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pauldron-pieces · 4 years ago

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Captain Physalia's Backstory: At Your Own Peril

Fandom: Dungeons And Dragons (5E)

Pairing: N/A, Physalia-Centric

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: This is a hypothetical scenario featuring original characters in a world created by my Dungeon Master. As usual, this is non-canon and I own nothing aside from intellectual properties specifically attached to Captain Physalia. This installment is mechanically unsound in a multitude of ways and ignores certain important lore facets. Trigger warnings are listed inside. Enjoy!

Taglist: @sporadic-fics and @cookiethewriter!

Inspired By: Dragon Age; Inquisition: In Hushed Whispers

[Tieliaths are the result of a union between a tiefling and a goliath.]

[Captain Physalia is a level eleven Triton Ancients paladin, and her appearance can be found here.]

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains multiple triggering scenes including violence, mentions of slavery and implied character death. Stay safe!]

Captain Physalia, at the helm of the Karyth Delta alongside Jupiter, finally gave a single nod of approval once they had cleared the shallow harbor. "You're getting better."

Jupiter went bright blue at what was lavish praise from the normally-stoic captain, trying and failing to hide her smile. "Thank you, Captain."

The other Triton merely nodded again, continuing her walk to the main deck. Her thoughts were preoccupied with their latest acquisitions, a troubled bunch to say the least. They had already been deposited to the safe haven of one of the many communities these islands fostered, but that community would in turn need extra supplies while the refugees recuperated.

A little human girl, barely in her fourteenth year, huddled beside a coil of rope. She believed she had stowed away and Physalia had humored the delusion until they had left the harbor. "What is your name, girl?" The captain queried, her hands clasped behind her back as she stood beside the rope and stared out at the darkness.

There was a beat of silence where Physalia could feel the panic rushing off of the little one in waves. Then, the child slowly got to her feet, head hung low. "Lara."

"Lara." The name was unfamiliar, difficult for her tongue. It hissed between her teeth. "Why did you sneak back aboard the Delta, little Lara? I had assumed that your last boat ride was sufficient."

"B-Because I...I know what you're going to do and I wanted to see it." The girl answered without guile.

"Oh? What is it that I'm going to do?" Physalia asked, feigning curiosity.

"You...Y-You're going to attack the ship of the flesh traders."

The captain gazed back out at the moonless night. "Perhaps. Does that trouble you?"

"No." Lara snapped, angry, young. She didn't know any better; she had been purloined from everything familiar and crushed into the hold of a ship with fifty-odd other women to be sold elsewhere. "You're the Triton captain of the Verdant Keen, the ghost ship that strikes the wicked from the fog."

The razing of the fishing village that occupied the lonely peninsula to the north had come as a shock to Physalia. Perhaps she had been optimistic to think that the legends would keep flesh peddlers away. More than mere legends hunted these waters though.

The Karyth Delta plowed through the waves, sending shocks of spray up around the figurehead. "I am no hero, little one. There will be no glamor in this." Captain Physalia warned. "Whatever you've heard about in stories, put it from your head. I know how much you land folk love to romanticize the sea, but she is as rebarbative and changeable as the men who plunder her waves."

"I understand."

She didn't, not yet. She was much too young to understand. But she would someday.

Atoll came to perch on the captain's shoulder and Physalia sighed. "Have our fog at the ready. Weislanda willing, the wind stays becalmed. According to the rest of the women, the ship will be empty aside from the crew and the shattered remains of their valuables." The captain gripped the railing when she spied the far-off twinkle of yellow lanterns close to the water's surface. "Lara, I need you to tell Atoll and N'inesmuch exactly what the ship looked like. Any and all details."

The girl looked up at the brightly-colored bird with a bit of confusion, but obediently held out her hand so the druid could swap her seating.

"You'll find N'inesmuch in the galley, I'm certain. You can't miss her." Physalia said dryly. The second mate was a large Tigris Tabaxi with a black circle around her right eye. She had a well-documented penchant for sweets that was encouraged by the quartermaster, who was a sharp-tongued Halfling named Spoon.

Once the girl had left, Rannock 'Broadside' sauntered up alongside the captain. "You'll send me in first, right boss?" He asked eagerly, making the Triton chuckle.

"Of course. I know how much you love a good fight. Just don't get too out of hand. Belle stayed behind and I don't need you and your half-brother butting heads again over your scratches." The captain reminded him sternly. "The captain of that vessel, whoever they may be, must pay for their crimes."

