Krabnos, and the Hall of Drowned Gold
Urak-Nal. It Who Drags Below. Da Snippla. Berejin's End. Krabnos.
There are a great many names for the legendary creature, springing from every dockside legend and fisherman's tale across the realms. None can say whether it is in truth a Godbeast or a spirit of the natural world, a single entity or a myth spun together from unrelated encounters across the centuries. Yet for all its mystery, none who brave the wild seas of the realms doubt its existence. Its presence lurks at the corners of the mind, sitting astride the border between the land and the sea. It is an unconscious knowledge that it must exist, that without it some previously unknown hole would suddenly be painfully present in the cosmos.
Whatever name they ascribe to the legend, all sailors know the tale of the Hall of Drowned Gold. Whenever a ship brimming with riches sinks below the waves, whenever a sailor is swallowed by the depths, Urak-Nal's scuttling children emerge from the darkness to claim his due. Chitinous pincers pry rings from swollen hands and golden teeth from rotting jaws. Nimble, clacking legs sift through primordial silt for coins and jewels. In every realm, when gold touches the sea floor, it becomes the property of the Crab King. Traveling through secret paths known only to the deep, and carrying their pilfered treasures aloft, they return to the Hall of Drowned Gold in a glittering procession. It is the greatest treasure horde ever dreamed of, the wealth of nations and the spoils of the seas. It is the lair of Krabnos itself. Many have sought the Hall. None have ever claimed to find it. Until someone did.
The Tale of Bloody Bennet
It was a dark and stormy night, a fierce gale off the sea lashing the port of Mutiny's End. The window boards shook at the Crows Nest Tavern, the heavy wooden door rattling in its
frame until it burst inwards in a flurry of sleet and sea spray. The taverns occupants, sullen and hunkered in the dim, smoky room, cried out at the sudden intrusion, and two doughty fishermen leapt to their feet to seal the door once more, only to call out in surprise when a figure staggered out of the night. Silhouetted by the storm, it seemed monstrous and deformed, but as it fell to its knees just inside the doorway the illusion vanished. The man - as they could now see that it was - might once have been tall and broad, but his chest was sunken and his back bent. The dripping sea cloak he wore seemed almost comically large upon his shoulders, and lanky white hair hung limply from beneath a faded bandana. His chest rose and fell in heaving breaths, and he clutched a darkly stained hand to a wound in his eyes. Most ghastly was his face, pale as ghostwort and haggard, apart from icy clear blue eyes. The landlord, who had been moving to help the man while the fisherman sealed the door behind him, gave a sudden cry and fell back on his heels as recognition struck him. This haggard man on the floor before him was Bloody Bennet, a sailor and swashbuckler of no small fame who had left this house hale and healthy as a grizzly bear only a few short weeks ago.
With great effort, Bennet pulled himself up to one knee, then rose unsteadily. With each wracking breath, flecks of fresh blood coated his beard. Bennet took a step forward, then tried another, but his knee buckled and he sprawled out across an oaken table. He looked up at the landlord. A blue fire seemed to burn within his icy eyes.
"Heed me. My name was William Banette Rys, known to you all as Bloody Bennet, and I swear upon my soul that these words are true. I sailed from here seeking the entrance to the Hall of Drowned Gold, and find it I did. I found the treasure, and it killed me, yet I would not let Death take my soul. I will have my revenge on that Sea-Devil. I will share the secret to finding its lair.”
And he did. Driven by spite and vengeance, he burned his very soul to tell of his route to the treasure. Such was the power of his fury that his words burned themselves into the world around him, scorching wood and metal alike in trails of blue flame. And when at last his words were spent, he gave one last look out at the storm wracked sea, spat a curse on Krabnos' name, and died.
None there understood what they had seen, but none could deny it. There, scored across the wooden table and the scattered things that had been lying on it, were Bloody Bennet's words. A riddle. Directions to the Halls of Drowned Gold.
The Captains Gather
It has been many, many years since the night Bloody Bennet burst into the Crows' Nest tavern. A great many sailors, pirates and adventurers have tried to follow the cryptic clues he left. The lucky ones returned empty handed. The Crows Nest is gone, burned down in a fire that left Bennet’s table untouched. It has passed through many hands, been stolen, recovered, lost at sea, yet always it seems to return to Mutiny’s End. The items that his words were inscribed on have travelled the breadth of the realms, passed through the hands of thieves and killers, wastes and saints, yet when it is time to hunt once more for the treasure of the Halls of Drowned Gold, they find a way to return. They return in times of turmoil and blood. They have returned again now.
Lissea, the Carrion Queen sat sat across from Captain Castian Storm and Illyana Draketooth. The Pirates looked at each other warily. Each held a package, bundled tightly, in their hands, waiting to see who would move first. Illyana's fingers idly traced the words burned into the table between them. They were familiar words. Every pirate knew them, knew the start to the most famous treasure hunt of all time. Their prizes were different. Few knew the words inscribed on the items they held, that made up the bulk of the riddle. None alive now knew the order the clues should be read in, and the dead would not share. By long and careful negotiation, the pirates had agreed to meet here, under a flag of truce. Each had come into their portion of the riddle on their own. Each sought the prize it led to. And so, a covenant was reached.
"On three then?" Castian asked, looking about the table. The other two nodded.
"One. Two. Three!" Each of the pirates lifted the shroud from their piece of the clue. A cutlass blade, a silver goblet, and a tin plate. Each had words burned deep into them, just as the table did. Draketooth half stood to get a better look. Lissea 's feathers bristled, her hand curling impulsively on the haft the the scythe resting against the table beside her. Castian grinned.
"And they said there was no honour left among thieves. Now, have any of you the faintest clue how we're supposed to read these bloody-"
His words were cut off as a sudden blast echoed out from the far side wall of the tavern, pitching them over and sending them scrabbling for their treasures. Black powder smoke and dust filled the air, screams and gunfire bouncing in from the suddenly open side of the building. More yells now, as those in the tavern that still could struggled to stand. Gunfire, and shouts of "traitor!", though it was impossible to say from who. Castian fired his own pistol blindly at a form lurching at him from out of the darkness, then threw himself to the ground as a scythe cut through the air where he had been standing moments before. He tried to yell, to find some order in the destruction, but a pistol shot exploded a wooden beam inches from his head.
"Sod it." He spun, and ran towards an exit. Oh well. Three captains, sharing one treasure haul? It was never going to work, no mater the size of the prize. He was mildly surprised the truce had held as long as it did. He had seen each piece of the riddle, had set their clues to heart. They could figure out the clues on their own.
The treasure of the Halls of Drowned Gold was right there for the taking.
Let the best pirate win.