The Death of the Keeper

The Ripple of the Wave

Snowflakes begin to fall as the grey sky opens its gift to the grey ground below. Dead grass and dirt. Breaths visible in the chill. The last snow still present in black patches. Silence covers everything. Sound is stolen away. Stillness permeates. The lake sits in the center of the scenery. Nothing surrounds it.

There are no fish in this lake with no name. Once, another tribe might have called it Kuauk Korrir. That tribe is no longer human. It no longer remembers this name. There are no animals in Kuauk Korrir. All flesh has been eaten. Washed ashore. The plants were torn up and thrown onto the land. To rot. And rot they did. The smell is unbearable. There are no waves on Kuauk Korrir. The still surface is never broken. No rock can stir it. Bodies slowly sink. No movement. Reflections do not breach the motionlessness of Kuauk Korrir. It is only grey. There is no life in Kuauk Korrir, because the only things that still remain bear no resemblance to anything living.

The surface bubbles, and shapes rise from beneath. Twisted beings, humans long fallen to Kaurruss corruption, rise tormented and writhing from the lifeless pit. The water is still and picturesque. Their flesh has long since been removed by the lake's foulness, but the rotten bones and ghastly faces rise nonetheless. The Idaod stand tall and straight. Children rising from the deepest sleep. They reach back under the surface and remove soaked and salt-smelling wraps. Hides of animals hunted to death for the very clothing that drowned with the hunters. The water drips from clumped ends, but the lake does not ripple. Weapons are raised covered with layers of sea salt despite no oceans anywhere near. They dress themselves like shadows. No noise escapes the edges of the water. Preparations for a hunt. Edges are sharpened against blunted bones. Salt sheaths removed against the lake's cold floor. The army is ready.

Their steps are labored and stiff. Years of rest paralysing. The first one takes a step out of of the motionless water as a sound of terrifying evil escapes its empty chest. A scream of rattling and shaking. Of tormented souls crying for release through a barrier they cannot pierce. The sound is distorted. Twisted to serve the hunter's master. The sound carries across the snow-trapped landscape. All things hear this scream, and those who are not drawn to it by allegiance are sent into their holes in a terror that grips to the core. Miles are covered with no loss of volume. But then the sound comes upon a small camp. The Urae home of Koae Ruika. And as it slams into the ears of the paranoid humans, it ceases. The Urae, who had been sitting together in a circle, were sent scattering as if impacted by a wave. Bodies tumbled over each other as they run like animals to their tents. Within moments Koae Ruika is as still as the lake. Aorsr and Kroka exit their tents to try and discover the reason for the momentary chaos.

"Aorsr, did you hear that?"

"I did. And it is not good. Go find Braaza. We need to go."

Aorsr's feet crunch the snow as he runs through Koae Ruika. He weaves between poles that hold up tanned hides adorned with crude sigils painted with berries and paste meant to appease Sraos Ki and Kaurr Kuu and Resr Vaod and every god their unstable pantheon included. Hope is a powerful motivator, and the Bresrs Kera encouraged the Urae to create embodiments of what they thought was good and hopeful. The Bresrs Kera then tried to act as prophets of those gods. Aorsr had received Raoae Ksua, god of the heavy stone. They cared for the Urae, and comforting lies were the only way to ensure that the Urae did not fall to despair and corruption. He runs past the tents, low and dirty, faintly quivering alongside their occupants. Aorsr runs faster because of it. Finally he arrives at a tent slightly taller than the rest, and double as wide. A Sas, as the Urae call it. He takes a panicked and shallow breath and steps in. Calmness overtakes him as he enters. A faint light glows from the back of the Sas, and a woman in an airy robe sits on a mat made of bark and stuffed with grass. A Kesduv.

"Braaza. Did you hear that noise? It sounded like Idaod. We need to go."

"I did hear that sound," said Braaza, shutting a book and looking up. "And I was already warned of such an event by Kesrs. Ris and Sieda have been sent out. Fear not, Aorsr. The problem is likely being dealt with as we discuss it."