"And they will." The Tieliath swore, his eyes flinty with anger.

The Karyth Delta was not a particularly speedy ship. She was covered in moss, barnacles and vines and, for all intents and purposes, did indeed resemble a ghost ship far more than a seaworthy vessel. However, she possessed a singularly useful structural feature: her keel draft was exceedingly shallow.

This keel allowed the unwieldy-looking ship to easily maneuver over reefs and through channels that ought to beach it, giving her and her crew the tactical advantage in many a coastal fracas. It also made the vessel more responsive at the cost of stability, for if they came about with a full head of power she threatened to capsize. She was a touchy craft, scabbed together with the boney flotsam of other, less fortunate slavers and schooners. Much like the majority of her crew, the ragtag bunch scavenged from the waves.

But none had to endure. Physalia would force no being to remain aboard the Karyth Delta, and she demanded no such boons of loyalty from any innocent man who did not wish to stay. Her sailors were ever-changing, which suited her just fine. Though she had managed to gather a bit of a steady rogue's gallery.

First had been the surgeons, Livesey the Gnome and Ailsyuh the Goliath. They were a crotchety old couple with a bent for bickering that almost eclipsed their affection for one another. They were natives of the crown of islands, and were intimately familiar with the surrounding territories.

Closely following on their heels was Ailsyuh's younger half-brother Rannock, a Tieliath who had been raised by his Tiefling mother to prevent a scandal from occurring in the Shuliezka family. He was headstrong and mouthy, but possessed keen instincts and a sound tactical mind.

Spoon Mulberry (of the Castakay Mulberry family, not those thinbloods in Fhisklos, thank you very much) had been a strange case. The diminutive woman had just showed up at the docks one day, asking around for anyone that needed a cook on their next charter. By the grace of Weislanda, she had found the Karyth Delta and the rest was history.

Atoll had literally fallen into Physalia's lap while they were sailing around the cape of the mainland, the mermaid druid plummeting out of the sky after a wild scuffle with a larger bird had rendered her unconscious. While she lacked the affiliation of a larger clan of mer, she had a certain noble authority that could not be discounted. Physalia freely admitted her bias when she invited Atoll to stay on as first mate, the Triton just pleased to have another water-inclined individual aboard.

N'inesmuch had volunteered her services out of gratitude when the Karyth Delta rescued her from the wreckage of her forlorn little sloop, and over time had risen through the ranks to Boatswain. A formidable force in her own right, with the help of Atoll she had begun to master the green magics that ran deep within her bloodline.

Jupiter was their most recent acquisition, a juvenile Triton expelled from the deep reefs. She had clung to a rocky shoreline for the better part of two days before she was spotted by the returning Karyth Delta. Livesey had nursed her back to health and upon learning of her impeccable ability to decipher men's star charts, Physalia offered her a permanent position as her navigator. Being podless herself, the captain knew all too well how lonely the seas could be.

Tendrils of fog began to swirl as the preparatory orders went out and Physalia shook herself from her reverie to give Jupiter their heading. After that, the ship fell silent.

Atoll flew high overhead, out of the fog and towards their target. Far below beneath the waves, N'inesmuch and a few other crew members sped along in the form of sleek sharks or dolphins. Broadside paced the deck, sharpening his handaxe absently. The waiting was always the hardest part of any raid, but Captain Physalia preferred to have any and all advantages she could get. Added onto that was the benefit of knowing for certain that this was indeed the vessel of the flesh peddling captain.

/x\

The fog rolled in thick off the coast of Karyth, like it always did before the first storms of autumn. This wouldn't be particularly concerning aside from the fact that it was early spring. The young captain squinted upwards, pulling the collar of his peacoat a bit tighter around his throat.

It was a moonless night and the wind was faint, leaving the ship barely in motion through the dense miasma. "Helmsman, steady on." The captain called, trying not to let his nerves show.

Even if he was putting on a brave face, the same could not be said for the rest of his crew. They had been sullen all day, watching the waters with large, wary eyes. The more superstitious of them spoke in hushed tones of the Kraken, the many-armed Hafgufa and his terrible brother Lyngbakr, the impostor island who lured sailors to their doom.

