It was the third day of rain, and the heaviest so far. Even by day, the sun felt like a distant memory, its murky glow barely illuminating the thick grey clouds that filled the sky. By night, shadow and damp enclosed the world, punctuated by a few brave lanterns that swung in the gloom. Two such burning lights bounced and swung off of a heavy carriage as it carefully trundled its way along the rain slicked rocks of the eastern shore.
Kraigbaddon was a harsh place at the best of times, a rough coastal province perched along a wall of cliffs and sharp rocks that the ocean battered ceaselessly. During the stormy seasons, even the seasoned coachman felt as though he were leading his horses down the toothy teeth of some massive sea creature.
Inside the coach, moods were a close partner to the weather. Four strangers sat in sullen silence, any attempts at rapport long since abandoned as they all collectively waited for the terminus of their voyage. The cold seemed to pass through the walls of the carriage like a screen, causing them all to hunch into their cloaks and avoid the many spots where water seeped in through the roof and sides.
Tucked against one corner, the slightest of the travellers huddled protectively around a large case in his lap and stared out of the warbled glass pane, trying to pick details from the coast through the darkness and rain. Every once in a while, a bright skewer of lighting lit up far out to sea and he'd quietly count to himself until he heard the thunderclap rattle the walls of their sanctuary.
Grant hoped that the storm remained out over the ocean, at least until they reached their destination. Tempers were brittle within the carriage and what little coin was his had been expended on the ride. All he had left was his charm, which he doubted would take him far among the others. It had taken him hours to whittle and deduce even their names, and he didn't want to push his luck. Mc’Leigh was the only other human in the coach, a broad and simmering man with a hefty pack he kept a close eye and a tighter grip on. Jargo, the sizable lizardfolk, barely even grunted in response to any given question and carried a predatory glint in his eyes that made the young traveller nervous. The dwarf sitting next to Grant took up more than half their side of the carriage, but the human knew better than to attempt retaking lost territory from him. He tucked his limbs in closer and returned to the window. The carriage bucked against the uneven path and Grant tried not to think of how close they were to the edge of the small road. On one side was a sheer cliff face, on the other a 100 foot drop into the stormy ocean. Grant doubted that even Jargo could survive out in that water for very long.
The carriage crept around a hard turn, and for a moment Grant could see their destination. A bright, shining beacon waiting for them, perched near the edge of a large plateau. The bright lighthouse that shone through the rainy gloom was attached via a sheltered walkway to the squat, two-storied inn that promised a roof, food and fire.
Rockpoint Inn was known as the last harbour before the long winding way up the cliffs of Kraigbaddon to higher ground. In addition to the lighthouse that summoned travellers and warned ships, Rockpoint boasted over two dozen cozy rooms for weary travellers, a source of clean water that could be heated on order, and a path to the currently flooded docks that lay within the small cove that sheltered them. There was another flash of lighting and for a split second, Grant could make out the sturdy switchback staircase carved into the rock like a jagged crack, running from the lighthouse all the way down to the water.
The last leg of the journey seemed to crawl by with their goal so readily in sight, and by the time their transport reached the outer gates of the Rockpoint Inn, a sense of intense cabin fever had infested the small space. Grant remained seated until all three of his burly travel companions had found their feet and departed. He gathered his large bundle and stepped out into the storm, feeling the rain sting his face and turn his already damp cloak into a sodden layer of fabric within seconds. As unpleasant as it was, Grant forced himself to walk at a steady, even pace. The uneven, rocky path beneath his boots was slick with rain and seawater and any slip might leave him marooned with nobody eager to go looking for him. The lights of Rockpoint grew closer until he finally shouldered his way through the heavy doors and pushed them shut behind him with a hard shove against the winds.
