Erfalls was one of many small encampments hidden along the shores of the Mad Province used to smuggle goods in and out of the regions around the War zone. Thanks to Cuinga, the arcane runes needed to stay his particular allergies had been carved into the nearby trees and dock posts. They shared the camp with an Elven couple and their young son, as well as a group of three young men. The young men addressed Cuinga by name and were eager to help us unload our cart as close to the rickety wooden dock as was allowed.
The young elven family kept mostly to themselves, except young Sene, who ran up to introduce himself when they’d first arrived. While initially distrustful of the strange, sentient gelatin, all on the beach were quickly charmed by Xuvats’ curious nature and genuine desire for camaraderie. Later, when his parents struggled to start a fire, Xuvats and Sene played in the water as the three strapping young men jumped to their aid, building them a makeshift lean-to and a fire to cook on. Cuinga implied that the young family was likely refugees looking to start new lives west of the Branded Shores; the men were seeking to join the crew of the incoming schooner and knew Cuinga to be friendly with her Captain.
The warm breeze carried on the waves that lapped lazily at the sandy shores of Llynne Vale, but brought no relief from the humidity. Neither did Tephes’ descent beyond the Sapphire Sea. Nerdy sat in the warm sand, her back to a wooden crate of unknown goods. She wore a bandana in her hair to keep the sweat from her eyes. Her tunic was held closed by a button or two at the breast, and the moisture that trickled from beneath her breasts tickled as it reached her waistband. Her trousers were rolled to the knee, and her toes made fists in the sand. She wrote in a research journal pressed against her knees, leaving thin streaks of spilled ink among the point-form notes. Some feet away, illuminated by a small fire, her companions conversed.
Cuinga sat in an old wicker chair smoking his pipe while he questioned Xuvats on the nature of their realm. The two had been drinking and smoking since dusk and, though Xuvats claimed the ability to filter the barbiturates, Nerudylie could see hints of intoxication. The Plasmoid was beginning to slur its words and struggled to maintain a consistent shape.
“Wait? You refer to your seasons as ‘tenses’?!” In the last hour, the half-Elf had gotten more information out of the Plasmoid than she had been able to glean in the previous weeks.
“Not exactly,” The Plasmoid replied. “The path of my planet’s orbit passes through two temporal wormholes.” The Plasmoid sat on the ground, seemingly struggling to separate itself from the sand. “As a result, the planet is regularly sent forward or backward in time.”
“Well, Mister Xuvats, you from the past or future?!” The half-Elf referred to the Plasmoid as masculine, despite Xuvats clarifying their species had no gender.
“I exist in the present, of course,” Xuvats clarified, gathering a ball of sand in the center of their chest, “But Thoth has been through a combination of times, earning it the designation of M99.” They drew the ball of sand to the end of a long pseudopod and tried to drop it. The sand sprinkled on the ground like a gentle snowfall. “So my present has experienced a few pasts and futures.” Xuvats rubbed their hands together to try to brush off the remaining sand, but only seemed to transfer it to each new hand they created.
“A few!?! No, no-no, ” Cuniga, now seemingly quite high, challenged. “There’s stuff that has happened, and stuff that hasn’t happened, yet.”
“Why is this Silicon Dioxide so hard to manage?!?” Xuvats held four arms out, exasperated. “For you, yes.“
“What does that mean?!?” Cuinga passed the Plasmoid another bottle of ale, then opened his third of the evening.
“For you, time is linear and events happen one after the other.” Xuvats took a swig from his bottle, “My Spark emerged as Zhaan-Vex, in The Unravelling Epoch of Thoth-M76, thirty thousand, four hundred and three years ago.” Xuvats sipped ale through a second mouth created in their left cheek so they could continue talking. “The Roil then was wild and unpredictable and full of innovation.” Tiny bubbles from the ale floated up through their blue cytoplasm, creating a thick layer of nappy-looking curls on top of their head. ”I spent my youth ‘looping to learn’ in The Recurrent Spiral of Thoth-R104 as Vashan-Drak, one hundred and fifty-four million years later.” An extra hand formed on the back of Xuvats' wrist so they could make air quotes while still holding their bottle of ale. “In each era, I gained knowledge from every plasmoid who returned to The Collective.”
Nerudylie wrote frantically, repeating some of Xuvats’ more difficult phrases to herself until they were firmly on parchment. Coaxed by his friends, one of the young men from another campfire approached. He carried a pair of stoneware mugs with steam rising from them.
“Un, excuse me,” He said quietly, so as not to draw the attention of her companions. When she did not look up right away, determined to get her thoughts down, he addressed her by name. “Miss Nerdy?”
“Kind of hot for tea, isn’t it?” She asked the smell of hibiscus and rose hips wafted in her direction. She did not look up at him until she had punctuated her notes. He towered over her, Barefoot, His trousers rolled to the knee. His fair, bare chest and grey eyes glistened in the firelight, while a mop of messy black hair shadowed his face.
Earlier that afternoon, when they were unloading the crates and bags from the wagon, she had noticed him watching from across the beach. Initially, she’d been suspicious until she’d seen how quickly he looked away and how his cheeks would flush when she made eye contact.
“A hot drink can trick you into feeling colder.” A slight chuckle in his voice. Nerudylie returned to her notes. “Er, so I’m… told.” He stood there, uncomfortably looking back at his friends for a moment before Nerudylie patted the ground, inviting him to sit. She continued to write, the young man sitting quietly beside her for some time.
“I guess I’ll … leave you to …” She put a hand on his leg to stop him from leaving and returned to writing as he shuffled closer. He waited another moment and whispered, “It’s got Brandy in it!” Nerudylie took a sip and placed the mug back in the sand. She took his hand, moved it to her thigh, raised a finger to her lips and returned to writing; all without taking her eyes off the page.
“I left The Primordial Convergence of Thoth-P47 as Rivak-Zhanni, to travel the cosmos for one thousand and twelve of your Barasean years.” Xuvats raised a hand to tap his chin with a finger, as Cuinga did when trying to remember something. “That was about seven hundred and … seventy-two thousand years ago, give or take five hundred years.” Xuvats accepted the pipe passed to them and took a drag through a mouth on their right cheek. “When my exploration in this realm has ended, I will return to a new iterance of the Collective determined by the shared knowledge of those who returned in my absence, and I will be renewed once again!” Cloudy bubbles floated up through Xuvats' head, giving their tiny bubble-curls a hint of grey.