Never mind that everyone was on edge due to them needing to jettison a majority of their plundered cargo so the overloaded ship would not sink in the squall they had run into. The storm had blown them a bit off course, further south than anyone would care to be. It was easy enough to dismiss such things as old wives tales during the bright light of day, but now the captain found himself at odds with what he sincerely hoped was his own imagination.

The vessel was still in deep waters, too far out from Karyth and the small belt of islands that it wore like a crown to be concerned about running aground. Yet he swore he heard the soft crashing of waves upon the shoreline.

He realized his mistake a bit too late to save them, regrettably.

An impact echoed from the prow of the ship and there was a loud cry that went up, "beast sighted!" The captain swung around, seizing one of the shuttered lanterns and raising it high as he heard the sounds of a short-lived scuffle break out. The light reflected off the fog, casting disorienting shapes in the black.

A shadow rose up, up, up, and a pitiful curse left the captain's lips when he caught sight of the massive, steer-like horns. The creature towered over him, looming luminous gray out of the fog with a devastating-looking handaxe gripped in one massive paw. Every man on deck was frozen, simply staring at this...hulking apparition.

"I seek your captain, boy." The creature spoke after a moment, its voice a rumbling threat. "Be a good lad and fetch them for me, would you?"

At that, the captain bristled. Drawing himself up to his inconsequential full height, he spat, "I wear my rank upon my shoulder, sirrah, and I see no such rank upon your own! Who's asking for the captain?"

"I am." The beast snarled, and the captain's burst of courage flagged almost immediately. "You're the captain? Suppose I should have expected it, you standin' there all puffed up like a peacock." It sighed heavily after a moment, nonchalantly pitching the axe to bury itself in the main mast just above the captain's head. "Disappointing."

The captain found himself abruptly snatched up by the collar of his jacket, dangling helplessly a foot or so off the deck as his men gawked. The creature was even more terrifying up close, pointed incisors sharpening its smile to a hungry leer.

"My boss seeks permission to come aboard your vessel, flesh peddler." It didn't seem to have any other tone aside from rumble. "I'd advise you to acquiesce before I snap your neck."

A new form solidified out of the fog behind the brute, one hand resting on the large creature's shoulder. It was a female, one of the sea folk. Triton or Mer the young captain could not say, they all looked grotesque to him.

The man opened his mouth to speak and the fish woman snapped her teeth at him. "Captain whelp." She addressed him through those sharp teeth. "Flesh dealer, human trader. Was it you and your sailors that sacked and pillaged the peninsula?"

"And what authority do you wield, sea beast?" The young captain retorted, a little taken aback that she knew of his ship and their shady dealings. But how? The Governess Of Bresh had a clean bill of sale and no record of unsavory practices! Even if this fish woman fancied herself an inquisitor of some kind, they had tossed all of the human cargo during the storm. She had no evidence! "Your behavior is absolutely piratical, and if you do not depart my ship at once I'll see you brought before the assizes!"

There was nothing but a breath and suddenly the woman's hands were wrapped around his throat. He hadn't even seen her cross the deck-!

"We will try again." She hissed in his face as he struggled against her hold. Her palms, cold and covered in a fine mesh of scales, heated briefly. "Was it you and your sailors that sacked and pillaged the peninsula?"

The captain opened his mouth to lie and instead the truth fell out. "Yes." The woman smiled slowly, sending a cold chill of certainty down his spine. "You're the captain of the Verdant Keen, aren't you?" He asked, muted horror washing over him. "The witch who stalks the Kraken's hunting grounds?"

"A witch, he calls me. But then, you men have many names for myself and my ship. You and your kind are warned off from this place, are you not? At your own peril, they mutter in port." The woman mused, her chuckle devoid of mirth. "You are very lucky that we were following you in the first place. I can only imagine how many more souls would be waiting to drag you down to the hells had we not collected your...abandoned spoils." Pitch black, fathomless eyes bored into his own. "This ship is ours now, whelp, and the fate of your men belongs to the sea."

"What?! That is inhumane, you cannot-"

"Inhumane?" The woman seethed, "or monstrous? Perhaps vile? Unbearable, unconscionable, barbaric? Tell me, flesh peddler, how many women have you widowed? How many children have you stolen from their homes? How humanely have you behaved, o righteous mariner?" She leaned in close, her grip tightening on his throat. "You are compelled to tell the truth at this point in time, Whelp Captain. Squirm all you want. Tell me who sent you."

