Thaumaturge Xiomara, founder and leader of Los Malecón. Come along; the Supreme Thaumaturge will speak with you."

[Cristobal De Quijas]

Cristobal was already in a state of horrified apprehension from the atmosphere of the place. The wrenching sounds of flesh and bone in the darkness did little to help settle frayed nerves, despite the apparent willingness to engage in conversation.

Horror kept his tongue locked down as Renata's wretched form crawled into view. Only the flicker, and Gervasio's head rolling into his line of sight, awoke Cristobal to the presence of the new abomination. The young nobleman swallowed, and turned to face the creature.

He knew there would be no fighting or running his way clear of this situation. The knife he carried seemed as pointless as a spoon, now. All that was left was to hope for some diplomatic solution. That, and to keep the contents of his stomach and bowels in their usual place.

Cristobal forced himself to return the creature's gaze. The clothing, unusual as it was, helped. Clothing was a sign of civilisation, and civilisation meant the chance for discussion and a positive solution. And perhaps, if he kept telling himself that over and over, he'd halfway persuade himself of it.

He'd badly underestimated the situation, that was clear now. Renata, he'd felt, he could potentially have come to some understanding with. Changers knew what kind of values system the creature in front of him held.

But something stood out to him. Only those with something to worry about would go out of their way to claim no fear of a third party he'd never even heard of. Who was the grand prophet under the sea? What was their relationship with the abominations of Los Malecón? Was there a conflict happening which the duchies were unaware of?

It took considerable effort to avoid squeaking in reply, but Cristobal cleared his throat a little and managed a semblance of regular speech from sheer force of habit "I'll admit this isn't an ideal first introduction, but pleased to meet you Atloi."

He suspected he'd butchered the pronunciation - a priority of courtesy so absurd under the circumstances that it half-rallied his senses and brought his focus back on the task at hand. "Please, lead the way." And Changers preserve his flesh and soul.

[Los Malecón]

First introduction? Ah, so the human was still in the dark. Perhaps an explanation would be appropriate. How funny: Hours ago, having even the slighest knowledge of their secrets would have meant Cristobal’s death, but fortunately for him, whatever he knew about the Noitu was now irrelevant. Should the Supreme Thaumaturge choose to spare Cristobal, he may even be useful to spread the fear of God amongst the humans.

“Observing formalities, even in the face of mortal danger. The Quijas raise their brood well,” said Atloi as she peered down at Cristobal. “But we have already met, in a manner of speaking. I am the ‘Lady Renata’ you encountered in that fool Liscaris’s mansion. For generations, I’ve led the Church through the bodies of its leaders, ensuring that the citizens of Los Malecon revere God and follow the Supreme Thaumaturge’s edicts.” She spared a glance toward where Renata had collapsed. “But I am not without pity. I allow her freedom whenever possible, and she will be rewarded for her service through the gift of ascension. What are a handful of decades compared to an eternity of undeath?”

She began slithering down a hall, folding her four tentacles at her torso. “You’ve joined us at a glorious time, Cristobal. After years of hopelessness and despair, we are on the brink of realizing our destiny.” Stopping beside a window, she motioned to what lie beyond – the true Los Malecon; a massive, vacuous cavern with smaller canyons branching in all directions. Ancient, dimly lit buildings were carved into the walls, connected by a system of tunnels protruding from the rock; and water gushed from cracks scattered throughout the town, pouring into the seemingly infinite abyss beneath them.

“Impressive, isn’t t? This Los Malecon is home to generations of citizens from the surface world, rewarded with ascension for their loyalty. As ascension is granted to only the most exemplary citizens, we rarely exceed a population of two thousand. Unlike the heathens beneath the sea, we do no thave delusions of becoming an empire. God’s children are few, and His love extends only to those of us who most deserve it.”

Once they continued, the path began winding downward. “Supreme Thaumaturge Xiomara awaits you in the auditorium. After you congregate, I believe he will lead you to your sister, her child, and all the others making this momentous occasion possible. If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to ask. There will be no more secrecy, for you or the world above. If I cannot answer adequately, the Supreme Thaumaturge surely can.”

[Cristobal De Quijas]

Cristobal clung to the fabric of civil discourse as if it were a raft on a tempestuous ocean. He could feel a pervasive terror growing, as if seeping into every pore of his skin. "Ah. In hindsight, I suppose neither first nor second meeting were ideal introductions." Cristobal let his mind temporarily gloss over the rest of Atloi's comments regarding undeath.

The young nobleman had few illusions left in terms of his own survival now. Perhaps, in terms of best possible outcomes, he'd have a chance to wish his sister a final goodbye before perishing. It wasn't a comforting thought.

He'd expected deep waters certainly, but not an abyss, and he was entirely unprepared for what his bravado had brought him. His stomach turned slightly from the mere sight and sound of Atloi's slithering advance. Changers knew what the so-called supreme thaumaturge would look like. The view out into the cavernous subterranean heart of Los Malecón didn't help matters at all.

In order not to lose some sense of agency in his rapidly deteriorating state of affairs, the petrified nobleman continued to force himself to engage in conversation. "You mention a larger population of ...heathens, under the sea? And of their imperial ambition. Do they plan to remain under the sea?" A forlorn hope, he felt, given Atloi's presence outside of a watery abode. "And you mentioned a glorious occasion, and turning fortunes. May I ask what turn of events has brought this about, and what it means?"

Cristobal mostly wanted to keep Atloi talking. Conversation was a familiar thing, a sane frame of reference in an environment turned mad with the supernatural. What he wouldn't give, in this moment, for a cramped office with a year's worth of ledgers to balance.