Children of the Deep

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Transcribed and translated from Bathynomus basatanus sign language by Archivist K'pihsi.

The eons of peace following our awakening ended with the advent of the Metal Weavers. When they first descended in their iron shells, we prayed it would be the last time. Yet time and time again they came, bringing the accursed light with them. "These are surely the End Times," we each said to ourselves. For we all knew that one day the light would descend from the void above and scour the earth clean. We hoped that the end would come swiftly.

One day, three sisters happened upon a seal carcass. However, their feast was disrupted by the Metal Weavers' sudden appearance. The sisters tried to flee, but this only attracted the bright ones' attention, for although we look similar to our silent cousins, they do not know to fear the light as we do. The youngest one fell behind and was captured. They took her to the surface, beyond our reach. Once there, the bright ones tore her apart. We could do nothing but shudder in horror as her torment echoed through our minds.

We could not afford to ignore this atrocity. A shamanic council was called at the seamounts, the first of its kind in many generations. For three years the shamans fasted, praying to the Allmother for guidance. At long last, an answer came.

If a brother is consumed by a fish, we may take comfort. For all life returns to us when its time comes. But the bright ones had taked our sister into the void beyond the surface, forever removed from the cycle. For this abomination, they would be treated like all such blasphemers, and their flesh given in offering to the Allmother. The Metal Weavers had cut down one of our own. We would respond in kind.

The shamans prepared an altar in the shallows while they waited for the bright ones to appear. After many hours a light brighter than any they had seen before rose above them. The shamans desperately shielded their burning eyes from it. Not long after, the Metal Weavers appeared. The demons were a countless horde, and some of the shamans feared that it may be impossible to perform their charge. But they persisted, and seized four of the creatures that had strayed from the mass.

The bright ones were far larger than they were. They fought fiercely, and the shamans struggled to hold them in their claws. But the bright ones were few, and they were many. They dragged the demons below to the altar they had made. They cut them apart like the bright ones had cut our sister. And the Allmother was pleased with their offering.

The Metal Weavers have not ignored our retaliation. They have reappeared many times since, and have taken dozens of our brothers and sisters hostage. Some of us would cower in fear, telling us that we should seek refuge somewhere the bright ones cannot reach. But the shamans tell us to take heart. For each one of us they cut down, the bright ones shall be repaid tenfold.

This the Allmother commands. Amen.

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