FrettzoThe Wrath of K̸͔̃a̶̛̪a̵̻͌ŗ̶̈n̸̶̛̲͖̊
High atop his pyramidal ziggurat, the All-Tyrant brooded.
In the hidden paths of his deepest, darkest memories to that primordial era when gods swam the seas, Kaarnexaturl dwelt in benthic dreams. The watery realm of his thoughts parted and let the many-minds of Kaarn peer into the past, thinking back to that distant age. In many ways, the All-Tyrant missed those times; he had seen Klaarungraxus himself, with his very own eyes, and had spoken with the Empowerer-of-Tyrants unbowed. A different age and a lost one, likely never to return despite what his Warlocks promised and swore. Nevertheless, the past was the past and the now was all that matter. His eyes pushed from their sockets, the fleshy folds pulling back with that added pressure to act as eyelids, revealing his glowing gaze to the world.
But of those memories passed, forged during the time of the gods’ parting? Two thousand years of time to remember…
“All-Tyrant, may the honor be all yours.”
Kaarnesxaturl stared up at the surface of waves, all six eyes glaring at the world above his watery realm. The gentle splashing of the waves against the shoreline spoke to the Tyrant of good things, of kindness, and of softness, but all he could see is the dreadful world Klaarungraxus sought to drown. For nearly five decades Kaarnesxaturl had watched as his realm was left without their deity, a dread omen and a doom prophesied by the God of Oceans himself. For five decades the Warlocks had served as his advisors, telling him that the great God could be returned, and that the gods above had been thrust from the world in equal measure. For five decades Kaarnesxaturl had waited patiently, testing the Warlocks’ theories, allowing him to conquer more reefs in that time.
Now he was faced with a choice.
His warlock coven, led by the venerable Xes, had been locked in their caverns plotting. Time and time again he had seen their lackeys and minions carrying out experiments, returning with withered corpses of Vrool or dragging Akua slaves to their grottos. What, exactly, the had been up to was of little consequence; Kaarn frankly had no interest in their witchery. But, when Xes had come to Kaarn’s lair with promises of further conquests beyond even those limits made for them by Klaarungraxus, his interest had been piqued. For nearly a month he had been tutored in this new technique, training himself and his most vaunted retainers in this same act. Now it was time to put it to the test.
Kaarn continued to glare onwards at the crashing white-water from below, rumbling. Those boiled and dried up Vrool hung in his mind yet he knew he could not falter here; he was the All-Tyrant, rightful spawn of Klaarungraxus, crowned by the pale-fish Tekretsesxerest to rule all below. And now, all above as well. Floating forward like the demi-god he truly thought himself to be, Kaarnesxaturl rose from the waves in all his dread power. A constant hum rolled from his bell, vibrating his body ever so slightly while the ends of his tentacles played a somatic dance. Maintaining his regal composure even as the moonlight hit him unblocked by water and the loss of that watery embrace, Kaarnesxaturl became the first Vrool to march onto the soil of Galbar.
Behind him followed his warlocks and then, one by one, his several dozen retainers trusted with the knowledge of this act. On that distant northern shore of Pakohu, the island so named by the Akua who lived on or near its shores, the first Vrool set tentacle onto the unhallowed ground stolen from Klaarungraxus’ realm.
The trick had been a fairly simple one, all things considered, and one that the Warlocks had gleefully tested the full extents of with not particularly willing test subjects. A Vrool could pull water into its bell, held within a number of bladders used for structure in their boneless bodies. By calmly controlling the flow of those waters, a Vrool could continuously keep themselves wet and breathing for a prolonged period of time on the surface. As well as simply allowing them to survive above, the water kept in their system allowed them to maintain full structure of their bodies rather than collapsing under their weight. With the Holy Vonu, known to all Vrool from birth as a gift from their God, Vrool could remain strong and powerful even here, on the surface. The water, of course, would need to be flushed from the system and fresh water brought in to continue breathing after a period, but this was a simple solution.
Yet unknown to anyone but the Warlocks and Kaarn himself, however, was an extra portion of that particular skill. With the proper tonal shifts and the right words, that water could be heated like the vents deep in the grottos of Vo. Kept just beneath the point of injuring the Vrool, this heated water could be used to heat the Vrool cardiovascular system and subsequently suppress the flaw of their cold-blooded nature. Whispered and kept hushed by the Warlocks and their master, Kaarn, it was realized that this skill would need to be restricted until such a time that Kaarn’s rule was completely entrenched. Then, as a gift from the Vroolish All-Tyrant, all Vrool could quicken their minds as the Warlocks had.
