Of Kingdoms Doomed and Drowned

Prologue:

For nearly a millennium, the Skarnoth Empire had prospered. Rising humbly from the Vergessenna River valley, over the centuries the small city state had expanded by leaps and bounds, and eventually had gained power, wealth and prosperity that was unrivaled in all of the world during the time of legends. At its peak, Skarnoth ruled territory that stretched from the icy capes of Thullea clear to the Dellanean peninsula far to the south, and held the lands eastward over the barrier peaks clear to the Evoan Sea in tribute.

For the first few hundred years, as their wealth and power expanded, Skarnoth was at peace, and both the citizens and their subject peoples were content and happy. Although they fought wars of expansion and conquest, once the neighboring realms were subjugated, their world remained peaceful, for the most part. The empire allowed the citizens ample personal liberty, while the new subjects also enjoyed the benefits of membership under the aegis of the growing empire: greater access to technology which improved their lives, greater health, more efficient farming techniques, better infrastructure and greater prosperity overall.

For it was their superior technology which allowed the empire to expand so quickly and rule so effectively. At a time in human history where most of the world basked in stone-age or at least pre-industrial bronze or iron- age technology, Skarnoth developed marvelous machines that were the awe and envy of the ancient world. Broad, perfectly straight roads that ran for hundreds of miles. Carriages that powered themselves. Machines that harnessed the very power of lightning to run themselves. Machines that spun clothing faster than any loom ever could, mills that created woodwork faster than any that existed, goods spun out of materials that all knowledge of has been forgotten. Marvelous adding and counting machines. Devices that could scribe faster, and with script more perfect than any human scribe. And fierce weapons that neither sword nor arrow could stand against. It would be nearly four thousand years after the downfall of Skarnoth that the world would again would see such wonders. Or as the case may be; be troubled by them. For the legends of these wonders persisted in the ancient world throughout the ensuing millennia, in whispered stories and legends, even if the people who had produced them had long been forgotten.

The legends said that somehow, their technology, by the very nature it's marvelous power, had somehow tapped into something dark, something that had set off a cataclysm that had let in the sea, burying the marvels of that age under the silent deeps of the ocean.

Nearly four thousand years later, the very memories of Skarnoth, Vergessenna, and Eboanacum- the great fortresses, towers, gardens, palaces, and cities; of princesses and kings, proud, cruel and beautiful, have been obliterated from human consciousness. The very names have long passed out of memory into legend, and then, out of legend and into the black recesses of forgotten human history. Only sometimes, when the winds and the tides are just right, and the upwelling currents stir up long-dead memories from the ocean bottom, they do not rest easily.

Ch.1.

Wilfred Aeddenswic ambled down the street, taking in the spring-scented morning air, his mind buzzing, his animal senses heightened. It was going to be a good day- he had the day off, everything seemed to be going well, and he was in a good mood. He sauntered into the Geldkerke Café at the end of the block. Behind the counter, a gangly looking early 20- something male with longish stringy sandy blonde hair and a wispy goatee was serving up a plate of hash browns and eggs for one of the habitual regular customers- a rather non-descript elderly couple who came in there nearly every other day. They were seated at the bar, and looked at Wilf coolly as he passed.

"Oh morning Mr. Fredrickson."

The man, a long-retired former lumber mill shift manager, simply grunted and looked away, almost as if to say, shuddup and quit bugging me, damn young hippie punk slacker.

"Henk!" Wilf called over the counter. The sandy haired, goateed cook looked up and grinned.

"What time you get off work, ay?" Wilf asked. Henk was working the morning shift cooking at the small café that served as the center of activity, such as it was, in Aelffyrgend, the small coastal community where Wilf, Henk, and maybe two or three hundred other people called home.

"Aw fuck, man...Just after the lunch rush, I guess. Had a few of the usual old buggers in here, talking about the weather and shit. Maybe Shettel will let me off early or something and we could go down to the beach or something."

"Sounds cool. Something to do I guess. Not much else going on here then. Less you wanna get beers and see if Fredda and Engeline wanna hang out later?" Wilf asked.

