As Above, So Below

The bearer of this missive is an envoy of Khaphtar, bestowed with authority by proclamation of the Isharann council of Khaphtar in abiding service to the late King Nemosene II.

To King Glorian of Laebrea,

We of Khaphtar entreat you in our most desperate hour.

We had thought ourselves safe. For so long we had been hidden, our vast ocean concealing us and our ancient wards protecting us. Our existence went unnoticed – by the living, by the dead, and even by many of our distant kin. The souls we took were the remnants of the drowned and the damned, whose bloated corpses abounded in the sea above us. We took only as many as we needed, and were careful to leave none who could speak of our coming. This had been our way since the beginning – caution, secrecy, survival. Our eyes were turned towards the surface, watching always for the agents of the Ancient Necromancer, lest he came for us, or for the souls we had taken from the dead. We did not think to look for those that came from below.

A crack resounded in the depths, a thunderous boom whose tremors blasted across the seabed, shattering many structures belonging to the disparate outposts of our enclave. Then came the sound of our ocean being swallowed whole by a great and gaping maw. The sea stormed past us, wild and ferocious, buffeting the barriers at the edge of our city and dragging those Idoneth in the open water to their doom. Mooring stakes were uprooted as the largest bond-beasts were sent crashing into the enclave’s perimeter, and the wards that enclosed our enclave began to collapse under the merciless force of the current.

We, the Isharann of Khaphtar, saw all of this, and we wept and were filled with rage. We called out to our ancestral guardians, and our Tidecasters poured our prayers into the chorrileum at the heart of our city. Though it pained us, we awakened those ancient warriors who had already given their lives for our enclave, and we summoned them to fight once more for the survival of our people. As one they awoke from their slumber, taking the form of an Eidolon of Mathlann.

In the name of Khaphtar, the Eidolon ordered the draining waters to submit to its authority. It was not alone as it made its demands, for our Tidecasters also levelled their magic against the rushing waters, straining against the weight of the ocean that was bearing down upon us. Through their combined power they calmed the sea around us and restored the bubble of tranquility that surrounded our city, around which the tempest continued to flow. In that respite our people gathered their forces. Our Namarti were set to the task of repairing the most damaged structures; our Akhelians made plans to find and seal the fissure into which the sea was draining; and our soul wardens took tallies of those Khaphtar who remained, and those who had been taken from us forever.

Then the dead came flooding in. They had always been above us, those unquiet souls who had drowned themselves in despair, their watery graves separated from us by a vast and featureless expanse. As the ocean dropped, so too did the masses of bodies that clogged its waters, and while our bolstered wards kept the rushing seas from ripping our city apart, they did not hold back the multitudinous dead that were caught up in the swirl. Thousands of corpses were swept through the barrier at the city’s edge, their mangled forms piling up to form morbid dunes. Then their tattered limbs began to writhe and their decaying jaws began to gnash. Those at the front of the gruesome heaps staggered to their feet, and began shambling towards us. What phalanxes remained rushed to intercept the undead – they hacked hundreds to pieces, but more corpses continued to rise up, until a broad wave of waterlogged bodies was advancing upon our kin. We watched the brave Ahkelians and loyal Namarti being torn to shreds by dead hands. We then saw the Eidolon erupt with fury.

Our hallowed guardian tore into the undead swarm, cleaving their age-rotted bone and sodden flesh with its spear. With tempestuous rage it sent waves of force through their shambling ranks, crushing their skulls and popping their corpulent organs. Soon, foetid blood and tattered limbs were strewn along the perimeter, yet more undead continued to come.

The Eidolon surged forward, through the wards that by now were barely holding back the ocean. Hundreds of the dead were pulled out in its wake, but thousands more were still within the perimeter, and the oceanic whorl continued to wash ever more bodies down into Khaphtar. The corpses flowed in an endless stream, and though the Eidolon slashed and blasted and dismembered those it could, there were more than even it could possibly hope to vanquish.

In the city, we felt a sense of sorrow coming over us, a pervasive and unnatural feeling of hopelessness. We knew its source, for it is learnt by all of Khaphtar who have ventur surfaceward in search of souls. It was the despair of the mournful dead that had bled into the waters over thousands of years. It marked the domain of Nagash, from whom we had always remained hidden. But as those dreadful waters swept down over us, we heard a voice that resounded throughout our enclave.

‘I SEE YOU, THIEVES. AND I WILL TAKE BACK WHAT YOU HAVE STOLEN FROM ME.’

We had thought ourselves safe, but we were wrong. Khaphtar cannot remain isolated amidst the coming of the dead, for our people will not survive if they stand alone. For their lives, and for the sake of all who dwell in the deep places, we send you this missive, and in the name of kinship we ask but a single question.

Will you stand with us?

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