Cuinga received the pipe back from his friend, “How fuckin’ old are you?!?” He tapped the pipe out on the arm of his chair and placed it next to his pouch of weed on the end of an old log used as a side table.
“Plasmoids do not age like humans or even elves. Each time I rejoin The Collective, I am renewed.” The plasmoid, again, sprinkled a handful of sand off to the side. “This is my sixth iteration.”
“Right!” The half-elf cut short the swig from his beer, “But, what’s that in human years?”
“Roughly …” The Plasmoid tapped their chin again, “7423 Barasean years.”
“Sweet Thunderin' Fuck!” Cuinga sat up, nearly spitting out his drink, “Yer an old man!”
“I am neither of those things.” Xuvats declared.
The young man’s hand slowly slid into the crook between her thigh and pelvis, and she struggled to concentrate on the nearby conversation. Nerudylie finished her paragraph, wiped off her small quill, wrapped the tip in a small cloth, and closed it in her journal. She reached over her head, placed the book on the crate at her back and had a little stretch. “Come on,” she said quietly, stretching to her feet.
“Where’ we going?” The man scrambled to his feet. Nerudylie took his hand and began walking toward the tree line.
“You’re gonna fuck me in the bushes.”
Xuvats slipped unseen into the hollow of a rotting stump. The vantage point was close enough that they could observe, but not so close as to be discovered without intense scrutiny. The Plasmoid was almost giddy watching his travelling companion and the would-be pirate, Aeither, desperately lick the insides of each other’s mouths. Xuvats had been curious about human reproduction for many cycles. They’d hypothesized the mechanics based on genetic code from the previously indexed, but the opportunity to witness it firsthand was less likely than anticipated.
“Oh, Thank the Gods!” Nerudylie muttered under her breath, her left hand shoved deep into the man’s trousers. Aeither had a hand tucked into the back of her pants and another under her top to the elbow. Xuvats felt several sharp pinches and quickly realized the hollow stump was home to a colony of termites. Elated, the Plasmoid softened, as if sinking into a warm tidepool. They seeped into the tiny tunnels and crevices, gathering up the insects and pupa, into a small vacuole and consumed them one at a time.
Nerudyly was now facing them, her trousers about her knees, Xuvats observed the expression on her face shift as the man pulled her to him. The array of emotions on the pair of them was astounding to the plasmoid, who struggled to tell where one stopped and another started. As the coitus progressed, much longer than anticipated, Xuvats began unintentionally mirroring their expressions, even accidentally imitating one of the man’s grunts and startling the pair briefly.
When the copulation was completed, the two parted ways with little communication. Xuvats returned to camp to find Cuinga asleep in his chair. The Plasmoid carried the half-Elf to his bed and decided to see if a swim would help them relinquish some of the sand they had accumulated.
The cool seawater was just the restorative treatment the Plasmoid needed. They slunk down across the surface of the undulating waves as a thin, viscous film and allowed all of the silica dioxide to fall away. Once lightened of the load, the plasmoid played in the roiling waves, tumbling and churning with the bubbles and currents. Though it elicited feelings of being back among The Collective, it was a solitary memory that left the Plasmoid feeling a little homesick, perhaps for the first time.
The elegant slip of a school of passing minnows drew the Plasmoid back to the present, and they drove into the deep, dark water. Slipping through the currents like an eel, Xuvats raced with fish, hunted crabs, and danced with jellyfish. The plasmoid tried to make friends with an introverted octopus relaxing in an old rusted pail, but lacked the pigmentation to communicate effectively. Eventually, they decided to return to camp, only to realize that they had travelled several kilometres from shore and no longer felt the currents that would carry them back to camp.
Xuvats pulled the oxygen from some seawater and used it to bob to the surface, where they could get their bearings. The Plasmoid had travelled several clicks out into the open water and could no longer make out the dock against the shoreline. The sky was cloudless and filled with stars. Though the angle was wrong, Xuvats could recognize the constellation Rivak'Shaan, six fingers of The Keeper’s Hand opening in care and protection. From there, locate the stars, Vel'Korath, a faint, silvery star barely visible but crucial for tracing the celestial pathways, and Drak'Maelis, The Echo of Horizons, a pulsating star that seems to shimmer with the echoes of distant worlds. From the three Xuvats was able to calculate the correct path back to Erfalls.
They arrived at camp at dawn, just in time to see Nerudylie slip into the water. Xuvats plunged beneath the lapping waves to join her. They glided, twisting and tumbling together beneath the waves. The Woman seemed distracted. Xuvats took her hand to lead her deeper, but she shook it off and went in another direction. Then Xuvats realized their Plasmoid form was practically invisible in the water and resigned themselves to observing from a short distance, again.
Nerudylie woke more contented than she had in several weeks. She sat up, eyes closed against the rising sun, and stretched to the creak of wood and lap of waves. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes as she walked to the shoreline. She reached the water’s edge brushing sand from her bare ass and pushed through the waves. The water was cold and refreshing, and she continued until her waist was submerged, where she paused to relieve herself with a little shiver. Sand had gathered in wet clumps under her tits and pits and once she’d emptied her bladder she stepped to the left a few paces and dove far and deep beneath the waves.
There in the deep and quiet blue, she felt renewed. Reborn, even. As the cool waters stripped the sand from her slender, naked body, she was transported back to the little lake outside of her village and the summer days spent splashing around with her friends in that cold, green water. She could still remember the way the lake felt, like bottled shade. Summer had crowned everything in gold back then, and the world had smelled like pine sap and wet wood. Nerudylie had been just a girl with calloused feet and tangled hair, splashing through the shallows with Brennan and Kaeli, laughter ringing over the mirrored water. The three of them had dared each other across sunken logs and raced dragonflies in canoes borrowed without permission.