The main hall of the inn was warmly lit and as Grant shook off his sodden outer layers, the soothing heat of the large fire that blazed against the southern wall wrapped itself around him. He hung his cloak by the doors and stepped inside, tracking damp boot prints behind him as he tried to read the room. He could spot his three other carriage-mates at various spots around the dining hall, but none even bothered to meet his eye. There were a few other weathered, wiry men that looked like sailors nursing healthy pints of mead, a table populated by diminutive, squabbling goblins that seemed to be deep in argument about something in their guttering tongue, and a few other disparate, shadowy figures occupying their own dark corners. Grant moved to the center of the great hall close to the blazing fire and tried to shake the damp chill out of his bones. Very carefully, he began to unwrap the bundle he had been carrying, removing layer after layer of oiled canvas until they revealed the lacquered wood and carefully tuned strings of the harp Grant had so carefully protected. He warmed his numb, chilly fingers by the fire before carefully wiping down the wooden frame of the instrument and tuning the strings one by one until it once again sang with clear notes. He looked up from his work to see one of the tavern servants hovering over him. Grant became keenly aware of his lack of money.
"Ah...the coachman said that his passengers were entitled to a room and a meal." The young bard explained hesitantly.
"Entitled, are they?" The woman standing over him was tall, and thickly built. The rough, weathered skin on her hands and arms suggested a life of hard work and salty air. Grant wondered if she had a history of working the docks before moving to warmer, slightly less hostile employment. All he could offer her was a small, resigned smile.
The server looked him up and down. Under his cloak, the bard's relatively clean garments were almost entirely a creamy white, offset by shades of light grey and ruby red accents on his doublet. With his blonde hair and harp he looked almost angelic. She sighed.
"Suppose tossing someone like you back in the storm would be like throwing a minnow to the eels. Stay here."
The promised meal was nothing but a bowl of thin soup, but it was warm and silenced the growl in Grant's belly. If he wanted to stay here more than a single night, he knew he needed to start making money.
The bard experimentally plucked a few strings on his harp, searching his mental library for a song that might appeal to a room full of weather-worn sailors, mercenaries and traders that seemed to be consumed by their own stoic silence.
Grant decided on The Birds of Greyport. His practiced fingers began to slowly pick out the slow, soft notes of the melody. The tune that filled the air had a lilting, nostalgic air to it that conjured images of forgotten shorelines and lost time.
They cast their eyes
They cast their teeth
Upon the wings of black
And never more they soar above
They never shall come back
It was an ode to a strange colony of jet-black gulls that had appeared around the coastal town of Greyport in ages past. Locals had feared the unknown birds, considering them a bad omen and how they scared away other gulls, pigeons and even hawks. Efforts had been made to displace or kill the gloomy flock.
The blinding mists so thickly clung
To mast and sailing prow
But so they flew to show the way
A path through blinding cloud
During one of the worst storms in Greyport's record, a massive bank of fog had preceded it, descending on the oceans around Greyport and stranding short-range fishing and cargo vessels out to sea at the whims of the coming tempest. It was then the black gulls had flown out to the stranded boats and called for shore, flying alongside the ships as guides. The avian pathfinders had saved many lives that day, but after the storm had passed by the town, none of them remained. Some say that they had flown with the storm, but most mournfully agreed that they had finally been routed by the townsfolk, not realizing they were banishing their savours.
They cast their eyes
They cast their teeth
Upon the wings of black
And never more they soar above
They never will come back
After few more verses, Grant finished the song and looked around the room. A few were glancing his way and most others were still preoccupied with their drinks. One of the larger figures in a corner booth who hadn't removed his hood yet seemed to be staring right back at him. As soon as Grant noticed the attention, the man broke it off, finishing his drink and staring down at his mostly finished plate of dinner. Grant found himself also awkwardly looking away, turning his gaze to the floor. He halfheartedly plucked at his strings and sighed. Maybe the crowd would be more receptive on the morrow.
‐-------------------------
Grant awoke to the rumble of distant thunder. The sun had risen, but its light was still muffled and hidden by the thick clouds that remained overhead. Rain was pelting the glass of the small window in Grant's room.
He had slept in his tunic over his small clothes, due to the fact that his sleeping quarters were a shared space. Cots and simple bedding had been packed wall-to-wall in one of the larger rooms of the inn, clearly a place for low-paying tenants to collapse when the only thing that mattered was somewhere dry and horizontal. Thankfully there were only half a dozen others in the room so no one was sleeping shoulder to shoulder. Grant couldn't imagine how he could handle nestling between two of the larger, burly men that he had shared the dining hall with. The thought of their heavy bodies surrounding him and the feeling of their breath on his neck made his skin tingle. He hurriedly dressed and scuttled to the communal washingroom, huffing slightly to himself.