Henk shrugged. Engeline was digging on some new guy, some rather creepy older yuppie-ish fellow who had taken a liking to her, and probably wouldn't be into hanging out. Fredda was probably working, and wouldn't get home till much later. Not like much else ever happened here. Aelffyrgend was rather isolated. A long, bumpy road separated it from the larger towns further inland, and the geography- the jagged, broken Norsland coastline sectionalized by countless bays, fiords and inlets- didn't help matters. In this part of the country, a boat served you better for long-distance transportation than a car- assuming the seas were calm enough or the weather was actually clear enough for travel. Which all too often was not the case, and the long, winding, mountain road that connected Aelffyrgend to Asa Bae Haetorr and Saepsbeorg was the only outlet to the more urbanized (relatively speaking) communities within reasonable distance.

"Yeah, I dunno man, maybe after I finish up after lunch, stop back by and we'll go do something, maybe go fishing or go to the beach or something" Henk replied.

"Allright man, sounds good."

With time to kill, Wilf shuffled down the one block long commercial strip that served as the community's main street. Aelffyrgend was a rather sprawling community, with a series of winding roads that wandered through the hilly spruce and ponderosa pine forest that covered this mountainous peninsula. The community, though small in population, covered a large, ill-defined area with only this one strip looking like anything resembling a town. It was also not, strictly speaking, right on the coast, but rather, up in the hills, tucked into a basin that overlooked the Helfryd river fiord to the west and the Gulf of Ivinnia to the south. Two main roads led from the town in the hills to the coastlines a few miles below, one to the south and another to the west, where two tiny harbors near the end of each road had room for perhaps a couple dozen small boats apiece.

It was an unusually good day for mid-spring. The sun was out, which it rarely was this time of year, and the view across the channel and the gulf was bright and clear. The thick winter snows had already melted from the lower and mid elevations of the hills, and there was little ice left on the roads around town, except in the shadier spots. It was almost warm enough to not even require a heavy coat, Wilf thought, as he shuffled over to the flat he was renting above the auto repair shop, at the far end of the street. May as well kick back for a while, he thought, maybe paint up some Warhammer miniatures- his Space Marine army would be impressive once he finished it, he thought.

The pad was nothing luxurious, but perfect for a guy like him, Wilf thought. Rent was relatively affordable, particularly for a 22 year old, entry level lumber mill worker like him. A decent sized main living room with a couch his more freeloading buddies (or most commonly, Henk) often crashed on, with a smaller bedroom in back and a bathroom. Pizza boxes were strewn everywhere, and a few beer bottles left over from the other night. On a table nearby, a few Warhammer miniatures sat in various stages of painted completion- dreadnaught tanks and futuristic cyborg warriors. It was a fun hobby, he thought, and kept him and his gaming buddies from doing the kind of stupid shit (starting fights, ripping people off, playing at being gang members, and so on) that a lot of other dudes he had known had fallen into. Wilf looked around the cluttered apartment and decided, reluctantly, that he better "pick this shit up" and spent the next half hour or so hauling out empty pizza boxes, cans, and other crap to the dumpster located behind the auto repair shop. So if chicks came by- other than Fredda or Engeline, that is; they were never more than just friends and hence he didn't really care what they thought- at least he wouldn't look like a TOTAL slob.

After a couple of hours of dinking around the apartment and basically kicking back, he went downstairs to the shop and said hi to Jan and Frank, who were busy installing an oh-too sensor on an ancient Ford truck. "Dang thing won't pass smog," Jan groused. "Gonna cost this guy five hundred bucks for this, but hey- keeps us busy." Sometimes Wilf would hang out and B.S. with Jan and Frank, if they weren't too busy. But right now, they were- so he decided to see if Shettel had finally let Henk off early. Wilf had today and all of tomorrow off, and was looking for something to do, hopefully that would involve more than just sitting around the flat smoking weed and drinking, which to be honest, got boring after a while. At least to him. Some guys- Jan and Frank at the shop for instance, never got tired of that and never had any ambition to do anything else but sit around and drink and smoke.

He wandered into the café and sat down at the front counter. Henk was just finishing up the usual restaurant busywork- sweeping the floors, finishing the dishes, hauling out the garbage- the usual post-lunch restaurant busywork. Wilf could see Egbert, the evening cook (who lived way out at the end of Wylddoerhyth inlet and was chronically late) was already cutting up random vegetables in the kitchen for the evening shift.

"So you about outta here? Wilf asked as he spotted Henk returning from a dumpster run.

"Hold on, lemme clock out and change and shit. I gotta go ask Shettel" he replied.