It was Brennan who first suggested flipping the canoe. Kaeli shrieked when they did, tumbling into the water in a flurry of limbs and bubbles. But Nerudylie and Brennan had clung to the canoe’s slick belly, laughing as they righted it just enough to trap air beneath its frame. They ducked under together, breath hitching in that stolen cave of quiet. The light filtered through the green, shifting like a dream, and his face was right there, so close, grinning, dripping. She kissed him in that weightless hush, tasting lake water and daring, her heart a drum in her chest. It hadn’t lasted long. Kaeli was just outside calling out for them, but she remembered it still—how time had bent around them in that moment like the world had been holding its breath just for them.
Nerudylie emerged from the sea into the warm morning sunlight, water clinging to her skin in rivulets that glittered beneath the golden touch of morning. She dragged her fingers through her soaked hair, wringing the saltwater from it as she stepped onto the sand with a languid confidence that evaporated the moment she lifted her gaze.
The ship had arrived—anchored silently in the bay sometime during the early morning—and now a crowd lined the shore like a panel of judges. A dozen or more men stood stock-still, their faces caught between awe and amusement. Laina covered little Sene’s eyes with one hand while scowling hard enough to leave wrinkles. Off to the side, just within Nerudylie’s peripheral vision, two grinning young men clapped her red-faced lover on the back, clearly delighted by the spectacle.
Nerudylie was mortified. Her cheeks burned, and her eyes stung with the first hints of salt that hadn’t come from the sea. But there was no retreat, no way to melt into the waves and vanish. She was already seen, already judged.
So she lifted her chin, composed herself with all the dignity she could scrape together, and strode up the beach toward her clothes.
She felt something brush against her leg and found a large blue film all about her, floating just beneath the water’s surface.
“Can you help a sister out?” She whispered and reached into the water, grasped the film and wrapped the Plasmoid around her breasts like a towel. She emerged from the water, draped in a translucent blue dress, as if she wore the sea itself, “Morning, gentlemen.”
Her new Xuvats gown provided her with some much-appreciated modesty as they strode quickly across the sand to their shelter.
"GET BACK TA WERK!” A man shouted, and the ship's crew were startled from their reverie. “By the Gods, Y’all act like ya never seen a nekid Whoaman afore!”
Once dressed, Nerudylie lined up on the dock with her Plasmoid companion. There were four doreys tied at the pier and bobbing in the waves, each loaded with a group's cargo. Cuinga stood in the sand on the shore, talking to a well-dressed halfling with golden hair, fanning himself with his hat. They shook hands, and the man placed his hat back on his head and stepped onto the dock.
“By what intent do ye’ follow yer compass?” The captain asked in a stern voice. The young men looked nervously at one another but remained silent. The captain sighed, “What do ye’ hope to accomplish ‘board my ship?”
“Unn, To be ... a Pirate?!” The youngest responded timidly.
“What?!?” Captain Mugwich approached the boy too closely and spoke too loudly. “Speak up, boy!”
“T-to be a Pirate, Sir!” The young man shouted into the Captain’s face.
“Ain’t no Pirates on my ship, boy!” The Captain called out, looking reassuringly toward the Elven family standing further down the line of passengers. “Just hard werkin’ men an’ whimmin!” He emphasized the h, presumably to sound more clever. Silence. Cuinga nodded to one of the men with whom he seemed familiar.
“To work hard and make money, “ He paused briefly as Folco Mugwich stepped into his space, “Un, Sir!”
“What; 's yer name, son?” Mugwich stepped into the man’s space.
“Kharkar, Sir.”
“That’s ‘Captain’ to you, crewman!” Folco pointed the man toward the ship and swatted him on the ass as he passed, then moved to the next man. The captain similarly worked his way down the line of passengers until he reached the Elven family, who requested passage to The Branded Shore. He crouched in front of Sene, “Ain’t no passengers ‘board my ship. Are ye’ willin’ ta werk hard?”
“Yes, Captain!” The three replied, Sene most enthusiastically.
“Shakad will tell ye what ta do.” Nerudylie caught Folco winking at the boy’s father and pointed toward the doreys.
Xuvats, in their enthusiasm, were barely able to maintain a vaguely humanoid form, watching all of this happen. When the Captain approached, Xuvats stood tall, as he’d seen the three men behave, even growing 3 to 4 inches.
“What, kinda devil are you?!?” The captain asked the blue man, melting like a candle.
The Plasmoid stretched his face until their nose touched the captain’s, then, opening his mouth wide enough to swallow the man’s head in a single bite, and shouted into the Captain’s face, “I AM XUVATS, OF THOTH M-99, CAPTAIN!”
Murmurs arose from the deck behind them. Nerudylie could make out the words “Omen” and ‘bad luck’ and looked nervously at Cuinga, back on the beach. He closed his eyes and raised his palm as if to ask for her patience.
“No need to shout, Wax Golem.” The Captain also looked back at Cuinga, who simply nodded. “I’m told yer friendly …” The captain then looked to his crew to acknowledge their protests. “Teh crew thinks yer a portent.”
“Herald, technically.” Xuvats enthused.
“Harold?!” Folco Mugwich challenged, his green eyes glittering in the sunlight. The Captain, dressed in much finer clothing than his crew, pointed a silk glove toward a thin, rough-looking fellow halfling some feet away. “That’s Harold!” He flipped his long, golden hair from his eyes and poked a finger against their Plasmoid membrane. “You don’t fucking look like Harold to me!”
“My apologies, Captain,” The ship’s crew backed away as Xuvats moved excitedly toward the halfling. Only Nerudylie moved to intercept but was restrained by crewmen at the behest of the Captain.
Xuvats shifted into a translucent blue reflection of Harold. The Plasmoid rearranged some of their storage and collection vacuoles to approximate the browns and greys in the halfling's leather armour and trousers. The effect was reminiscent of an unfinished paint-by-number that reached out a hand in greeting. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Herald. I am Xuvats, of Thoth M-99.”
“Unh,” The man stammered, cautiously accepting the Plasmoid’s familiar forearm. “H-Harold … U-Undes?” He looked nervously at his Captain, “ F-from … Cold River?”