The confession surged at his tongue, the young man pressing his lips together tightly to keep from revealing who his employer was.

The witch sighed heavily after a moment. "Broadside?"

"You want me to separate his head from his shoulders, boss?" The horned creature queried, cracking his knuckles before addressing the young captain. "You can either open your mouth or I'll rip your jaw off. No matter what you're dead, so it's understandable if you don't want to speak up. I don't blame you." His tone had gone alarmingly friendly. The captain got a sinking feeling in his gut even as he shook his head. "Right! I'll make it quick." The gray beast rumbled cheerily.

/x\

N'inesmuch had everything documented within two hours, the Governess Of Bresh stripped to her bare bones. The crew had all fled after their captain met his untimely demise, and if the waters churned a bit more aggressively than before, well…

Such was the nature of the sea.

Physalia and Atoll folded the last of the spare sails, the captain offering her first mate a weary half-smile. "It is good, yes?"

"You are too lenient." Atoll sniffed, their long-standing argument reignited once more. "Leaving them to the sea is too merciful. We should have tied them all to the mast before we set the craft ablaze." Her purple eyes sparkled like she was telling a joke and Physalia was reminded once more that Merfolk partook in certain diversions that Tritons did not.

"I am not a tyrant." The captain replied calmly. "Land is not far from here. Allowing someone to live is often a far better form of punishment." She leaned in, idly gathering Atoll's messy curls back from her face and fashioning them into a quick braid. "Killing them outright would have been the lenient option, my merciful first mate."

Atoll huffed, crossing her arms. A purple flush dusted her cheeks. "Oh, very well Captain. I suppose you could be right." She allowed after several moments. "Besides, we've gotten what we came for. That's all that matters."

"Aye." Physalia murmured, watching Broadside scoop the body of the arrogant young captain up and deposit it over the railing. "Lara and the others will be pleased to have their valuables back, I'm certain. Though it will not cure the loss of their homes, husbands or sons, they can rebuild." The crest that ran down the center of her head began to flare upwards once more. "And I will not allow such a thing to happen again." She muttered through her teeth.

"We will not, you mean." Atoll corrected.

Physalia inclined her head. "Of course, forgive me. We will not."

/x\

The flames that devoured the Governess Of Bresh lit the horizon long after the ship itself had faded into the distance. Captain Physalia stood beside Jupiter at the helm, her thoughts miles away. Belowdecks she could faintly hear Lara squeaking with delight as she helped N'inesmuch sort through their spoils.

The Governess had carried a great deal of foodstuffs as well as the ill-gotten gains they had pilfered from the peninsula. Far more food than they would have needed were this not a planned endeavor. Physalia had hoped against hope that they had simply been men who made a single terrible choice, but the amount of supplies they carried pointed to premeditation.

That complicated things. More would come. And if more came...

The captain's brow furrowed. More traffic, more ships, more activity would certainly stir the leviathan from its centuries of lethargy. A freshly-roused Kraken was good news for no one.

She shook her head after a moment. They would just need to be more vigilant, that was all. They could still put an end to the new trade routes. There was still time.

"Everything alright, Captain?" Jupiter asked cautiously.

Physalia mustered up her usual half-smile, tilting her head. "Don't fret, Jupiter. Your captain is prone to brooding." She said by way of apology. "You have our heading. I trust you'll bring us safely home?"

Jupiter fairly beamed. "Absolutely, Captain!"

#paladin backstory #dnd paladin #ancients paladin #backstory #captain physalia #ancients #dnd character #angst #character death #dungeons and dragons #dnd 5e character #dnd 5e #triton #dnd triton #I love physalia's concept a lot #I'd like to play her more!#she has a little lisp

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readbookywooks · 8 years ago