Downstairs, a few folks had gathered for breakfast. Most were silently tucking into plates of grilled herring, sardines, dried seaweed and for the discerning customer, a wheatcake or two sloppily coated in a gobbet of honey. Grant felt his belly growl again.
Retaking his spot near the fire, the bard began to tune his harp again, much more audibly than before in the hopes of catching the ears of the few inn goers. He began with a simple, Daynic song. It was wordless, just tranquil and calming, the kind of thing to fill the air during a meal. By the way most people were leaning over their plates, Grant honestly feared that he'd put a few back to sleep.
He quickly finished the song and glanced around the room.
"Anyone have a request?" He asked gamely.
Silence and the occasional grunt surrounded him on all sides. He plucked at the D string of his instrument tentatively.
The ring of a coin hitting the ground made him turn his head. The gleam of silver shone against the stone of the fireplace tile. Grant picked it up, looking towards the man who had tossed it to him. It was the large, hooded figure from last night. In the light of day, Grant could make him out more clearly. He was powerfully built and thick around the waist, and the skin on his hands was a smooth, mottled green that reminded Grant of something aquatic. There was something wrong with his beard. It looked like it was braided into thick, glistening ropes the same colour as his hands. A pair of large, yellow eyes glimmered at him from under his hood.
Grant smiled at him.
"Something cheery." The man suggested. His voice was thick and deep, like syrup poured from a flask. "Brighten up the morning a little, if you please."
Grant almost laughed at the prospect. Quickly finding his key, the bard switched gears and jangled his way through The Tempers of Merrywine. It was a lilting, playful number about a trio of wealthy quarreling sisters and the poor knightly suitor caught between them. As he finished the song, Grant afforded a little visual flourish, strumming his harp to conjure a few dancing, multicoloured sparkles in the air in a simple prestidigitation. His patron gave a soft clap that was enough to get some of the other tavern goers to raise their cups.
Grant was able to flag down the surly tavern maid and order a decent meal. A plate of sliced black sausage, a bit of grilled herring and juicy roasted peppers and onions on a skewer. He eagerly wolfed down the much more substantial breakfast, occasionally glancing back at his sole fan.
"Good to find a music fan around these parts." He mumbled, wiping his lips of grease.
The stranger was quiet for a moment, then slowly reached up and pulled down his hood. Grant's eyebrows instinctively raised.
The man had clearly not been human, but the young bard hadn't expected the hairless head beneath the cloak to have a face of short, thick tentacles that seemed to nervously coil around each other. His yellow eyes were large, bright and expressive.
"It can be difficult to find friendly faces at Rockpoint.” The stranger said. “I appreciate the effort to brighten things."
Grant had never seen a creature like this squid-faced figure before, but he'd heard stories of menaces that dwelt deep in the underdark. There were whispers of tentacle-mouthed boogeymen that skulked in the fearful places beyond the reach of daylight, thought-devouring monstrosities that stole surface dwellers and played out diabolical campaigns in service of their abominable lords.
Whoever this was, he certainly didn't look like some ghoulish brain-stealer. Below his oddly expressive features, his arms were thick with muscle and his belly was broad, pressing against the table slightly. All the human could think of when he saw the other man's face was a pair of wide eyes shyly peeking over a curtain. Grant thought it was remarkably cute.
The man shifted slightly, his tentacles suddenly active as he fidgeted in his chair.
"You-ah…" he grunted and tried to realign himself. "You plan to stay here long?"
"At least until the weather lifts." Grant shrugged. He had a hard time looking away.
"Well then." The squid-man glanced out the window. "Let's hope it lasts."
