Evan Mambo woke to the sound of the battle horns. The noise wasn’t wat woke him, he was used to loud noises. No, the tone of the horns themselves was what aroused him from his bed.
The horn sounded again.
BAROOOO
Sounds of battle reached his ears: Cannons firing, screams, glass shattering, the clash of weapon on weapon. It was an absolute cacophony.
There was the sound of an explosion right outside his house. A large, dark figure was propelled through the window. It had a shark-like head, tentacles for arms, and stumpy, sea star-like legs. Before Evan could react, it sat up and lunged at him with a cutlass that looked like a crab leg. Evan reacted before he had the chance to even think. He summoned a magic circle and cast a bolt of glass into the beast’s heart, killing it instantly. He stood there for a moment, arm outstretched, trembling with shock. He had been in the dark sea twice, serving as a sailor under a mighty captain, where they had found many treasures aboard Atlantean ships and in ruins on islands. They each had taken their share of treasure and settled down in Port Mistral. Evan had always feared that they would want revenge. And now, it seemed, they had come for it.
Hastily, he pulled on his clothes and ran outside, fearing what he might see.
His worst fears came true.
Port mistral was ablaze, bodies scattered around like rag dolls, the streets slick with blood. At least five Atlantean brigs were parked at the docks, and another five were rapidly approaching from the distance. The few Samerian ships stationed here were sinking, having barely dented the Atlanteans’ hulls.
He had to help. He was likely the only person in the entire town that knew a Lost Magic. He could help win this fight!
As he hurried toward the docks, he passed a trio of lionfish-like Atlanteans, slowly walking towards a small child backed into a corner.
Evan summoned another magic circle. This time, Frostmetal magic. A pillar of ice-cold steel launched the Atlanteans skyward. The child ran off somewhere.
He turned to continue to the docks. He had gotten three steps when-
THUD.
He turned and saw the Atlanteans he had just launched. Two were dead on the ground, with grotesquely broken limbs oozing purple blood from under them. But one had survived. It seemed more mutated than its dead companions, having four tentacles coming out of its shoulders, two on each side. Evan settled into a fighting stance, expecting the Atlantean to attack first. But what actually happened was even more bizarre than its appearance: It… spoke.
“YOU HAVE MUCH POTENTIAL YOUNG ONE. FLESH FOR THE MAW, FLESH IMBUED WITH FROZEN METAL. LIKE ME BEFORE MY MIND WAS OPENED BY THE MAW. JOIN US. SURRENDER TO THE MAW, TO THE MAW WITH ITS OBSIDIAN DESERTS AND RAIN OF PURPLE. SURRENDER TO THE MAW OR DIE.”
Its voice was jarring and discordant, as if twelve Atlanteans were speaking at once.
“Not a chance,” Evan said. “I’d rather die than become one of you.”
“SO BE IT. THE MAW WILL HAVE YOUR FLESH ANYWAY.”
The Atlantean lunged at Evan with inhumane speed. He let loose with his Frostmetal magic, annihilating half the Atlantean’s torso.
However, it wasn’t enough. The rest of the Atlantean kept its momentum even as it died, which propelled it onto Evan’s chest. He fell under the Atlantean’s crushing weight, body covered with pain from the monster’s spines and teeth. It was suffocating him with its weight and he could feel the creature’s venom flowing into his veins from its spines, and his vison was growing dark. In his last moment of clarity, he managed to push the corpse off of him.
If I’m going to die, I’m not going to die with a humanoid lionfish on my chest, he thought, before he lost consciousness.
He woke up sometime later. Likely hours, maybe even days, judging by the sky.
When he had been woken up by the alarm, it had been morning. Now, it was night. He sat up, then shouted as the movement provoked an angry response from his entire body. He gingerly rubbed his head. His head felt cold and wet, as did his arms. He looked down. His entire body was covered in scales. He stood up in shock, then immediately fell back down because of the resulting pain from which he realized must be where the scales were emerging. No… This can’t be happening! He thought, panicked.
A loud crash distracted him from his situation. He looked over.