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The Devilfish

FOR SOME DAYS the Nautilus kept veering away from the American coast. It obviously didn't want to frequent the waves of the Gulf of Mexico or the Caribbean Sea. Yet there was no shortage of water under its keel, since the average depth of these seas is 1,800 meters; but these waterways, strewn with islands and plowed by steamers, probably didn't agree with Captain Nemo. On April 16 we raised Martinique and Guadalupe from a distance of about thirty miles. For one instant I could see their lofty peaks. The Canadian was quite disheartened, having counted on putting his plans into execution in the gulf, either by reaching shore or by pulling alongside one of the many boats plying a coastal trade from one island to another. An escape attempt would have been quite feasible, assuming Ned Land managed to seize the skiff without the captain's knowledge. But in midocean it was unthinkable. The Canadian, Conseil, and I had a pretty long conversation on this subject. For six months we had been prisoners aboard the Nautilus. We had fared 17,000 leagues, and as Ned Land put it, there was no end in sight. So he made me a proposition I hadn't anticipated. We were to ask Captain Nemo this question straight out: did the captain mean to keep us on board his vessel permanently? This measure was distasteful to me. To my mind it would lead nowhere. We could hope for nothing from the Nautilus's commander but could depend only on ourselves. Besides, for some time now the man had been gloomier, more withdrawn, less sociable. He seemed to be avoiding me. I encountered him only at rare intervals. He used to take pleasure in explaining the underwater wonders to me; now he left me to my research and no longer entered the lounge. What changes had come over him? From what cause? I had no reason to blame myself. Was our presence on board perhaps a burden to him? Even so, I cherished no hopes that the man would set us free. So I begged Ned to let me think about it before taking action. If this measure proved fruitless, it could arouse the captain's suspicions, make our circumstances even more arduous, and jeopardize the Canadian's plans. I might add that I could hardly use our state of health as an argument. Except for that grueling ordeal under the Ice Bank at the South Pole, we had never felt better, neither Ned, Conseil, nor I. The nutritious food, life-giving air, regular routine, and uniform temperature kept illness at bay; and for a man who didn't miss his past existence on land, for a Captain Nemo who was at home here, who went where he wished, who took paths mysterious to others if not himself in attaining his ends, I could understand such a life. But we ourselves hadn't severed all ties with humanity. For my part, I didn't want my new and unusual research to be buried with my bones. I had now earned the right to pen the definitive book on the sea, and sooner or later I wanted that book to see the light of day. There once more, through the panels opening into these Caribbean waters ten meters below the surface of the waves, I found so many fascinating exhibits to describe in my daily notes! Among other zoophytes there were Portuguese men-of-war known by the name Physalia pelagica, like big, oblong bladders with a pearly sheen, spreading their membranes to the wind, letting their blue tentacles drift like silken threads; to the eye delightful jellyfish, to the touch actual nettles that ooze a corrosive liquid. Among the articulates there were annelid worms one and a half meters long, furnished with a pink proboscis, equipped with 1,700 organs of locomotion, snaking through the waters, and as they went, throwing off every gleam in the solar spectrum. From the fish branch there were manta rays, enormous cartilaginous fish ten feet long and weighing 600 pounds, their pectoral fin triangular, their midback slightly arched, their eyes attached to the edges of the face at the front of the head; they floated like wreckage from a ship, sometimes fastening onto our windows like opaque shutters. There were American triggerfish for which nature has ground only black and white pigments, feather-shaped gobies that were long and plump with yellow fins and jutting jaws, sixteen-decimeter mackerel with short, sharp teeth, covered with small scales, and related to the albacore species. Next came swarms of red mullet corseted in gold stripes from head to tail, their shining fins all aquiver, genuine masterpieces of jewelry, formerly sacred to the goddess Diana, much in demand by rich Romans, and about which the old saying goes: "He who catches them doesn't eat them!" Finally, adorned with emerald ribbons and dressed in velvet and silk, golden angelfish passed before our eyes like courtiers in the paintings of Veronese; spurred gilthead stole by with their swift thoracic fins; thread herring fifteen inches long were wrapped in their phosphorescent glimmers; gray mullet thrashed the sea with their big fleshy tails; red salmon seemed to mow the waves with their slicing pectorals; and silver moonfish, worthy of their name, rose on the horizon of the waters like the whitish reflections of many moons. How