‐-------------------------------
Grant thanked the patron that had thrown a few coppers his way and started up on another slow, easy song that was supposed to help the digestion after a hearty lunch. It had been a week since he had arrived at the Rockpoint Inn and more people had left than come. The rain outside wasn't as heavy or intense as it had been a few days ago, or even yesterday, but it still made traversing outside a damp, unwelcoming affair that reduced the number of those willing to brave the slippery cliffside pass. Grant finished his song, gave some coins to the tavern maid and sat at a corner table across from his biggest fan. The burly, squid-faced stranger had been distant since their first conversation, avoiding long exchanges and growing quickly flustered when they did speak. Grant worried he had offended the tentacled man in some way, but the stranger always seemed happy to see him in the common hall and frequently threw a coin to his spot by the fire when he could afford to.
Grant wondered if there was some way to bridge the gap between them. The other man looked up from his soup and nodded warmly before returning to his humble meal. The human bard watched his lunchmates' spoon disappear behind the curtain of tentacles that covered his mouth, the appendages parting slightly to accept the next mouthful. Grant thought that there was an organic grace to them, like swaying seaweed. The other man cleared his throat noisily.
Grant looked down in response to the clatter of dishware at his table. He had been given a bowl of thin soup similar to the one that he had received on his first evening.
"Oh, I ah- I paid." The bard offered, trying to clear up the confusion that must have resulted in his meager meal.
"You did." The tavern maid answered. Doriah, that was her name. "But the pantry's getting tight. No supplies coming down the road, and no fishin' boats on the water means dinner is a premium. You want your meat and potatoes, you pay."
Grant made a show of patting down his empty pockets and turned to the stranger, who could only shrug. Doriah excused herself with a scoff. The bard was left to stir his humble lunch and stare out the rain-slicked windows. Maybe it was time to move on after all. This place hadn't proven to be the sanctuary he had hoped for and both the audience and the food was diminishing. The only real friendly face he'd met was starting to pull away as well. Grant had never even learned his name.
"Xurick." The tentacled man rumbled softly.
"I'm...I'm sorry?" Grant broke off his train of thought.
"My name, It's Xurick...in case you were wondering." The traveller's eyes quickly fell back to his bowl.
"I was wondering." Grant furrowed his brow and finally brought a mouthful of soup to his lips. "Well, thank you Xurick. You've been a friendly face in a desolate spot. In spite of the…” He looked over his shoulder at Doriah, “...hospitality, I may have to join the stream of travellers on their way out."
Xurick gave a slightly wet noise that sounded like a sigh.
"Maybe that's for the best." He finally responded. "Are you headed back home?"
Grant flashed a broad smile and gestured showily to the front door. "My home is out there. I'm a bard, a transient by nature. It might be about time to move on, now that the coin and the meals have dried up." He sat back. “It’s a shame, the food was awfully good around here before they cut us off.”
"Yeah…" Xurick grunted. He followed Grant's gaze to the window. For a moment, the two were silent, with the duelling sounds of the crackling fire and the rain pattering against the windows washing over them. Grant felt a slight tingle up his spine at the thought of being so close to his mysterious friend. There was a half-impulse to reach across the table and hold his hand, that he didn't dare act on.
"Hey…" Xurick looked back at Grant. "How quickly can you pick up a new song?"
"Just have to hear it once or twice." The bard smirked. "Why, you have a request?"
"An idea." Xurick responded, rising to his feet.
‐---------------------
"Is there any particular reason we had to do this out here?" Grant grunted as he tuned his harp. The small awning that linked the tavern and stables provided enough shelter from the rains above, but the chill and wet still hung in the air, and the slick rocky ground always felt like a gamble to walk across.
"I thought you'd prefer a little privacy." Xurick offered. "And if this works, you may want to practice playing over the storm."
"So, teach me this song." Grant plucked at the strings of his harp expectantly.
"It's an old song, from below the waves." Xurick explained. "I remember hearing it as a work song and the occasional lullaby, but there's magic to it. Old magic."
He began to hum, tapping out the rhythm on one thick thigh. His melody was a gravelly, thick sound that sounded like sunlight on stormy water. The song was heavy and slow, but potent. The gradual, steady beat reminded the bard of waves crashing against shore, but the energy of the inhale made him feel like he was being pulled out to sea, pulled towards the singer. His eyes were fixed on Xurick as he began to follow along, plucking at his harp and picking up the structure. The two maintained their duet until Xurick trailed off and let Grant play an extra rendition on his own.
