The Manticore Chronicles
ACT I
​
​
​
​
​
​
​
​
​
​
​
​
​
​
​
​
​
​
​
A rose rested idly atop a heap of corpses, then wilted, as though a blight had sapped its form in an instant. The macabre scene dissolved into a cerulean sea, laden with mist, volcanic rock, and the aroma of burnt human flesh. A coarse wind beat against Nathair’s face. For a moment, the skinthief wondered if he’d perhaps seized a hawk in his sleep, and now peered through its eyes on a brisk morning. Pangs in his abdomen accompanied the familiar, aged voice of Bathsheba, echoing from all sides.
​
“In shadows deep, an ancient fiend takes flight,
From nether realms, to seek an age-old foe,
Their vendetta's fire shall birth endless night,
Apocalypse unfolds where hatreds grow.
The Scourge of Sumeria approaches, Cernunnos. Prepare yourself!” The array of sensations melted into a suffocating, dissociative darkness that left him reeling for relief.
​
********************
​
Consciousness returned to Nathair in the form of a painful thud, his uneasy slumber upon the Capricorn interrupted by the bludgeoning of wooden splinters to his side. Streams of saltwater burst through the hull’s interior, soaking his bunk; though more alarming still was the guttural roar that proceeded from the ocean depths below. Amidst shock and delirium, he had the mind to collect his rucksack and buzzing gourd before seawater filled his cabin. His hooded, sepia robes, soaked through and through, clung to his pale skin. Maneuvering through the floating pots and barrels of the hallway, he ascended the cabin staircase and emerged onto the moonlit deck. Whatever had assaulted their formidable vessel had yet to reveal itself, and the crew’s sense of panic was palpable.
Oma the deckhand, a crossbow shaking furiously in her unskilled hands, turned to the Archmagus Suleiman.
“By God, what creature could wail thus?!”
Suleiman appeared dumbstruck.
“The Leviathan...Aris, let loose the lifeboats! We haven’t much-”
The Archmagus’s orders were cut short by the bellow’s return, this time deafening. The crew fell to their knees, faces clenched and hands cuffed tightly around their ears. Two gray tentacles erupted from the depths. They were tall as monoliths: fleshy pillars casting shadows from stern to starboard. One coiled tightly around the ship’s beak and rudder, the other elevating itself into the air, parallel to the ship’s masts. Sharpened hooks, reminiscent of scimitars, lined their sides.
A demonic, tri-tonal retching echoed from the ocean depths. Nathair recognized the unholy tongue.
“The fiend utters the Verbis Infernum; silence it!”
The free tentacle coiled around the ship’s foremast and dismembered it with ease. Plummeting oak columns crushed the unsuspecting Oma to a scarlet pulp. Nathair grimaced, the unfolding carnage before him fueling his ever-healthy disdain for otherworldly indifference to mortal life. He would see the single mother from Aydhab avenged.
Nathair ripped the cork from atop his gourd. Like a plume of rising smoke, a legion of incensed, violet wasps billowed from its opening. He seized their skins as he had on countless occasions, his eyes turning pale and opaque as the moon overhead. Puppeteering a thousand venomous husks, he swarmed the tentacle from all sides with a volley of guided needles. The tentacle writhed and shriveled from the ship, though the creature’s unholy incantation continued unabated.
​
​
​
​
​
​
​
​
​
​
​
​
​
​
​
​
​
​
​
​
​
​
​
​
​
​
The sea was a tempestuous beast, wild and untamed, its waves crashing against the Capricorn with unbridled fury. Above the tumult, Salamatu Adisa stood, her gaze fixed on the monstrous Leviathan that had besieged their vessel. The witch doctor's eyes mirrored the stormy sea, dark and deep, a reflection of the turmoil that churned within her. The treacherous journey to procure the Mothscale mushroom had led them into the clutches of an ancient evil, a demon of the depths whose very presence spelled doom.
As Nathair unleashed his swarm of spectral wasps, Salamatu could feel the raw power emanating from him. His psychic command over the creatures of the natural world was a marvel to behold, a testament to his weirding soul. Yet, even as the wasps assaulted the Leviathan, the demon's infernal incantations continued, its voice a cacophony of despair that threatened to overwhelm them.
Archmagus Suleiman, their venerable leader, stood with a stoicism that belied the gravity of their situation. With a voice as calm as the eye of a storm, he began to chant, his words woven from the ancient Verbis Imperium. The air around him shimmered with arcane energy, a visible manifestation of his formidable power. As he spoke, the demonic incantations of the Leviathan began to falter, its voice losing strength against Suleiman's counterspell.
Salamatu knew that their respite would be brief. She unsheathed her scimitar, its blade glowing with a corrosive aura, the manifestation of her own inborn powers. With a fluid motion, she launched herself towards the tentacle that still clung to the ship, her scimitar cutting through the air with lethal precision. The blade met the flesh of the Leviathan, sizzling as it bit into the monstrous appendage. The creature roared in pain, its voice echoing across the tumultuous sea.