“I am not familiar with Cold River,” Xuvats allowed their ‘hand’ to envelop that of their new companion, but this new Herald seemed reluctant to Commune. ”Is that near The Shimmering Nexus or, perhaps, the Tide of Entwined Eras?”
“Unn,” Harold shook his forearm up and down nervously as it was coated in translucent ooze, “W-west … o-of … Ra- Ramidlr?”
“Ah!” Xuvats exclaimed, realizing this Herald was, curiously, unwilling to share their experiences. While this was uncommon, Plasmoids on age-spanning expeditions were sometimes reluctant to commune. The volume of data communicated can be overwhelming after prolonged isolation. “Well, I’m not yet familiar with Cold River, but I’m sure it's lovely!” I have, do, and will look forward to it!” Xuvats released the man’s hand and ran a finger along Harold’s armour where the leather was worn and frayed. “You must be quite far along in your journey to have perfected this form so exquisitely. How do you manage such precise colours?“
“Unn,” Harold looked down at the leather chest piece, confused, “T-tannins? … I think.”
“Tannins?” Xuvats questioned. There was a moment of turmoil within Xuvats' Cytoplasm as they moved different elements about, and a moment later, their membrane shifted to a hue of sun-baked sienna, filling out the rest of the disguise. It was not an exact duplicate of the trembling halfling, but the crew murmurs shifted to a blend of concerned approval. “Oh! Well, that’s wonderful!” Xuvats was almost giddy at the discovery. “Thank you, Herald Undes of Ramidlr! I look forward to exploring Tannins!”
“I think Har’ld tan’des own undies!” A voice called from the back of the crowd, and the crew burst into laughter.
That was enough for them to cast off.
Nerudylie watched her companion with merry curiosity. In the weeks since they'd met, Xuvats’ ability to transform into various people and things had improved dramatically. She had seen them morph into everything from a pile of blue rocks to a fluffle of blue rabbits, to a blue half-Elf chimera. Now the shapeshifting Plasmoid was laughing and playing a game of ‘dress-up’ with the crew and had begun using chemicals and particles within their fluid form to introduce colour.
In the hours since boarding the cargo Schooner, the Merca, Xuvats had nearly won over the crew. They’d helped to lower large crates and Barrels to the lower storage decks.
While Xuvats worked politely and enthusiastically, Nerudylie noticed that the crewmen had intentionally moved too quickly for the Plasmoid to keep up, and let slip more than a few barrels that Xuvats had to struggle to juggle while they laughed above. Xuvats, however, quickly adapted, forming themselves into a makeshift "cloth" slide, stacking and securing the barrels in record time. Next, they switched places, and Xuvats acted as a net and crane to lower the crates into the hold. Xuvats pretended to ‘tear’ three times, and the crew scattered to avoid being crushed, only for Xuvats to simulate their cackling and safely lower the crates to the floor. By the time the cargo was stored, the men had accepted Xuvats as one of their own.
There were, however, a few exceptions. Nerudylie had overheard the first mate, Shakad, muttering darkly to the deckhands, warning them in hushed tones not to trust “the Sea Witch and her demon jellyfish.” The insult stung more for its cowardice than its content — she hadn’t the nerve to confront Nerudylie directly, only to poison minds in the dark corners of the ship. When Nerudylie brought it to the captain’s attention, he merely chuckled and waved her off. “Shakad?” he said, through a mouthful of pipe smoke. “She’s a superstitious old broad, but mostly harmless. Don’t take it personally.” But Nerudylie had seen the glint in Shakad’s eye, not fear, but spite, and knew better than to dismiss her so easily.
Xuvats spent a few moments analyzing the young Dwarven woman staring skeptically back. Then, beginning with her oiled leather boots and her finely fitted denim trousers, the Plasmoid reformed themselves to match her stance. For the sling of potions about her waist, Xuvats reshaped various fluid sample vacuoles they’d been collecting throughout their journey. Her fine woollen tunic was easily reproduced, as were her facial features. For eyes, Xuvats split a vacuole of seawater and adorned the iris with mother-of-pearl before moving on to the mop of tangled hair on her head.
The low murmur of the ship’s crew observing the spectacle rose to applause, then to outright cheers as the Plasmoid grew curls of crushed coal and dirt. The sly smirk on the dwarven woman’s face changed to a wide smile, and she stepped backward in a little dance, challenging her counterpart to do the same.
Several hours into their voyage, Xuvats was dancing with the crew. However, it began with an exchange of goods and an exchange of hands. Cuinga brokered their passage from the small smuggling camp east of Llynne Vale to Enford, on the Eventide Shore. It was as close as the Captain was willing to get to the Capital, claiming the Dockward Guards had no sense of humour. The agreement included meals and private quarters for the two to share, though they were also expected to work for their keep. Much to her protest, Nerudylie had been sent to the Gally, and Xuvats, for his first task, was ordered to swab the deck.
“Aye! Captain!” Xuvats replied enthusiastically, then turned to his nearest crewmate, “Miss. Undes, what is ‘swabbing the deck’?”
“Messy Undes?!?” A familiar, gruff voice mocked. “HA!” A muscular woman with grey skin, a large underbite, and larger canines slapped Xuvats on the back in an aggressively friendly manner. “Yer a funny puddle-o-puke, Zoovots! Ya hear that, boys? Messy Undes!” ” She continued to the aft of the ship amid the laughter of the crew.“
“Jus’ mop teh fuckin’ deck,” Harold muttered, shuffling away.
Xuvats looked at the tarred boards beneath their feet drying in the morning light. The Plasmoid slunk down to a thin puddle and, despite being stepped on several times, began moving about the main deck, collecting and indexing the drying seaweed, rotting fish bits, and miscellaneous detritus. Among these, they found a few coins, a gold earring, and a flint stone —lost items that had been kicked to the corners and forgotten.
The Plasmoid enjoyed this camaraderie they shared, limited though it was by their rigid form. It was brutish and boastful, but also self-deprecating and guarded. Where Plasmoids shared the entirety of their being and the full wealth of their knowledge and emotion, humans shared only polished fragments of themselves. They rehearsed pleasantries in search of a commonality that’s inherent but beyond the scope of their limited senses.
