Custom Hydrus Tigrean
Bruce's name is spoken in a whisper on the Omen Islands. The natives tell tales of the Trench Claw - a tigrean with half the body of a fish and the strength to vanquish even the dastardly megalodon. The more suspicious elders will sometimes cut a piece from the tail of their catches, throwing the meaty bits to the ocean as an offering to keep the feared creature down in the murkiest depths of the water.
Bruce knows nothing of this. His cave is nestled in a rock crevice many thousands of miles beneath the ocean's surface. It is the perfect place to store ingredients for the potions he brews, cool enough to keep even perishables from going bad too quickly. The fact that it is also too far beneath the water to allow most other life forms to breathe is an added bonus.
Only his cheerful dog, Lego remained loyal to him. It was nice to have one creature that didn't cringe or reach for a weapon at the sight of him.
Life hadn't always been this way. He certainly wasn't born a monster.
He wasn't famous, but he was working on it. Great explorers must be bold, willing to take a risk here and there in order to stumble upon the right discovery that will get them a mention in the Subeta Tribune. He never turned down a dinner invitation, feasting with friends of Sagittarius and visitors to the Donation Center alike. One never knew who might pass on some trivial piece of gossip that could lead to a seaside cave not explored since the days when the Old Wizard's beard was not half so impressive. These were the leads Bruce lived for.
He knew people in every Subetan land, from the mysterious Ji-Meneb of Darkside to the hard-working Ytiva of Arctic Frost. He could speak seven languages and made it a point to learn the local customs of each new land he traveled. Small, cheap trinkets were a great way to encourage the elders to share tribal stories. A glass bead from Delphi will get you all the good myths in most secluded villages and there is no better source for truth than local legend.
The natives would always laugh at Lego's antics, sneaking the dog little bits of salted fish or sweet bread while his master pretended not to notice. They had seen only the local curs and were fascinated not only by the terrier's tri-colored fur, but at his patience in balancing a piece of food on his nose until his master gave the command. Finding the information he sought took many years. There are some stories one simply does not tell by the gloomy light of an evening fire. The story of Merana's banishment is one of these, but in time he succeeded in piecing together the location of Merana's sandstone caves where great treasures of the deep were said to be gathered and stored.
A voyage to Omen Islands was the dream he never forgot, planted in his head by a grandfather with far more imagination than wealth. Bruce sold more half-formed pieces of pottery and crude utensils to the Subetan History Museum than he cared to remember, scraping together coins and living on carnival food until he finally had the required amount for a ticket. Even so, he could not afford better than a second-class seat. Lego huddled on his lap between a noisy family of torrents arguing about the weather and a telenine loudly chewing what looked like a massive strip of jerky. From the snorting sounds coming out of his mouth, he really seemed to be enjoying the treat. Bruce cringed as a small gob of slobber hit his shoe.
He ignored the tour guide who hurried forward to welcome the newcomers and offer her services. Bruce knew exactly where he wanted to go and he knew without a doubt it was not a location included in any tour.
The great seaside cliffs offered a view so breath-taking that he could not help pausing a moment to take in the glory of the ocean below. He had been teased from a very young age for his fascination with water. Most tigreans would snarl at the plop of a single drop of rain on their thick coats. Bruce not only enjoyed a good view of the ocean but was quite skilled at swimming.
The thrill of testing his muscles against the harsh coast of the Islands would have to wait. The cliff was his point of access and already he could see three gaping holes that were said to have been tunneled by the unfortunate slave of Merana.
Each new chamber presented a different wonder. Bags of pearls rested beside plate armor gilded with a shimmering blue metal he had no name for. The place was an explorer's dream, and entering had been so easy. He had expected at least some form of guard, a giant squid or a banshee, perhaps. All he could hear was the drip of water somewhere in the distance.
He dipped his paw into a bag of black pearls, ignoring the subtle whine that filled the air. It was not until Lego began to snarl that he finally tore his eyes away from his find.
Two feet in front of him sat Merana, the tip of her serpentine tail twitching in annoyance.
"Ya think it is okay to be takin' advantage of my better nature. It is da reward I get for givin' me powers away to any who seek out a few items for a brew. It is past time dat I give a lesson for da greed of da mainlanders."
His roar of pain turned to a gurgle as his body twisted and took on a new form. Luxurious tigrean fur was shed, replaced by a rubbery webbing that was somewhere between skin and scales. His slender tale thickened and expanded at the tip, forming a fine fin. He watched in horror as the spell caught Lego, transforming the little dog into some hideous fish. Merana tossed them from the cave with a careless flick of the wrist, throwing them to the ocean below.
The beach visitors all ran when Bruce emerged from the water in his new form, even Subetans he had once considered friends. One mistake had cut his world in half. He could no longer venture above the surface of the ocean without spreading panic and terror. Part of him recoiled from the creature he had become while a darker part grinned savagely at the sight of great warriors screaming like frightened girls as they took in his unnatural shape.
It took little time to adjust to a life spent in seclusion, far removed from any other creature that might take insult at his appearance and flee. Time is not much of an issue when you are immortal.
He's been in many fights until his battered form could no longer dredge up the energy to strike back. He even tried swimming into a volcanic vent once, just to see what would happen. It spat him back out, leaving him hurting and weak but still very much alive. No adventurous streak could convince him to try that journey twice.
He finds plenty of other places to explore in the depths, always seeking ingredients that might prove useful to his brews. If his losses were not so hard to bear, he might find it funny that he is making discoveries every day that his former self would kill to present to the world.
At the moment all he cares about is a piece of sea glass firmly wedged between two inky black boulders. It is just the right size and texture for the potion he intends to complete today but the piece must be kept whole. He does not notice right away when Lego begins to swim circles around his head but it is hard to ignore a creature when it slams into you.
He finally looks up with a growl of annoyance. Lego swims away, waving his finned tail and begging Bruce to follow.
The young jollin floats on a wooden raft, separated from the cruise ship that brought her to the middle of the ocean, only to be sunk in a storm. She huddles at the center, weak with hunger and trembling with fear. Three sharks have caught the scent of a tempting morsel and will not be deterred by the temporary annoyance of a splintery dinner plate. Two large chunks of wood are already missing.
The monster within growls its pleasure and instructs Bruce to leave the foolish land critter to her fate. His growl of denial is more impressive, driving him to action.
The first shark never knows there is danger in the water until Bruce's huge jaw separate its dorsal fin from its body. The second shark puts up more of a fight but cannot get through Bruce's thick skin before a well-aimed blow takes out its throat. The third shark goes crazy at so much blood in the water, thrashing about mindlessly and taking no notice when death arrived to neatly slice it in half.
The jollin sees none of this as she has finally given in to exhaustion. She takes no notice when the raft begins to move, despite the lack of even a gentle breeze. Bruce sheaths his claws, leaning against the raft with care. A few drops of his restoration potion steady the jollin's breathing though he does not give her enough to wake her. The sight of him would most likely cause her to die of fright, potion or no potion.
By the time a group of Omen Island patrol ontras arrives to take the jollin to a local hospital, Bruce is far away, sinking back to the depths that are the only suitable home for a monster.
Pureflower