many other marvelous new specimens I still could have observed if, little by little, the Nautilus hadn't settled to the lower strata! Its slanting fins drew it to depths of 2,000 and 3,500 meters. There animal life was represented by nothing more than sea lilies, starfish, delightful crinoids with bell-shaped heads like little chalices on straight stems, top-shell snails, blood-red tooth shells, and fissurella snails, a large species of coastal mollusk. By April 20 we had risen to an average level of 1,500 meters. The nearest land was the island group of the Bahamas, scattered like a batch of cobblestones over the surface of the water. There high underwater cliffs reared up, straight walls made of craggy chunks arranged like big stone foundations, among which there gaped black caves so deep our electric rays couldn't light them to the far ends. These rocks were hung with huge weeds, immense sea tangle, gigantic fucus-a genuine trellis of water plants fit for a world of giants. In discussing these colossal plants, Conseil, Ned, and I were naturally led into mentioning the sea's gigantic animals. The former were obviously meant to feed the latter. However, through the windows of our almost motionless Nautilus, I could see nothing among these long filaments other than the chief articulates of the division Brachyura: long-legged spider crabs, violet crabs, and sponge crabs unique to the waters of the Caribbean. It was about eleven o'clock when Ned Land drew my attention to a fearsome commotion out in this huge seaweed. "Well," I said, "these are real devilfish caverns, and I wouldn't be surprised to see some of those monsters hereabouts." "What!" Conseil put in. "Squid, ordinary squid from the class Cephalopoda?" "No," I said, "devilfish of large dimensions. But friend Land is no doubt mistaken, because I don't see a thing." "That's regrettable," Conseil answered. "I'd like to come face to face with one of those devilfish I've heard so much about, which can drag ships down into the depths. Those beasts go by the name of krake - " "Fake is more like it," the Canadian replied sarcastically. "Krakens!" Conseil shot back, finishing his word without wincing at his companion's witticism. "Nobody will ever make me believe," Ned Land said, "that such animals exist." "Why not?" Conseil replied. "We sincerely believed in master's narwhale." "We were wrong, Conseil." "No doubt, but there are others with no doubts who believe to this day!" "Probably, Conseil. But as for me, I'm bound and determined not to accept the existence of any such monster till I've dissected it with my own two hands." "Yet," Conseil asked me, "doesn't master believe in gigantic devilfish?" "Yikes! Who in Hades ever believed in them?" the Canadian exclaimed. "Many people, Ned my friend," I said. "No fishermen. Scientists maybe!" "Pardon me, Ned. Fishermen and scientists!" "Why, I to whom you speak," Conseil said with the world's straightest face, "I recall perfectly seeing a large boat dragged under the waves by the arms of a cephalopod." "You saw that?" the Canadian asked. "Yes, Ned." "With your own two eyes?" "With my own two eyes." "Where, may I ask?" "In Saint-Malo," Conseil returned unflappably. "In the harbor?" Ned Land said sarcastically. "No, in a church," Conseil replied. "In a church!" the Canadian exclaimed. "Yes, Ned my friend. It had a picture that portrayed the devilfish in question." "Oh good!" Ned Land exclaimed with a burst of laughter. "Mr. Conseil put one over on me!" "Actually he's right," I said. "I've heard about that picture. But the subject it portrays is taken from a legend, and you know how to rate legends in matters of natural history! Besides, when it's an issue of monsters, the human imagination always tends to run wild. People not only claimed these devilfish could drag ships under, but a certain Olaus Magnus tells of a cephalopod a mile long that looked more like an island than an animal. There's also the story of how the Bishop of Trondheim set up an altar one day on an immense rock. After he finished saying mass, this rock started moving and went back into the sea. The rock was a devilfish." "And that's everything we know?" the Canadian asked. "No," I replied, "another bishop, Pontoppidan of Bergen, also tells of a devilfish so large a whole cavalry regiment could maneuver on it." "They sure did go on, those oldtime bishops!" Ned Land said. "Finally, the naturalists of antiquity mention some monsters with mouths as big as a gulf, which were too huge to get through the Strait of Gibraltar." "Good work, men!" the Canadian put in. "But in all these stories, is there any truth?" Conseil asked. "None at all, my friends, at least in those that go beyond the bounds of credibility and fly off into fable or legend. Yet for the imaginings of these storytellers there had to be, if not a cause, at least an excuse. It can't be denied that some species of squid and other devilfish are quite large, though still smaller than cetaceans. Aristotle put the dimensions of one squid at five cubits, or 3.1 meters. Our fishermen frequently see specimens over 1.8 meters long. The museums in Trieste and Montpellier have preserved some devilfish