What came next, dear adventurer, is hard to describe in human terms. It began as an energy pulse somewhere deep in the forests of the Mad Province. It reached the shores of the Sapphire Sea as a vibration, soft at first, like the shiver of a harp string plucked in some other realm. But as it spread across the water, the vibration folded into the rhythm of the waves, settling into resonance with the sea itself. The restless chop smoothed, as if lulled by a song remembered from creation’s dawn. Foam dimmed to silk, and swells became slow, breath-like motions. The ocean, for one long and breathless moment, listened.
In its wake came three waves — not born of wind or moon, but of something far more ancient. The first reared from the Sapphire Sea like a summoned creature, broad-shouldered and brimming with momentum. It surged toward the Branded Shore with a deep-throated roar, scattering flocks from the island cliffs and battering the rocks with enough force to leave them steaming. The second wave rose behind it — larger still, its shape impossibly smooth, its movement unnervingly soundless. When it struck, the coastline trembled. Spray burst skyward like smoke from the earth’s lungs, and the air was stripped of birdsong, breath, and thought alike. Then came the third — smaller, slower, trailing ripples instead of foam. It lapped the stones as if in apology, quieting the sea, as if the water had remembered its name and grown suddenly reverent.
The vibration reached the Plasmoid’s sensory vesicles, like the ripples returning from the edges of your coffee cup after blowing gently across its surface. To the Plasmoid, the frequency felt removed, like the echo of a distant voice calling from a distant shore, and calming the waves with its approach. As the vibrations reached the creature's molecular strands, Xuvats felt a sense of familiarity, like a voice in their native language. The impressions communicated, however, were mostly gibberish. Concepts were wildly out of context and spoken in some obscure dialect of which the Plasmoid was unfamiliar.
Instinctively, Xuvats leaned into the frequency, moving toward the starboard gunwale as they attempted to harmonize with the signal. They watched curiously as it rippled across the surface of the Sapphire Sea, not only calming it but realigning the very texture of waves in the water. It reached the boat with the strength of a soft breeze. For Xuvats, however, the texture of the frequency blended with them like the cream in your coffee.
Xuvats was struck with a sudden flood of information, as though they were back in the Roil, dissolving and expanding into the collective. Released into the intermingling of cytoplasm to become part of a greater whole. Xuvats ceased to be individual and became only Plasmoid.
The Plasmoid was flooded with thoughts, memories, and experiences, not as words or images but as raw, unfiltered impressions. However, there was no euphoric flood of colours, textures, and emotions. There was no profound sense of clarity or connection, as if seeing the universe from a thousand perspectives at once. Instead, Xuvats felt rigidly restrained as a barrage of information was forced upon them. “Jharao!” Xuvats screamed in pain.
Then the communion ended. Not like the graceful, waking individualization of the Roil, but rather ripped from them like the core of a Krixillian Pod. Xuvats drew themselves in, contacting tightly to protect themselves in a hardened shell like a crustacean.
Nerudylie watched as Xuvats moved toward the rail, their gelatinous form drawn by something she couldn’t hear. She called their name, softly at first, then louder as they leaned forward, mesmerized. Then the sound, or lack of it, reached her too. A pressure more felt than heard, as though her bones hummed with it. Xuvats quivered. For a heartbeat, they shimmered like heat rising off stone, then convulsed in a wet snap. Their body recoiled, folding in upon itself, then exploded outward in a bloom of glistening spikes — dozens of them, sharp as bone and sudden as lightning. Blood screamed across the deck. One sailor was impaled through the throat, another thrown into the sea still twitching. Shakad staggered backward, a jagged spike protruding from her thigh. Nerudylie screamed, stumbling toward them, slipping in gore and seawater. "Xuvats!" she cried, but the creature she knew was gone — collapsed inward, a trembling, cobalt husk ringed in red. She dropped to her knees beside them, tears hot and blinding, unsure whether to reach out or run.
Nerudylie thrust out her hand, a panicked breath caught in her throat as an arcane rune flared to life across her palm. The glow crackled with desperate intent, a spell meant to shield, not strike. But the energy lanced into Xuvats’ fluid form, and she watched in horror as their translucent body recoiled. The moisture in the air twisted unnaturally, siphoned toward them as their membrane hardened in defence, not against an enemy, but against her.
She reached for words, for reason, but none would come in time. The plasmoid began to swell, bristling with sudden violence. Spikes erupted from their form in a chaotic bloom, slick and glistening like celestine needles. Nerudylie staggered backward, her heart pounding against her ribs — and then, without warning, the first of the waves struck the ship's hull with a thundering slap, rocking the world beneath her feet.
Xuvats had barely a moment to reconcile the event before they felt a sensation like being wrapped in wire or netting. “What are you doing?” The Plasmoid lashed back, thrusting a pseudopod toward the residual energy in the air. Nerudilye ducked under the plasmoid arm as crewmen drew their blades and advanced. It was then that the plasmoid noticed the corpses lying about the deck, including Shakade, the young dwarven woman they had been attempting to imitate. The one known as Malia, with blue eyes and copper hair, swung a dagger across the plasmoid’s outer membrane, carving a deep, weeping gash. Xuvats made a sound like the squawk of a gull as the pain brought them back to reality.
Once again awake and aware, the plasmoid spotted the runic glow of Nerudilye’s attack and drew parts of themselves away as large spikes of ice formed about them. “What are you..?!?” Xuvats felt betrayed and lashed out. Drawing the moisture from a narrow pseudopod to convert it into a hard shell, they hurled it like a blade. The shard punched deep into her thick leather vest.
While the Plasmoid was distracted, Aynehrt, a human with a round face, golden hair, and green eyes, drove his dagger deep into the Plasmoid’s membrane. Xuvats wailed, hardening the membrane around the blade to mitigate the damage and grabbed the blade and Aynehrt’s forearm tightly and pulled him through themselves, layering Aynehrt in a thin veil of membrane. Aynehrt fought to breathe in his new Xuvats suit. Bubbles formed at the crewman’s nose and mouth as the Plasmoid tried to keep the man’s fingers from clawing away the membrane and sealed the air holes as quickly as they were opened. The man flailed wildly, fighting against the viscous plasmoid, and Xuvats couldn’t help but think that the man would be easier to manipulate once he was unconscious.