"That's it, more or less." The tentacled man shrugged.
"Bit of a hypnotic quality." Grant blinked. "I like it. Any lyrics?"
"A few, in different languages or depending on where you hear it. The important part is what it can do.” Xurick’s tentacles curled slightly. “There are legends that the deep ones used songs like this as an…entrancement. They could call forth huge shoals of fish right into their nets, using the music as bait.”
Grant nodded slowly, picking up on the idea that Xurick had put forth. He knew little of the mysterious, foreboding race known only on the surface as the Deep Ones. They were supposed to be an ancient people, decadent and secretive, living in the deepest chasms of the oceans that worshipped forgotten gods through dark ritual. If any culture knew how to tap into the heartbeat of the waves to serve their desires, it would be them.
“You want us to go fishing…” the bard said at last. “Hoping to win the favour of the tavern with a fresh catch?”
“It might pay for a nicer room.” Xurick shrugged. “Or at least drop the price of meals for a little while until ships can get out of the harbour again. It…sounds foolish now that I’m saying it out loud.”
“No no.” Grant held up a hand. “I love it.” He grinned and checked the strings on his harp. “Hum that song for me again. I’m going to need some practice.”
—----------------------------------------------
Grant could feel the damp and wet straight through the hood of his heavy cloak as he and Xurick trekked the distance of open ground that led from the shelter of Rockpoint Inn to the cliff edge. Clustered by the edge were a few basic canopies meant to keep crates and shipments dry, located next to an impressive looking arm and winch mechanism that resembled a cargo crane, probably to aid the transport of goods up from and down the cliff. By the time they reached the long, stone stair cut into the cliff face, Grant was already hugging himself with his arms to stay warm. He took the first step and looked over the edge. It was a long, jagged way down to the dock, and the shatter of rocks that crested out of the water.
Grant gulped and began to carefully make his way down, planting his feet and hands firmly before taking every step.
"So…" Xurick's voice was slightly shaky as he walked behind his human companion. "How exactly do you weave magic with music anyways? I've seen you add little flourishes to your songs, a few spells of convenience to wipe away stains or heat up your soup, but where does the power come from?"
Grant smiled, wondering if Xurick was trying to distract him from the perilous descent, or just preoccupy himself.
"The power isn't ours." The bard explained. "It belongs to the world, and the thrum of creation. Music, performance and art exist to recreate nature and emotion, a reflection of reality. This reflection can be warped, and the ripples it creates can affect the world around us." Grant flattened himself against the cliff wall as he negotiated the first switchback, to give him extra stability and allow him to better address Xurick. "When a bard performs, or makes art, they engage in the primal act of creation, and can make things formed within their music...happen." He smiled at the thought.
Then his left foot skidded on a puddle, and his hands left the wall. For a moment, Grant hung in the air over the hard stone staircase until gravity seized him and pulled down.
And something stronger pulled him back.
Something limber and boneless wrapped around Grant's flailing arm and yanked him back onto both feet. The bard let out the breath he had been holding and looked back at Xurick. A long blue tentacle was extending from his palm and coiled around Grant's forearm. As both noticed it, the appendage almost sheepishly uncoiled itself and snaked back up to vanish into Xurick's hand like a frog's recoiling tongue.
"You okay?" Xurick inquired. When Grant nodded, the squid man's eyes lit up and he flexed his fingers. "Oh good. It was as fine a time as any to show you my magic."
Grant gradually, carefully restarted his descent as their conversation shifted.
"I'm unfamiliar with the spell. Did you...get it from someone?"
"It's borne of a pact." Xurick chuckled. Grant thought that he looked perfectly at home in the rain. Water ran off of his smooth, slick skin and seemed to give him a lustrous sheen. "My patron is a patient thing, as old and nameless as the waves. A being of fathomless power."
"Explains where you picked up the song." Grant shrugged.