In the back office, he heard Henk ask for his release, Shettel grunt nonchalantly, and after few minutes, Henk walked out.

"So, you wanna go grab a six pack and head down to the beach or something? " Henk asked. "It's pretty nice out and stuff. Maybe we'll find some cool shit. Bo was saying the other day they found this strange carved piece of metal, some weird ass artifact, last week. Scientists, historians still don't know what it came from. Weird shit, huh?"

"Yeah...sure it wasn't just some old trash, like a kid's toy?"

"Nah...it was totally a weird silver-brass alloy- they had never seen anything like it." Henk said.

"Yeah, actually I've heard some strange shit like that. People find stuff down there all the time, like from a shipwreck, but they don't know what it is- Someone said once there's supposed to be weird ruins under the water. Like old stone foundations- they don't even know who built them." Wilf replied.

Beachcombing was actually one of Wilf's hobbies. Sometimes you could find whole intact "beach cookies" as he called them- the disc shaped calcified remains of sea creatures, plus shells, sometimes old coins and other jetsam. And sometimes- rarely, but once in a great while, often after one of the Northwest's periodic fierce storms, weird artifacts that had no known source or use would periodically wash ashore along the coastlines of the Gulf of Ivinnia. Things like odd statues, and curious, small, almost clock-like machines of exquisite yet unknown workmanship, and other tantalizing artifacts, which could not be traced to any known culture. Wilf had never found anything like that, but he had talked to a few people who claimed they had.

"What time is it, about two?"

"Yeah...bout two thirty. Hey what's Fredda doing?" Henk asked."

"Working at the fuckin' cop shop in Saepsbeorg, like always," Wilf replied. With not much in the way of employment available in Aelffyrgend other than the lumber mill, many people commuted to jobs in places like Saepsbeorg, which was a half hour commute, and really not that much larger than Aelffyrgend. But it was the administrative seat for this county, and as such, housed the government offices, the cop shop, and the jail. Fredda worked as an on-call dispatcher there. She wasn't really a cop, but of course the guys still razzed her about being a "narc" now and again, especially after she smoked weed with them (which she frequently did.)

"Let's hit the beer store and head out. Want me to drive?"

"Aw, fuck it, let's just go. Yeah fine, let's take the Wozz." Wilf replied.

Ch. 2.

They piled into Henk's vehicle, a 15 year old, somewhat careworn and only slightly rusted greenish-blue UAZ-469 four-seat jeepster. It was a typical beater car for a 22 year old slacker who worked as a cook in a small town café- cheap to buy, (Henk paid only about $1200 for it) cheap to maintain, somewhat reliable (let's just say that Jan and Frank were pretty familiar with this vehicle) and good rugged vehicle for the snowy, hilly roads around southern Norsland. Band stickers covered the back bumper and window, including one that said "Surf Nicaragua." When Wilf would ask "Where the fuck is Nicaragua?" Henk would merely reply, "No idea, I don't think it's even a real place- I just liked the sticker." Inside the car, the "broken in" appearance was just as evident: The windshield was perpetually cracked- after the second time Henk no longer bothered fixing it- the crank arm for the passenger window was busted, and old cans, spare clothes, two fishing poles and other fishing gear, and other random junk littered the back. The "Wozz" wasn't exactly sporty or powerful, but it got Henk pretty much anywhere he needed to go, most of the time.

They pulled up to the store. "Hold on a sec, be back in a sec. You want anything?" Henk asked.

"Pack of smokes...here's a ten, keep the change." Wilf replied. Henk went in, paid for the beer and smokes, and then headed back out to the car. They soon set out along the winding, twisting two lane that headed down from the high valley in which Aelffyrgend was located, toward the rocky coastline. Most of the coastline consisted of a series of narrow rocky bays and inlets, and steep sloped cliffs and hillsides that reached clear down to the water. However, at the bottom of the road at the shoreline was a small dock where the locals fished off of. Next to that was Balders Beach, which was a nice stretch of sand that was fun to hang out at, when the weather wasn't too cold or foggy- which it typically was, even in the summer the climate was never particularly bikini friendly. Today, however, was a beautiful clear day. The sun shone across the bay, reflecting off the water which looked brilliant and almost luminous in the reflection. They could clearly see the distant Junland peaks across the gulf, some sixty miles to the south, their tops still covered with patches of snow. The way the sun reflected off the waves, it almost looked mist like, ethereal. Later on, they would reflect on this seemingly unimportant detail.