carcasses measuring two meters. Besides, according to the calculations of naturalists, one of these animals only six feet long would have tentacles as long as twenty-seven. Which is enough to make a fearsome monster." "Does anybody fish for 'em nowadays?" the Canadian asked. "If they don't fish for them, sailors at least sight them. A friend of mine, Captain Paul Bos of Le Havre, has often sworn to me that he encountered one of these monsters of colossal size in the seas of the East Indies. But the most astonishing event, which proves that these gigantic animals undeniably exist, took place a few years ago in 1861." "What event was that?" Ned Land asked. "Just this. In 1861, to the northeast of Tenerife and fairly near the latitude where we are right now, the crew of the gunboat Alecto spotted a monstrous squid swimming in their waters. Commander Bouguer approached the animal and attacked it with blows from harpoons and blasts from rifles, but without much success because bullets and harpoons crossed its soft flesh as if it were semiliquid jelly. After several fruitless attempts, the crew managed to slip a noose around the mollusk's body. This noose slid as far as the caudal fins and came to a halt. Then they tried to haul the monster on board, but its weight was so considerable that when they tugged on the rope, the animal parted company with its tail; and deprived of this adornment, it disappeared beneath the waters." "Finally, an actual event," Ned Land said. "An indisputable event, my gallant Ned. Accordingly, people have proposed naming this devilfish Bouguer's Squid." "And how long was it?" the Canadian asked. "Didn't it measure about six meters?" said Conseil, who was stationed at the window and examining anew the crevices in the cliff. "Precisely," I replied. "Wasn't its head," Conseil went on, "crowned by eight tentacles that quivered in the water like a nest of snakes?" "Precisely." "Weren't its eyes prominently placed and considerably enlarged?" "Yes, Conseil." "And wasn't its mouth a real parrot's beak but of fearsome size?" "Correct, Conseil." "Well, with all due respect to master," Conseil replied serenely, "if this isn't Bouguer's Squid, it's at least one of his close relatives!" I stared at Conseil. Ned Land rushed to the window. "What an awful animal!" he exclaimed. I stared in my turn and couldn't keep back a movement of revulsion. Before my eyes there quivered a horrible monster worthy of a place among the most farfetched teratological legends. It was a squid of colossal dimensions, fully eight meters long. It was traveling backward with tremendous speed in the same direction as the Nautilus. It gazed with enormous, staring eyes that were tinted sea green. Its eight arms (or more accurately, feet) were rooted in its head, which has earned these animals the name cephalopod; its arms stretched a distance twice the length of its body and were writhing like the serpentine hair of the Furies. You could plainly see its 250 suckers, arranged over the inner sides of its tentacles and shaped like semispheric capsules. Sometimes these suckers fastened onto the lounge window by creating vacuums against it. The monster's mouth - a beak made of horn and shaped like that of a parrot - opened and closed vertically. Its tongue, also of horn substance and armed with several rows of sharp teeth, would flicker out from between these genuine shears. What a freak of nature! A bird's beak on a mollusk! Its body was spindle-shaped and swollen in the middle, a fleshy mass that must have weighed 20,000 to 25,000 kilograms. Its unstable color would change with tremendous speed as the animal grew irritated, passing successively from bluish gray to reddish brown. What was irritating this mollusk? No doubt the presence of the Nautilus, even more fearsome than itself, and which it couldn't grip with its mandibles or the suckers on its arms. And yet what monsters these devilfish are, what vitality our Creator has given them, what vigor in their movements, thanks to their owning a triple heart! Sheer chance had placed us in the presence of this squid, and I didn't want to lose this opportunity to meticulously study such a cephalopod specimen. I overcame the horror that its appearance inspired in me, picked up a pencil, and began to sketch it. "Perhaps this is the same as the Alecto's," Conseil said. "Can't be," the Canadian replied, "because this one's complete while the other one lost its tail!" "That doesn't necessarily follow," I said. "The arms and tails of these animals grow back through regeneration, and in seven years the tail on Bouguer's Squid has surely had time to sprout again." "Anyhow," Ned shot back, "if it isn't this fellow, maybe it's one of those!" Indeed, other devilfish had appeared at the starboard window. I counted seven of them. They provided the Nautilus with an escort, and I could hear their beaks gnashing on the sheet-iron hull. We couldn't have asked for a more devoted following. I continued sketching. These monsters kept pace in our waters with such precision, they seemed to be standing still, and I could have traced their outlines in miniature on the window. But we were moving at a moderate speed. All at once