"I actually grew up not far from here." Xurick offered, and pointed out to sea. "In that direction, over the horizon and about a mile or so down. Just the place to learn about sunken gods and deep one fishing songs."
"You're a little spooky, Xurick." Grant smiled. "In all the best ways."
Xurick huffed to himself, but didn't protest the assessment.
Finally the comparatively stable wood of the dock was under Grant and Xurick's feet. Grant took a moment to double over and calm his trembling legs. He felt a heavy hand on his shoulder, and his whole body quivered in a very different way.
"You alright?" Xurick asked.
"Yeah…" Grant didn't move. He felt anxious looking so weak in front of his new friend, but still wanted to maintain the brief moment of contact. "Just a lot of very steep, very slippery stairs."
"No wonder you're shivering, you're soaked right through that little cloak." Xurick responded with concern. He let go of Grant and began to hum atonally, moving his hands through the air. There was a dark, vicious gargle at the back of the squid-man's throat and he raised one hand as if telling the rain to stop.
And it did. While the shower still descended all around them, a ten foot circle they occupied was suddenly granted a reprieve. Grant looked up and saw the incoming rain hit and roll off of some invisible barrier above them. Far above, the bard swore he could see a few distant figures on top of the cliff, looking down at them.
"Thank you" he smiled, lowering his hood and unwrapping his harp.
Grant's version of the song was halting at first. A hesitance was audible in the music as he picked his way through the song. He flexed his slightly numbed fingers and tried again. His second rendition was better and smoother, but still lacked anything intrinsic. He let the melody fade, but continued to strum a single note, trying to match it to the sound around him. He blocked out the shower of the rain and the creak of the few boats tethered to the docks and focused entirely on the waves, the crash against the rocks, the gullies and swells.
The tempo changed as he began to start again.
Xurick listened to the music as something ephemeral wove its way into the notes. There was a silent hum in the air, in the water and the rain. The music became more complex and Xurick felt some unconscious urge to approach the young human. He was hovering over the musician's shoulder when he finally found his voice again.
"Grant...look."
Grant didn't stop playing as he opened his eyes. The water all around him was frothing white. Fish of all shapes and sizes leapt and piled over each other in an effort to be the closest to the music, thrashing the sea around them into foam. Some even had completely left the water, flopping on the surface of the docks.
"Keep playing!" Xurick yelped. He leapt towards the nearest fishing skiff and grabbed its largest net. Casting it quickly, he grunted with strain pulling the massive load of densely packed fish out of the ocean. He couldn't count how many there were, but it had to be in the dozens.
Behind him there was a thump of metal on wood. Xurick turned around and saw the heavy claw of the cargo crane touching down on a clear area of the dock, a huge shipping cage attached to it. High up, Xurick could see a few other men excitedly making their way down the staircase. Satisfied that there would be help, Xurick dragged his own payload towards the cargo cage and piled the wriggling bundle inside. By the time he made it back to the circle of dryness, Grant had stopped playing for a second to rest his hands. Even though the harp was still, the song still hung in the air, its energy still tingling Xurick's skin. He grabbed another net and clapped Grant on the back.
"It worked!" Xurick laughed. Grant was beaming as he rose to his feet. Before he got a word out, Xurick's thick, muscular arms were around his middle, squeezing and lifting him off of his feet. Grant whirled in a full circle before he was set back down.
"Ha.." the enthusiasm in Xurick's eyes simmered down slightly. "Sorry, I was a little…"
"Oh, don't worry." Grant blushed. "You're ah...just as strong as you look."
------------------
By the time the two had helped the dockhands haul the last bundle of squirming fish off the cargo crane, a small party of tavern goers and staff had gathered in the common area, all in rare high spirits. Drinks were shared, dinner was put under way and Grant made a point of being on hand to negotiate the credit that the payload of fish would bring him and Xurick. For a single evening, the inn was alive with light and a small spark of hope. The excitement of a large haul and the wonder of witnessing magic hung in the air and made the fire a little warmer and the company a little better. Even cold, soaked in sea spray and rainwater and smelling of fish, the young bard was ecstatic, drinking in the positive attitude around him and fuelling it with more song. He was so lost in revelry that he nearly backed into Xurick after completing a performance, and had to be steadied by one of the larger man’s thick, heavy hands. It remained on his shoulder as the tentacled figure spoke.