They followed the road as it snaked inexorably downhill. On one blind curve, a silver DKW A5 coupe, sleek, powerful, and in every way nearly the karmic opposite of the Wozz, appeared suddenly in Henk's six-o'clock, riding his back bumper. He sped up, but with the Wozz not exactly a fast-cornering car, it wasn't much of a race; in fact after less than a mile, the DKW blew past him on a straightaway, disappearing around a corner.

"Sheesh, what a douche!" Henk exclaimed.

"Probably some rich yuppie who's overcompensating for not getting laid. I think that guy lives over in Asa Bae Haetorr or something- one of those rich areas..." Wilf replied.

"Yeah, fuck that...fag cuck shit." Henk replied, using his standard epithet for stuff that utterly annoyed the crap out of him.

The UAZ continued its more modest pace down towards the edge of the coast, dropping out of the trees and descending amid the brown, rolling, grass and scrub covered hills that overlooked the waterline far below.

"Mind if I crack out a beer?" Wilf asked.

"Sure go 'head... good thing Fredda's not here to nag at us for the open container, he heh. Speaking of which, I wonder if they'll be any chicks down there?" Henk asked.

"Maybe. Too cold for girls in bikinis this time of year. This ain't...Nicaragua" Wilf replied, referring to the mythical place referenced on Henk's bumper sticker, which he had always imagined as some kind of tropical paradise. "When you live in the north, you live in the north. I dunno, suppose that makes their nipples stick out more!" he laughed.

"I got my fishing pole in the back..., we could go fishing..."

"...you mean, your big stiff one?" Wilf interjected.

"... maybe we can hang out and just fish for a while."

The typical guy banter continued as they drove. But as the road descended towards the coast, they seemed to grow quieter, more reflective, almost somber, and neither of them could put a finger on why. The sky, formerly clear and bright, seemed hazy, indistinct. And the distant islands and cliffs to the northwest and southeast seemed almost lost in the haze. It no longer seemed nearly as sunny and warm, rather the sunlight seemed somehow strangely filtered. A mist seemed to be rising from the churning waters of the gulf, far below.

"So, you know that movie, where the fog rolls in and there's all these mutant creatures that come out of the fog eat people up and stuff?"

"Huh?" Henk realized he hadn't been listening. He was just tripping out at the sudden change in the weather. The sun was now filtered through the rapidly rising mist. In fact, the very road they were on, which he had been on thousands of times ever since he was a tiny kid, suddenly seemed strange and unfamiliar. Even the shoreline, which had to be less than half a mile away, was blurry and indistinct. He knew the road made a sharp right turn as it bent north at the water's edge next to the pier, and he kept looking for that bend, which would signal they had arrived at the beach. But he couldn't see it. The road kept descending, inexorably downhill, as always, but with the fog and mist increasing, he felt disoriented, lost.

"Yeah, but...I dunno, I was just thinking of that for some reason." His voice trailed off. Wilf, just moments ago full of animated conversation, suddenly seemed almost scared. Both of them had ceased their idle chit chat and glanced around nervously.

At the next bend, the road entered a deep, dense fog bank, which seemed to muffle the sun to a dim barely visible orb, and reduced visibility to only about 50 yards at the most. They had to be drawing near to Baldur's Dock, but yet, though he strained his eyes, Henk couldn't see it.

Baldurs Beach had a stone pier, known as Baldur's Dock, which jutted out in the water. It was ancient stonework, in fact it had been built so long ago that nobody could remember when it was built, or how. Even centuries ago, the records said that it had existed here, presumably built at some point during the medieval period, but who really knew? It looked almost natural, and for all anyone knew it was- it was made of large, rough-hewn blocks of dark grey granite, which was distinctly different from any of the rock types that were quarried locally. More recent construction had added two short wooden docks off the ends of it, but the old stonework of the original pier had stood the test of thousands of fierce winter storms and would likely survive for many more. They could see the pier looming ahead in the luminous mist. The road suddenly veered away from the pier, making a sharp left before descending down another hill. They followed the road, and it was after several moments that Wilf happened to glance back uphill out of the passenger window. He gave a gasp, because something was terribly just...not right.