As she fought, Salamatu's thoughts drifted to Senora Isabella Flores, the cruel mistress of her past. Each strike against the Leviathan was a blow against the tyranny she had endured, a defiance of those who would use their power to oppress. Her anger, though tempered by years of discipline, still burned fiercely within her, fueling her resolve.
The demon recoiled from her assault, its tentacle retreating into the sea as it writhed in agony. For a moment, there was silence, a brief calm before the storm resumed its fury. Salamatu stood ready, her weapon still glowing with destructive energy, prepared to defend her comrades and complete their quest, no matter the cost.
The crew, inspired by the bravery of their comrades, rallied. Despite their fear, they prepared to face the demon once more, their resolve strengthened by the actions of Nathair, Salamatu, and Archmagus Suleiman. The battle against the Leviathan was far from over, but they stood united, a testament to the strength of the human spirit in the face of otherworldly terror.
​
​
​
​
The skinthief appreciated the moment of reprieve, but he could not savor it. He continued his psychic assault. The deadly venom of his Bane Wasps had turned large swaths of rubbery flesh black and necrotic. Having finally released the ship’s mast, the other tentacle writhed as ribbons of corrosion ripped through the demon’s body.
He turned to Suleiman. The Archmagus was visibly struggling to counteract the Leviathan’s invocation. The runic tattoos on his shoulder lit up in brilliant turquoise, siphoning ambient energy from the environment and converting it into fuel for his spell. Nathair understood well the desperate nature of such a ritual.
Muffled as they were, the Leviathan’s unholy words penetrated the skies. The clouds whipped and roared, swirling into violent cyclones as lightning illuminated the sky. The sea too twisted and turned, generating a whirlpool of enormous proportion. The runes upon Suleiman’s body turned white and glowed with renewed intensity. Agony spread across the Archmagus' face, his voice pained as the magical duel pressed on.
“Salamatu, if the Leviathan completes its spell, the Capricorn will be dragged to the bottom of the ocean. We cannot-”.
Nathair's warning was cut short by the shattering of Suleiman's counterspell, a nova of ghostly light erupting across the waves. Six fresh tentacles emerged from the waters, these larger and more nefarious. The whole area of their exposed flesh was covered in foot-long barbs that rotated toward the Capricorn. One after the other, the barbs collided with the ship. The first pierced the chest of Ana, the crew’s chef. The second decapitated Garold the cannoneer, who was still scrambling to mount an offense against the demon.
Relentless in its assault, the Leviathan showered the Capricorn with a wide spray of barbs. Nathair shredded the first two projectiles heading in his direction with a quick slice of the long, psychic claw he projected from his forefinger, though the third pierced his right leg. Blood further soaked his robes.
Suleiman and Salamatu had likewise been injured by the Leviathan’s barrage. One barb pierced the Archmagus’ side while another protruded from Salamatu’s shoulder.
“Spill your potions of regrowth, Salamatu. Heal our wounds,” Nathair said curling over in pain.
​
​
​
​
In the chaos of battle, amidst the screams of the dying and the roar of the Leviathan, Salamatu Adisa stood, her shoulder impaled by a barb that seared with an otherworldly malice. Her breaths were labored, each inhale a testament to her enduring will. Her gaze fell upon Nathair, the skinthief, whose leg now bore a similar wound. Pain etched itself across his features, a stark contrast to the usual calm that adorned his visage.
She reached into her satchel, her fingers closing around the vials of regrowth potion she had meticulously prepared for their journey. Each vial contained a blend of rare herbs and magical essences, the culmination of her skills as an alchemist and healer. With a swift motion, she shattered the vials upon the deck, the liquid within them releasing a mist that shimmered with an ethereal light.
The mist enveloped Nathair and herself, its magical properties working to mend their wounds. The pain in Salamatu's shoulder eased, the barb's poison neutralized by the potion's restorative powers. Nathair's leg, too, began to heal, the gash closing as the magic did its work. But their injuries were severe, and the potion could only do so much. They remained weakened, their bodies bearing the scars of the Leviathan's assault.
Archmagus Suleiman, his side pierced, struggled to rise, his face a mask of pain and determination. The runes on his shoulder flickered weakly, their light dimmed by the strain of his magical exertions. He, too, benefited from the healing mist, but like Nathair and Salamatu, he was far from fully recovered.
The Leviathan, undeterred by their resilience, continued its relentless attack. Its tentacles thrashed about, the ship groaning under the strain of the monstrous assault. The crew, though heartened by the display of their leaders' defiance, were overwhelmed by fear and despair. The Capricorn, once a proud vessel, now lay battered and broken, its fate hanging precariously in the balance.
Salamatu knew that their survival depended on more than just healing potions. They needed a miracle, a turning of the tides against the seemingly invincible Leviathan. Her mind raced, searching for a solution, a strategy that could lead them to victory against the demon that sought to drag them into the abyss. As the ship lurched and the sea roared, she prepared herself for the next phase of their desperate battle, her resolve unwavering in the face of overwhelming odds.