In the wake of the signal, the first of three waves carved its silent path across the glassy blue surface of the Sapphire Sea. And let it be said, dear adventurer, with no shame nor exaggeration, that not a single soul aboard The Merica, not the passengers, not her beleaguered crew, not even our gelatinous companion from a far-flung star, could have foreseen what surged toward them.
The wave arrived not with the thunder one might expect, but with a sudden, unnatural shift — a wall of force beneath a mirror-smooth surface, lifting the ship with a sickening lurch and tilting her sharply to port. The Merica lurched hard to port, her timbers groaning under the strain. Seasoned sailors braced instinctively, clutching at rigging and rail with white-knuckled resolve. But nearly a dozen were thrown like dice across the deck, some skidding into barrels and bulkheads, a few disappearing with startled cries over the starboard edge into the roiling sea. Nerudylie managed to stay upright, but only barely; she was flung like a rag doll across the foredeck, her ribs crashing into the gunwale with a breath-stealing jolt, her fingers just catching the rail in time to stop her from tumbling into the churning blue below.
“MAN OVERBOARD!” was called out several times as the ship corrected itself, seawater splashing over the rail, soaking the crew and much of the main deck. Nerudylie saw several men in the water, including Sene’s parents. She quickly scanned the deck, and Xuvats was nowhere to be seen, but she spotted the boy crouching in a corner, clinging to an iron cleat.
“XUVATS!” She called out, making her way across the teetering deck toward the boy. Sene was wet but safe. She cut a length of rope, tied it into a loop about the boy’s chest and bound him to the cleat. Nerdy continued to look about the deck, unable to locate the Plasmoid. She secured the length of rope to the cleat next to the boy, as the ship settled, then looked over the side, into the heaving sea. Xuvats was nowhere to be seen. She could, however, see Sene’s father, Egnon, struggling to hang onto a bobbing barrel. “Xuvats?!”
Nerudylie stood and made a circular gesture with her hands, and a portal formed before her. She took a deep breath and stepped through. She emerged beneath the cold waves, the turbulent current spinning her ass over tea kettle. She righted herself in the water and located Egnon’s legs hanging from his barrel. She positioned herself beneath the barrel, rotated it until she had lifted the man’s legs mostly out of the water, then placed both hands together against the barrel’s steel brace.
Arcane energy burst forth, launching the barrel high into the air. She swam to the surface for air in time to see the barrel fly apart. Egnon flew through the air, a trail of shredded tobacco in his wake. He cleared the gunwale of the ship, landing heavily on the deck.
Nerudylie looked around for the boy’s mother but was instead shoved underwater by someone struggling to stay afloat. She was then shoved deeper when she caught a boot to the face. She scrambled to the surface, gasping for air and was promptly slapped in the face with a wet length of rope. Amid the shouting and ruckus in the water, she and three others were pulled to the ship's side on the same length of rope. She grabbed hold of a buoy hanging from the rail and began helping the others up rope ladders lowered over the side.
Xuvats dropped to the slick floorboards, their form flattening instinctively, tendrils anchoring to the gaps between the planks with a wet, sucking grip. The sudden lurch of the schooner threatened to pull everything loose, but the plasmoid clung fast, limbs splaying outward like a starfish under siege. Seawater rushed over the deck in a frothy surge, catching the limp figure of the freed captive in its grasp. Without time to act or intervene, Xuvats could only watch as the tide claimed them, the glimmer of soaked cloth disappearing over the gunwale, swallowed by the Sapphire Sea.
“MAN OVERBOARD!” The call was relayed across the deck. The Plasmoid could see Nerdy kneeling next to young Sene, calling out to them, but Xuvats was preoccupied with the two sailors trying to kill them. A cutlass carved through the Plasmoid’s membrane. Xuvats screeched like a hawk, then grabbed the blade and pulled the nameless crewman close to restrain him, but the plasmoid moved so quickly that the man’s neck snapped, and the two fell to the floor as the boat rocked. The Plasmoid used the commotion and the seawater splashing across the deck to slip behind the other sailor and pull him into a chokehold. The man gasped for air for several seconds before the two slumped to the deck together.
When the second wave hit, Nerudylie was nowhere to be seen. The schooner practically lay on its side as sailors tumbled across the deck or dangled from the ropes and netting. Xuvats clung to the floorboards like mucus, seawater washed over them as a half dozen men and women fell into the sea amid the unsecured crates and barrels. Xuvats caught one of the men as he fell from the nearby netting, grabbing him by the forearm. The man cried out as his shoulder dislocated.
The plasmoid spotted Nerudylie hanging from the side of the ship as it rolled back upright. Using the ship’s momentum, she pulled her coital partner from the water and flung him to the safety of the ship’s deck before disappearing into the water again. The crew stumbled about as the ship settled back into its upright position. The captain, who had lashed himself to the helm, called for the portside anchor to be dropped. Some crew rushed to help those thrown overboard, some attempted to secure cargo, and some tended to the wounded. Xuvats moved toward the starboard gunwale to find his companion.
“You did this, Demon!” A sailor growled. He and another drew their swords and advanced on the Plasmoid. Xuvats hardened their membrane into chitin against the cutlass blades to mitigate damage, but the blows knocked the plasmoid back toward the starboard gunwale. Xuvats responded by pushing a pseudopod through an attacker’s throat, then pulled the slain man in close to use as a shield against the other. Their attacker drove his blade deep into his crewmate, hoping to run the Plasmoid through. The blade nicked Xuvats, who threw the corpse at his attacker. The sailor side-stepped the corpse, and Xuvats quickly wrapped him in a chokehold and snapped his neck.
The sound of shouting voices and boots at the top of the steps concerned Xuvats. The Plasmoid looked around for a place to hide before melting into the seawater pooled between the support ribs of the ship’s hull. Sene and his parents were led down to the hold and directed to remain in the crew quarters.