“You were amazing today…” He began, trying to both keep their conversation personal while still speaking above the din. “And….a thought occurred to me. You’ve been sleeping in the common bedding area, yes?”
Grant nodded, his mind suddenly alight with this line of questioning and the warmth of Xurick’s touch.
“Considering what we got for all of those fish, you may be entitled to some proper living quarters...and I was thinking….” Xurick’s tentacles wriggled slightly, like someone’s lips trying to form a thought into a word. “Well, in the interest of saving funds, we might consider…sharing a room.”
Grant bit his lip and it was his turn to blush.
“I think…that would be a good idea.”
Xurick’s eyes beamed. He let Grant go and allowed him to be carried off by the party while he went to have a brief word with the manager.
—--------------------------------------------------------
The room that Xurick had rented was one of the nicer ones at the inn, which wasn’t a very high bar. When he finally retired for the evening, he opened the door to a spacious area with a decently comfy-looking bed, a chest next to it, and a small bathtub next to a shaving mirror and a footstool. It took him a moment to realize that the bathtub was occupied.
There was a stifled yelp and a splash of water as the lanky, pink form of Grant curled up on itself in the water.
“Oh.” Xurick grunted, halfway between embarrassment and sympathy. “I didn’t…I could-”
“No no, I’m sorry. I could.” Grant babbled.
“Oh, don’t let me-”
“It’s technically your room.”
“But still-”
“It’s alright…” Grant sighed. “I just saw the tub and realized I was soaked to the bone. I had someone bring up some hot water.” He motioned to his wet clothes, which were draped over a coat rack in one corner of the room.
“Heh, well get comfortable, you earned it.” Xurick shrugged, politely keeping his distance. The bard sank lower in the tub until his nose nearly touched the surface of the water. Silently, he could not help but watch as the hulking squid-man removed his own thick cloak and the layered, studded leather armour that he wore across his shoulders and arms, until he finally removed his rough-knit waistcoat and thick tunic.
Xurick’s dimensions were just as impressive as Grant admitted he had imagined. His broad belly was the same mottled green as the rest of him, jiggling slightly with the slightest movement. Above his soft middle, Xurick’s chest quickly hardened into slabs of pectoral muscle and equally potent-looking arms. Xurick looked over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow at Grant, who quickly brought his eyes back down to his own knees, exhaling his flush of excitement with a small rush of bubbles from his submerged lips.
With his trousers safely slung over the foot of the bed, Xurick slid beneath the sheets in just his small clothes.
“It’s…difficult to find people that you can really trust and rely on.” He admitted. “When I saw you that first night downstairs, you just seemed like a traveller that was still looking in on the rest of us. Meeting someone who can listen to an outsider like me is…refreshing. Especially around here.”
“You must have difficulty fitting in.” Grant stated awkwardly, and then immediately regretted it. Of course someone like him would have trouble with that.
“Oh, it’s alright.” Xurick seemed to predict the bard’s mood for the umpteenth time. “I’m not really interested in finding a place to belong around here. I suppose I’m like you, just working up the nerve to move on.”
He rolled over in bed to directly address Grant, the sheets folding under his wide dome of a belly. Grant fought to maintain eye contact. Xurick chuckled.
“I ah…I suppose I should come clean. Part of the reason I was drawn to you was just how open you are. I could feel your energy clear across the room and your mind is an open book. It’s difficult not to listen in.”
Grant rested his arms on the rim of the tub. The way Xurick was talking, it almost sounded like he could read his thoughts.
“I can.” Xurick mumbled hesitantly. “I can hear them quite clearly.”
Grant flushed a deep pink and considered drowning himself on the spot.