the Nautilus stopped. A jolt made it tremble through its entire framework. "Did we strike bottom?" I asked. "In any event we're already clear," the Canadian replied, "because we're afloat." The Nautilus was certainly afloat, but it was no longer in motion. The blades of its propeller weren't churning the waves. A minute passed. Followed by his chief officer, Captain Nemo entered the lounge. I hadn't seen him for a good while. He looked gloomy to me. Without speaking to us, without even seeing us perhaps, he went to the panel, stared at the devilfish, and said a few words to his chief officer. The latter went out. Soon the panels closed. The ceiling lit up. I went over to the captain. "An unusual assortment of devilfish," I told him, as carefree as a collector in front of an aquarium. "Correct, Mr. Naturalist," he answered me, "and we're going to fight them at close quarters." I gaped at the captain. I thought my hearing had gone bad. "At close quarters?" I repeated. "Yes, sir. Our propeller is jammed. I think the horn-covered mandibles of one of these squid are entangled in the blades. That's why we aren't moving." "And what are you going to do?" "Rise to the surface and slaughter the vermin." "A difficult undertaking." "Correct. Our electric bullets are ineffective against such soft flesh, where they don't meet enough resistance to go off. But we'll attack the beasts with axes." "And harpoons, sir," the Canadian said, "if you don't turn down my help." "I accept it, Mr. Land." "We'll go with you," I said. And we followed Captain Nemo, heading to the central companionway. There some ten men were standing by for the assault, armed with boarding axes. Conseil and I picked up two more axes. Ned Land seized a harpoon. By then the Nautilus had returned to the surface of the waves. Stationed on the top steps, one of the seamen undid the bolts of the hatch. But he had scarcely unscrewed the nuts when the hatch flew up with tremendous violence, obviously pulled open by the suckers on a devilfish's arm. Instantly one of those long arms glided like a snake into the opening, and twenty others were quivering above. With a sweep of the ax, Captain Nemo chopped off this fearsome tentacle, which slid writhing down the steps. Just as we were crowding each other to reach the platform, two more arms lashed the air, swooped on the seaman stationed in front of Captain Nemo, and carried the fellow away with irresistible violence. Captain Nemo gave a shout and leaped outside. We rushed after him. What a scene! Seized by the tentacle and glued to its suckers, the unfortunate man was swinging in the air at the mercy of this enormous appendage. He gasped, he choked, he yelled: "Help! Help!" These words, pronounced in French, left me deeply stunned! So I had a fellow countryman on board, perhaps several! I'll hear his harrowing plea the rest of my life! The poor fellow was done for. Who could tear him from such a powerful grip? Even so, Captain Nemo rushed at the devilfish and with a sweep of the ax hewed one more of its arms. His chief officer struggled furiously with other monsters crawling up the Nautilus's sides. The crew battled with flailing axes. The Canadian, Conseil, and I sank our weapons into these fleshy masses. An intense, musky odor filled the air. It was horrible. For an instant I thought the poor man entwined by the devilfish might be torn loose from its powerful suction. Seven arms out of eight had been chopped off. Brandishing its victim like a feather, one lone tentacle was writhing in the air. But just as Captain Nemo and his chief officer rushed at it, the animal shot off a spout of blackish liquid, secreted by a pouch located in its abdomen. It blinded us. When this cloud had dispersed, the squid was gone, and so was my poor fellow countryman! What rage then drove us against these monsters! We lost all self-control. Ten or twelve devilfish had overrun the Nautilus's platform and sides. We piled helter-skelter into the thick of these sawed-off snakes, which darted over the platform amid waves of blood and sepia ink. It seemed as if these viscous tentacles grew back like the many heads of Hydra. At every thrust Ned Land's harpoon would plunge into a squid's sea-green eye and burst it. But my daring companion was suddenly toppled by the tentacles of a monster he could not avoid. Oh, my heart nearly exploded with excitement and horror! The squid's fearsome beak was wide open over Ned Land. The poor man was about to be cut in half. I ran to his rescue. But Captain Nemo got there first. His ax disappeared between the two enormous mandibles, and the Canadian, miraculously saved, stood and plunged his harpoon all the way into the devilfish's triple heart. "Tit for tat," Captain Nemo told the Canadian. "I owed it to myself!" Ned bowed without answering him. This struggle had lasted a quarter of an hour. Defeated, mutilated, battered to death, the monsters finally yielded to us and disappeared beneath the waves. Red with blood, motionless by the beacon, Captain Nemo stared at the sea that had swallowed one of his companions, and large tears streamed from his eyes.

#20000Leagues

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