In the distant, flickering lights could be seen and the smell of something no Vrool had ever sensed wafted across their limbs. Tentacles flickered and shook with excitement at this new awareness, entirely curious to explore an entirely fresh cacophony of the senses. Voices, though primitive and guttural, could be heard over the winds. There was an electric sensation that ran through the collected warrior-vrool, with the gaggle of Warlocks excitedly chattering about the results of their work.
With a flick of his tentacle, Kaarn set loose his warriors on the primitives of the nearby village; it was rightly time to test the mettle of these surface dwellers proper and rightly.
Ah, memories.
Kaarn felt his eyes return to awareness as he allowed the flickering sensations of his memories leave him. He was gone from that ancient place and long forgotten time, from the first Vrool raid on the surface dwellers and back upon his ziggurat. It had taken nearly three hundred years of constant construction to complete, as he recalled, and had been built at the direction of his greatest minds. For the last five centuries he’d been able to enjoy this new perch, far superior to his cavernous lair of the past or even the simple palaces he had wrought for himself. There was plenty of space to observe his realm in all directions and numerous passageways and halls in which he could keep his numerous things. Even his harem of evidently beautiful Akua had room enough for themselves, even if Kaarn hardly doted on them; they were best for when Akuan chieftains needed assuaging, afterall.
In all directions the empire of Kaarn stretched; Aopoa, the greatest reef, and her conquered tributaries were numerous and all across the sea. Most tyrants in the last two thousand years had either been conquered or offered up their blood in payment, and those who hadn’t were allies who offered tribute to their All-Tyrant. Aopoa herself had benefited greatly, the sprawling urban realm expanding outwards from the Tyrant’s tower evidence of that. Aopoa, as the center of the Vroolish world, grew in strength, splendor, and influence. And so close to Ku the pull of that ancient icon could not be denied. Kaarn had even wisely accepted the council of his growing list of advisors, to allow Akua to freely visit that place and even take up residence as citizens of his growing empire. Though the slaves had not been freed, these freeborn Akua would be given at least some semblance of respect; after all, had they not been made by Klaarungraxus as well?
And further still had the Vrool interacted with the world above since those initial conquests. Slaves of surface races had been taken, brought to contained rooms of air so that they might continue to survive within Kaarn’s realm. The warping influence of Ku did its work marvelously, changing those slaves kept close to it to be more pliable to that pelagic realms’ needs. The capacity for lungs to breath water was most common, but gills and more extreme transformations were not unheard of. The city that popped up around Kaarn’s ziggurat, so called Kahu-ali’Haku in Ku’Ano Vonu, housed a diverse array of Vrool, Akua, and slaves of all races brought deep below.
Similar Vrool cities existed, particularly among those domains ruled by Tyrants closely allied to Kaarnesxaturl, and across this growing, decentralized empire there was the closest thing to peace Vrool could possibly stand. Conflict between Vrool was typically relegated to Tyrants killing Tyrants and lowborn killing lowborn, with most true conquests highly regulated by the All-Tyrant and his armies in Aopoa. Tyrants could still war on another, as always, but the risk of gaining too much and calling down the wrath of Kaarn as well as those rivals who could benefit from their reams collapse. It was far simpler and more profitable to simply raid the surface world, conquer or cajole Akuan chieftains into complacency, or make deals with those sea-faring peoples to throw tribute overboard when they travelled over the wrong reef.
That was not to say that the warm-bloods on the surface had not given the Vrool their fair share of trouble. Too many would-be tyrants, third-spawns of far greater vrool, would aimlessly wander with several companions up to the surface world and be slain. Though they certainly took many lives with them, it was clear that the surface was beginning to develop; although primitive, they were not without their dangers. The surface world races were numerous, reproducing faster than the vrool by many levels of magnitude, and they were often inclined towards grouping behaviors that made murdering them en masse considerably more difficult. Worst of all, they had begun to invent weapons using a material unknown to the Vrool and through a means vrool simply could not replicate.
Vrool, of course, had compensated. Being the smartest, most cunning, and most powerful people they had not been left wanting; warlocks produced all manner of interesting experiments that could be weaponized and even before the mortals clung to spears the vrool were armed with weapons of their own. Coral, in particular, could be spoken into growth to form blades, mauls, and stabbing implements while less wealthy vrool had access to bone, stones, and other weaponry. In some cases, bronze was acquired through trade and bent into shape or heated at undersea vents but beyond that it could not be gathered easily.
It was all exactly how Kaarnesxaturl had intended; the endless domain of Aopoa stretched all around the world. He had, as Tekretsesxerest had commanded, brought everything beneath the waves under his rule. Kaarn had become the uncontested Tyrant of all the oceans and he had done so by his own might and power, more than likely one of the largest and certainly oldest vrool in all the oceans. Indeed, even as his new spawnlings began to grow, one phrase had become unequaled to reference his greatness.
The Moon never sets on the Vrool Empire!