“It isn’t intentional!” Xurick remarked, sitting up. “You just….think very loudly. Maybe it’s a connection we have. After I heard your…approving thoughts that day, I thought it best to keep my distance and avoid long conversations. It seemed the polite thing to do…”
Grant drew a breath and mentally retraced every personal thought he had entertained. He was mentally and physically exposed in front of this mysterious warlock, and as frightening as the concept was, he couldn’t help but feel thrilled.
“It’s just surface thoughts…” Xurick admitted. “I can’t peel into your memories or secrets without serious effort. It’s something that I don’t really mention to most people considering … Well, the way I look, being psychic on top of it might make people think that I’m some sort of spy.”
Grant leaned forward in the tub again. The water was starting to cool and he knew it would be time to leave it soon.
“What are you really, then?” He asked, expecting multiple answers to that simple question.
“A spy.” Xurick responded flatly. He rolled over in bed and stared at the ceiling. “Not for above-water affairs though. My parent species were the Simics, ocean-dwelling conservationists and engineers that like to muddle their physiology with aquatic creatures. I was mostly squid and they thought I would be a useful asset to keep an eye on a colony of Illithid that were expanding into a nearby deep-water trench. Illithid are those brain-stealers you were thinking about.”
Grant nodded. Xurick seemed eager to share and was preoccupied with his origins. His eyes were off the tub and it would be a good opportunity to slip out, dry off and grab his small clothes.
“After a few months of skulking about just the worst places you could imagine, I decided my talents could be useful elsewhere.” Xurick admitted.
Grant silently crept out of the tub and began to pat himself dry.
"Topside, out of the water...things are different." The Simic continued to muse. He could sense that the human was out of the tub, and rolled to put his back to him out of respect. “Everyone’s on their own little island. If you want something to flow, you have to make it happen.
Grant idly looked over at his small clothes draped over the small footstool. He decided that they were unnecessary. He could see Xurick shift slightly as the thought drifted past him.
Grant lifted the covers and carefully slid in next to his bedmate. His warm, bare body molded itself into the space left unoccupied by Xurick’s wide bulk. He stared at the back of Xurick’s head.
Grant decided he would make it happen.
He reached out and touched Xurick's shoulder, slowly tracing his fingers down the length of his arm, feeling his slick, tough skin and the hard muscles underneath that twitched involuntarily.
"You're so strong...but there's fear there too.." Grant spoke softly. "You're out in the world, but not a part of it yet."
Xurick shifted, and finally rolled over. His great, ponderous belly dropped into place between them and pressed against Grant's flat stomach.
"When you can hear every little whisper, every worry or repressed thought, it's hard to let people in…" Xurick tucked one arm under his pillow and laid the other on the bed between them, letting Grant hold and caress it. "You're the first person I've met that makes me feel...trusted."
Grant had crept his hands from Xurick's arms to his shoulders, then down to the hard slabs of muscle on his chest. He could only imagine what his thoughts were betraying to the half-Illithid, but didn't dare pull away.
"You're more than what people give you." Grant murmured. He was flush and saying much more in his head than with his mouth. "I never thought that a place like this would keep me for so long. That you would let me in and offer me someplace warm."
And soft, he thought to himself as he finally cupped Xurick's huge belly and sank his fingers into its girth, bringing out a burbling chuckle from the tentacled Simic.
Grant grinned back, and leaned forward. Xurick's heavy arm was over him, grabbing him and pulling. Then the curtain of tentacles parted, blossoming outwards like a deep-sea flower and for just a moment, Grant could see the needy, desiring mouth underneath. Then his lips found it. The thin, strong appendages of Xurick's face wrapped themselves around Grant's cheeks. One was stretched around the back of his head, rifling his hair while another tickled his ear and a third cupped his chin, drawing his head up as the human was pulled further into the embrace, his whole body pressed against Xurick's. Inside their mouths, their tongues wrestled and teased, savouring the thrill of a deep, passionate first kiss. Grant's arms could barely reach around Xurick's back, so he just rubbed his sides and tried to explore as much of the Simic's body as he could.
Outside, the rain softly beat against the windows. Grant had no space or need for words. On the edge of the world, he'd found someone familiar. The time to move on would come soon, it always did. And Xurick would come with him. Out here, with him, Grant knew he would feel like he was home.