​
​
​
​
Nathair pulled the barb from his leg. Salamatu’s alchemy had stopped the bleeding, but the wound remained. The clouds of healing mist dissipated, revealing the remaining tentacles, their barbs coiling into position for another assault. From scintillating skies, lightning bolts struck the front end of the ship. Flames engulfed the toppled mast as another round of barbs raced from the spiny masses.
“Efr'datsufe, afedat hatr!” Nathair whispered in the Verbis Imperium. The spirits responded to his magical commands, briefly manifesting within the corporeal world as a spectral shield overhead. The barrier intercepted a scattering of barbs before collapsing under the might of the Leviathan’s fury. The demon had maimed the entire crew save Nathair, Salamatu, and Suleiman: a grizzly display of carnage spread out across the Capricorn’s deck.
The skinthief gritted his teeth as a returning wave of pain washed over him. Another barb had lodged itself in his left shoulder, and the surrounding flames were rapidly spreading across the length of the ship. He turned toward his companions. An additional barb was lodged in Suleiman’s leg and another through Salamatu’s abdomen. It donned on Nathair just how dire their situation had grown. Exhaustion was taking its toll on the skinthief, but he could not relent just yet. He jerked toward the Leviathan, his eyes regaining their pearly hue as he projected a silent, psychic wail in the demon’s direction. Blood hemorrhaged from the creature's eyes and mouth, its internal organs blistered and inflamed. Even so, its demonic chanting continued, hellbent on completing its invocation.
Nathair’s psychic strike had left him dangerously fatigued. His vision began to blur, his stance wavering. For the first time in nearly a decade, he genuinely feared for his life and those of his companions.
Suleiman turned to Salamatu, then Nathair with a most solemn gaze. He tore the robes from his torso, revealing the full extent of the runic tattoo spread across his copper-skinned chest. It was no mystery to the skinthief what the Archmagus intended.
“Suleiman, don’t! There must be another way!” Nathair shouted amid the commotion.
“Forget not our course nor our cause, young magi. The fate of our coven now rests in your hands. Run!” Suleiman said, drawing his ornate kris knife from his belt and placing it squarely above the tattoo of rings and runes upon his chest.
With one forceful thrust, the Archmagus pierced his sternum. The blood that poured from the wound immediately coalesced into a swirling portal of brilliant turquoise. Suleiman’s flesh withered, leaving behind naught but ash to vanish in the turbulent wind.
Nathair analyzed the conjured gateway. He knew not where it led, but thought he could discern a desert landscape of palm trees and cliffsides behind the frenzied, magical energy. He could scarcely process the litany of unfortunate events: the sacrifice of his beloved master, the possibility of their imminent death. Darkness drew closer as he limped toward the portal.
“Through the gate, Salamatu! We mustn’t let Suleiman’s sacrifice go in vain!"
​
​
​
​
​
​
​
​
​
​
​
​
​
​
​
​
​
​
​
​
​
​
​
​
​
​
As the world around them descended into chaos, Salamatu Adisa stood amidst the wreckage, her body pierced by the Leviathan's barbs. The pain was excruciating, yet it was the sight of Archmagus Suleiman's sacrifice that truly pierced her soul. Suleiman, their mentor and protector, had given himself to the arcane, his body dissolving into nothingness, leaving behind only the swirling portal that stood as their last hope.
The Leviathan, sensing the shift in the tide, altered the portal's destination with its dark magic. The gateway, once a beacon of escape, twisted into something sinister. The landscape beyond morphed into a bleak, black dimension, where an ornate sphere floated ominously in the void. The air around them hummed with malevolent energy, drawing them inexorably towards the altered portal.
Salamatu's heart pounded in her chest, a cacophony of fear and determination. She watched as Nathair, weakened and struggling, made his way towards the portal. His resolve, even in the face of such insurmountable odds, stirred something within her. She knew they had no choice but to follow Suleiman's final act, to honor his sacrifice by continuing their mission, no matter where it led them.
With every ounce of strength she had left, Salamatu dragged herself towards the gateway. The pain from her wounds was a distant echo compared to the weight of the moment. As she approached the portal, the pull of the black dimension grew stronger, a maelstrom of dark energy that threatened to consume her very being.
In her final moments of consciousness, Salamatu's thoughts were a vociferous sea of emotions. She felt a profound sadness for the loss of Suleiman, a deep concern for Nathair and the fate of their coven, and an unyielding resolve to see their mission through. The world around her faded to black, the sphere in the void looming ever larger as the portal enveloped her.
Then, there was only darkness.
Salamatu's consciousness slipped away, her body and soul drawn into the unknown realm that awaited them. In that fleeting moment before she succumbed to the void, her mind echoed with the words of the Archmagus: "Forget not our course nor our cause." These words, imbued with the weight of sacrifice and the hope of their coven, would be the beacon that guided her through the darkness to come.
​
The Capricorn
Archmagus Suleiman
The Leviathan
Arcane Gate
