[Darkwind]

Deep Ones are not smart.
----
It was a hot fall day in the Llyrath Forest, one of the last until winter. It was a day where lizards would lazily bask in the sun and ignore even the flies that settled near their face, a day where the bears sat in the shade rather than catch fish in the sunlight. It was a day where Nature herself seemed to take a day off to est and enjoy the last remnants of summer. But on the edge of the forest, something stirred.

A lizard raised its head, tasting the air and feeling something wrong. It smelled...wet. The lizard rose to all fours, grabbing its trident and staring intently at the forest around it. A far-away rustle, and then another, and soon the south was alive with sound. The air was hot and humid, now, and the stench of fish drifted from the south and the noise. A single glimpse of something blue, and the forward scout was scurrying back to its home to report to the elder shaman.
----
It was a satisfying sight. My Atlantians were charging forward, the Deep ones loping madly forward for the flesh they could smell, as the lizards ran tridents-forward, perhaps hoping to smash through our shields.

The lizard-men hit my shamblers at full speed. A few were knocked back, but for the most part the lizard-men only wounded them. I could see bursts of intense fighting, both my men and theirs falling, as I jostled the crazed Deep Ones to get to the front. The lizards' faces were bright--it seemed they thought they could win, since the mighty Shamblers were falling to their tridents.

And then the Deep Ones slammed into them through the gaps in the ranks, just as I had planned. The thick hides of the lizards proved to be nowhere near as tough as kelp to the Deep Ones' jaws and fists. The lizards were unprepared, and the Deep ones flowed over their sides and surrounded them--the cowards retreated, their primitive king running tail between his legs, faster than any of them. I left the lizards to disperse and the Deep Ones to their latest meal.

I was curious as to what the lizards tasted like; the Deep Ones found them appetizing enough. They are a stringy sort of meat, and tough, with very little taste. These creatures are certainly warriors, not livestock, however poor warriors they may be.
-Kosuth, on the Capture Llyrath Forest
----
spikeman say longbrownfish is enemy, say they taste good
longbrownfish look tough, smell tasty, good prey
longbrownfish kill big ones, then longbrownfish die
claws tear longbrownfish, mouth eats longbrownfish
littleone scratch, and littleone bite, and longbrownfish shout and littleone scratch more
longbrownfish run, longbrownfish chase and die
longbrownfish taste good, strong fish to make strong littleone
-Thoughts of a Deep One
----
The men of Stone Bridge are an uncreative lot. Inutho rode towards the east, where his escort promised him lay a god. The Stone Bridgers were rather confused when a talking bipedal fish showed up on their doorstep asking for safe passage. At first, they had thought to breed him, but Inutho had been able to convince the conceptually poor men that he was not the kind of fish you bred, ate or kept as pets--another barbaric practice of these people in particular. As he had learned from the Elder Rider of Stone Bridge, this people had a long and proud history of aggressive raids to control the nearby territory, and a long history of being stupid enough to be defeated by every reasonably intelligent invader that came their way. They held on to what they had with a vengeance, and what they had was skill with the horse.

Fortunately one of their gods is a fish, Inutho thought; the fish-god Dagon had saved him by 'granting his representative the finest horse in the land'. In truth, stupid people are greedy and stupid Elder Riders even more so. The 'Prince of the Fish' had been assigned an escort to bring him to the false god to the East where Inutho could perhaps parlay with civilised men.

"The godless! Prepare yourselves!" Inutho grimaced at the rider's words. Every tribe on the Sword Coast, as they called it, shared the same language. He readied his pike--stolen from a wandering knight who thought he was a representative of some god or another--and prepared for battle.

But the only hooves he heard were that of the escorts. There were no footsteps, no sounds to tip off the Stone Bridgers. "Wha--"

A star hurdled out of a patch of dirt. It crashed into one of the riders, engulfing both horse and man in flame, only to run to the next. The Stone Bridgers almost simultaneously charged at it.

Improvising, Inutho threw the pike like a javelin at the star-man and ran away before he died of dehydraton from the heat. Looking back, he saw a messy blaze of fire and people and people made of fire. Inutho charged far forwards, up to the to the top of Secomber Hill--which marched the beginning of the Secomber tribes' lands--and looked back.

A single escort rode towards him. "We go quickly--magma men come in big numbers, they come with armor. Fish not do good with them, huh?" Inutho resisted the urge to suggest that nine out of ten escorts killed was not excellent odds against a single scout. He rode forwards with the escort into the land of the living stars.