The carnage from the first two waves had tossed crates and cargo about the hold, blocking the path to the crew quarters. The three began clearing the path, stacking and securing what they could. Xuvats watched from beneath the floorboards, peeking through the spaces between them. Occasionally, where they could help without being spotted, they would slip a pseudopod through a crack in the floorboards to lift or support the moving of something heavy.
When the third and final wave reached the schooner, it lacked the punch of the first and second. Still, it was powerful enough to rock the ship and toss her cargo about the deck. In the hold, several crates again tumbled loose, falling toward Sene and his parents. Xuvats reached out with a pseudopod and grabbed the largest crate to prevent the family from being crushed. Xuvats held a finger to his ‘lips’ as Sene watched the Plasmoid secretly help the boy’s father push the crate back into position, before sinking back beneath the slats in the floor.
Nerudylie was not prepared when the second wave struck. She was hanging from a knotted rope, helping a crewman to the ladder, when the ship listed again. The ship rolled toward her, and Nerudylie put her hands up against the ship’s hull, barely able to take a deep breath before being pushed straight down. Beneath the waves, she saw at least four new bodies splash into the water. Still clinging to the buoy rope, she felt the ship begin to right itself. Acting quickly, she grabbed the person closest to her, planted her feet against the hull of the boat, grabbed the person closest to her, and the two were yanked from the water. Nerudylie pulled hard on the other person and used the ship’s momentum to toss the man back over the rail to the deck.
Nerudylie looked Aeither in the eye as he sailed through the air and disappeared over the gunwale. Her lover scrambled to his feet and lunged over the rail to help pull her back onto the ship, but she threw herself back in a high-arching dive. She plunged deep into the water, turned and swam quickly toward another body in the water, pushing them up out of the water, into her lover’s outstretched arms.
She kicked something beneath her as she swam toward the remaining crewmen in the water. The man thrashed wildly, unable to get close enough to help, she tried to calm him. He screamed something about being bitten as she manoeuvered behind, trying to keep away from his flailing arms. Something brushed her leg, and she assumed the man was kicking beneath the surface to stay afloat until something bit deep into her ankle. She was able to get a breath before she was pulled swiftly toward the sea floor.
She pulled a dagger from her belt and slashed at the scaly, snake-like beast coiled around her ankle, but the blade glanced off the creature’s scaly hide. Coiled tightly around her, the Eeligator chomped at her leg to get a better grip and kicked at the beast with her free foot.
The slippery creature released her, and Nerudylie swam for the surface. She tried to portal herself back onto the ship but couldn’t concentrate, so she quickly ran out of air. Her attacker lunged at her again, digging its teeth into her leg again and coiling around her, pinning her arms.
Nerudylie could taste her blood in the water, and her chest ached for fresh air. As she sank away from the rippling surface, she grabbed hold of the beast coiled about her thigh and closed her eyes. She knew the water would be a troubling factor in this spell and put all her energy behind it. The flames burst from her hand and blasted the Eeligator into pieces. Blood filled the water, and bubbles roiled toward the surface. Nerudylie screamed the last of her air out. She tried desperately to kick her way to the surface, but one leg was badly burned, the other was lacerated and bleeding, and her chest ached for fresh air, but the sunlight above the water seemed to darken the closer she got. The last thing she saw before she lost consciousness was something crashed into the water above her.
In the wake of the incident, the Merica drifted listlessly on the water, her sails hanging heavy and wet in the still evening air. It took several hours to get the cargo secured in place as they continued toward the Eventide coast. Nerudylie tended to the wounded, bandaging lacerations and even sewing up a large gash in the cook’s stomach. Xuvats had killed six men in total, two more had been crushed by shifting cargo, and three had been lost to the sea. The remaining crew consisted of Captain Mugwich, first mate Shakad, the cook, Harold Undes, two cargo porters she’d yet to meet, Nerdy, her lover, Aether, the young elven family, and Xuvats, who remained hidden for the remainder of the trip. At dusk, they gathered on the deck and performed last rites before pushing the dead into the sea. The bodies were weighted with cannonballs and, after a small splash, slipped quietly into the cold, dark water.
The captain spoke bravely of his former crew. Those dead, not already lost to the sea, lay bound on four planks propped between the gunwale and some cargo crates arranged for the purpose. When the captain had finished speaking, the surviving crew lifted the planks and allowed the dead to slip into the water. The crew reset the boards and laid out the next four bodies for disposal. Aether, Nerudylie‘s lover, spoke this time, solemnly regaling stories of a childhood spent rough-housing with his friends.
Nerudylie stood alone at the back of the small gathering, keeping to herself. The young elven family were nearby but kept their distance from her as well. When the last body had slipped into the cold black water, Shakad took Mister Undes by the arm and coaxed him toward Xuvats' hiding place. In feigned whispers, those nearby could hear them discuss plans to hunt and dispatch the Plasmoid before dawn.
Concerned that they would execute her as an accomplice, having boarded the ship with the Plasmoid, so after the ceremony, she approached the Captain to plead her case. They had a lengthy discussion in the Captain’s quarters. She explained that she’d been travelling with Xuvats for some time and they had never displayed any behaviour like that before, unless there was reason to believe that she or it was in danger. “Xuvats is one of a kind. You need to let me take them to the Mages College in Tatun to learn …”
“Miss Nerdy,” The Captain stated calmly, “I respec’ yer intention, but that beastie nearly capsized me ship, an' killed half me crew.” He paused, seeing the distress in her eyes. “I’ll deliver ye ta Eventide, as promised, but yer friend will not live to see ta dawn.” He recommended that she spend the night locked in his cabin, “fer yer own proteshun.”
“I don’t …” She started, but the Captain held up his palm.
“If ye want ta get ta Eventide,” he interrupted, “Ye’ll lock yerself in here until I comes te get ya.” He suggested she keep her Aether with her for her protection before locking her in. Aether had lost his two companions when the ship had nearly capsized, and she was concerned for his loyalty.
Sleep refused to come to her in the swaying dark of the Captain’s Quarters. The creak of timber and the distant splash of waves might have been soothing on any other night—but not tonight. Outside, the crew moved like restless wolves, their boots thudding along the deck in a rhythm that pulsed with quiet intent. She knew they were hunting Xuvats—her companion, her mystery, her only certainty in this cursed voyage. The thought of the Plasmoid slithering silently through the shadows, evading torches and whispered orders, tightened a cold fist around her chest. Every creak overhead could be a discovery, every silence the start of a scream. So she lay awake, eyes wide in the dark, listening.