Port Mistral was still burning, the sound seemed to have come from a collapsing house.
Okay… Okay…I’m not mutated yet… still in the game… for now… And I should get out of hear before I burn to death.
Evan staggered out of Port Mistral, into the forest. On his way, he salvaged some supplies from a general store that hadn’t quite burned to a crisp yet. He also tried to burn off some of the scales, but failed.
Over the next two weeks, he camped in a tent up in the mountainous stone pillars near the town. He was the lone watchman of a flaming ruin, the priest at the funeral pyre of an entire settlement, overseeing its burning with eyes that, with each passing day, became more and more bestial and less and less human, as his sanity became scarcer and scarcer.
On the dawn of the fifteenth day, he knew he could not bear it if he became an abomination that had utterly destroyed his hometown. So he took a flintlock, pressed it to his chest and…
He didn’t pull the trigger. He couldn’t. What remained of his sanity refused to leave the world without something to be remembered by. His gaze fell upon the journal, quill, and ink bottle he’d taken from the general store. He put down the pistol, picked up the quill, and wrote.
The journals of Evan Mambo. The first, last, and only chapter.
If you are reading this, than I am dead.
Port Mistral has been utterly razed by Atlanteans, creatures of the hell known as the Dark Sea. I am the sole survivor except for a group who left for Sameria a few days before the raid, but they are likely dead, and I am not unscathed. During the battle, I was bitten by an Atlantean, and have started to mutate. Already there are webs between my fingers and toes, and fish-like scales cover my body. My vision and hearing get steadily worse, and I see things that have no business being real, like shadow figures. They grow ever closer, and I know they’re after my soul. Well, I shall cast my soul beyond this realm, where none can get it but the gods. The maw wants my flesh, it can have bare bones, imbued with the fury of a thousand lives cut short, including my own. May it choke itself with regret for what it has caused, may it suffer in agony for the ETERNAL punishment it will receive in the AFTERLIFE, MAY IT UNDERGO THE MOST TERRIBLE OF PUNISHMENTS FOR ITS SINS
the writing dissolves into indecipherable scribblings
pLEASe, MaKE it sTOp
This is what is quite possibly could be my last hour of sanity. Following are my memories of the attack on Port Mistral, inaccurate though they may be. Read them carefully and keep them safe, they are likely the only account.
Now, I have come to terms with the fact that death is the only cure for my infection. Farewell, world. May the afterlife be more merciful than this one.
The lone adventurer closed the journal. She looked over at the skeleton in a sitting position near the massive tree, staring out into the west, rusty flintlock still clasped in its bony hand. “Farewell, Evan Mambo. May your soul be ever free.”
She stood up and turned to the fallen tree he had been leaning on. Taking out her knife, he cut several sections from it. Then, she took out a shovel, dug a hole, then lowered the skeleton into it. She put the flintlock next to it. Then she covered the hole. On the surface,s he arranged the wood into a tripod-like formation, tying the tops together with twine.
Silhouetted against the sunset, weak through many layers of dark, magic-irradiated clouds, the lone adventurer made her way down the mountain, mourning for all that had died. She wished to strike back at the beasts that had done it, and the “Maw” the journal mentioned, but he couldn’t. She was only one woman, who had suffered losses of her own. her fingers twitched upward to his neck, in quick, jerky movements. He opened a compartment on her necklace, revealing a small portrait of the family she’d lost to the Atlanteans.
Someday, she would have her revenge, but today was not that day.
Insert Divider Here
Uhh, hi. I’m pretty new to Abyss Sea, having only taken my first actual look at it
just yesterday. Here’s my first writing project on the forums, sorry if it has a few errors, I did it all in one sitting and it’s three in the morning now. I’m probably going to make some more Abyss Sea writing, with my OC(s) as the main character this time. My main inspiration with this was that there was no Port Mistral page on the AS Trello, so hopefully this gets added sometime. I also find it kind of ironic that in AS and Main Lore, Port Mistral gets beat up either way. Poor… uhm… island, just can’t catch a break.
So anyway, stay tuned for more Abyss sea writing 