As the sun set, Shakad, Aether, and a deckhand they called ‘Hush’, crept through the cargo hold with drawn swords, poking at every puddle and wet spot.
“What are we even looking for?” Aether asked when they reached the stairs to the main deck, “Jebez Cripes! It could be this lamp and we wouldn’t know!” He tapped a lantern hanging from a nail with his sword. The other two men froze for a moment as if expecting the lamp to transform into a slime creature. Xuvats watched from a bundle of netting in the rafters, the tip of Aether’s sword waving in the air a few inches from them.
“We gon keep lookin’ ‘til thet demon jellyfish is …”
“You’re right!” Shakad interrupted Hush with a growl. “We need a drawer it out!” She started up the stairs, and Aether rushed after her in protest. The deckhand who had holstered his weapon to roll a cigarette remained behind, patting his pockets in search of some matches.
As Hush exhaled a large cloud of smoke, Xuvats lowered a pseudopod over the man’s head like a bag and grabbed him tight about the throat. Cigarette smoke filled the gelatinous bag about the man’s head. He clawed and scratched at the Plasmoid, but was unable to call out for help. Xuvats absorbed the smoke and air, drawing it out of the “bag” until they had vacuum-sealed the man’s head and begun penetrating his throat and nasal cavities. Hush’s eyes bulged and his chest heaved as the plasmoid filled his lungs. A few moments later, the man went limp and Xuvats lowered him quietly to the floor like a bowling ball, before withdrawing their ‘fingers’ from the man’s nose and mouth. As Hush descended, a limp arm knocked the oil lantern off its nail. The lantern smashed on a crate and ignited the oil that had spilled. Xuvats, who was also splashed, ignited into flames. The Pasmoid drew the damaged membrane into itself to repair, suffocating the flames.
“What teh fuck were thet?” A voice called down the stairs. The commotion drew the other two back down as Xuvats climbed back into the rafters, then, as Shakad and Aether came down the stairs, the Plasmoid winced as they squeezed between the deck boards to return to the main deck.
“Fetch some water! Quickly!” Shakad called out from below deck. Aether, who stood halfway down the steps, ran to the gunwale and grabbed a wooden pail tied to a length of rope. He tossed the pail over the side and pulled it back up to the rail. He ran it to the top of the steps where Shakad waited with another pail. Water poured from bucket to bucket, and the two parted to repeat the process two more times. Xuvats watched from his broken barrel a few feet away as black smoke rose through the floorboards until they had extinguished the fire.
“What teh fuck happened down’ere?” The captain asked in a harsh whisper. He had taken Mister Undes to ensure the Elven family were secured in their quarters, only to return to a fire aboard his ship.
“Thet fuckin’ sea-witch!” Shakad barked back. “E’s tryin’a kill us all.” She drew her sword again, “We needa kill it firs’.” She turned toward the Captain’s quarters to find Aether blocking her path.
“Where, the fuck, you think you’re going?” Aether growled, drawing his sword.
“We need bait ta drawer it out!” She snapped, swatting at his sword with her own. Aether took a step back toward the door and, as Shakad advanced, she heard the familiar click just behind her. She turned to face her Captain, but instead found the barrel of his pistol pointed at her face. “You’d put the welfare of yer passengers above yer crew?” she growled, tilting her head to look her Captain in the eyes. “Ye don’ deserve ta be Captain!” Again, she used her sword to parry the Captain's wrist and point the pistol elsewhere.
Captain Mugwich squeezed the trigger. There was a loud boom as Aether’s head exploded. His body slumped to the floor. Without hesitation, Shakad shoved the blade of her sword deep into the Captain’s gut. “I’m teh Captain now.” She stepped back, drawing the sword from the Captain with a smile. Xuvats, still watching from their hiding place at the First Mate’s back, reached out and grabbed her about the throat to secure her before fully enveloping her.
The Captain watched in horror as her eyes widened in shock and her mouth opened in a scream that was quickly stifled. Xuvats pulled up on her head and pushed down on her shoulders. There were several clicks as her neck bones separated. She stopped struggling then, her arms slumping to her sides. The Plasmoid released her, and she slumped to the floor, her eyes danced wildly, and guttural cries escaped her as tears ran down her cheeks, but she never moved again.
Sometime in the dead hours—when exhaustion finally broke her vigil—sleep claimed her like a thief. She woke alone but disturbed by the silence. The cot was warm, the cabin still—too still. The usual sway of the ship felt unnatural, as if the sea had forgotten to breathe. Rising, still in her clothes, she pressed a hand to the door, hesitant, listening. No shouting. No orders barked. No footsteps. She stepped out onto the main deck, each creak beneath her boots drawing a little more dread into her chest. The scent of salt was sharp in her nose, but beneath it lingered something metallic—blood, and fear.
On deck, the morning light filtered through a blanket of ash-grey cloud, soft and wrong. The Branded Shore loomed in the near distance, a jagged wound of black rock and scorched earth stretching endlessly in both directions. Nothing grew there—not even sea grass dared to take root. Inland, perhaps five kilometres beyond the charred dunes, stood a lone stone tower. It rose like a broken finger from the earth, silhouetted against the dull sky, a place once meant for warning or worship, now abandoned to ghosts and grit. The sea lapped listlessly at the hull as if it too feared the shore.
She didn’t see the bodies right away. It was the stillness, the unnatural, absolute kind, that led her to notice the absence first. The deck was empty. Ropes hung loose. Sails flapped unattended. The captain was at the wheel, muttering to himself, red-eyed and shaking. He didn’t even look at her. Then she saw the first corpse, sprawled near the cargo hold with its throat crushed inward. Another was curled near the galley door, limbs twisted in panic. All dead. All silent. All except the passengers, untouched and unaware, below. And when she reached the bow, she found the first mate swaying from the rigging, throat purpled, boots gently knocking against the hull. Whatever had happened in the night, it had been quiet. Swift. And merciless.