Chapter Text
Long, long ago, there was a village near the sea. The village was a quiet fishing hamlet, and the people were happy and content. They lived their days in peace and harmony, knowing the sea would provide for them. The village soon grew into a town with the bounty from the sea, and life was happy for those who lived there.
That is until the sea that once was plentiful grew dark and dangerous. Waters that previously held promise and fortune became barren to the fishermen who depended on them for their livelihood. The villagers prayed for a solution, and many brave men sailed out to sea to find the problem. None of them returned, save a man gone mad with terror.
He rambled for days about a monster from the deep, claiming the lives of his fellow anglers with naught but a flick of its tail. It was as dark as the night sky, with eyes that glowed like the pale moon on a cloudless night. It swallowed entire boats in a single gulp and crushed other boats with its fins. The madman refused to sleep, claiming that the monster was watching him even now. The townspeople found him dead from fright the next morning, his eyes still staring towards the sea.
Despair soon overtook the town. With the sea now against them, the townspeople turned to the Church. They prayed day and night for salvation, and after ten days of prayer, a boy stepped forward. He took a boat out into the sea and disappeared out into the night.
The next day, he returned unharmed. The boy explained that he met the monster, and had made it promise to leave the town alone as long as he visited it every day. He told the townspeople that the monster was a sea witch called Brinehilda. She was cruel and wicked to men, but kind to children. She showed him her most prized possession, a pearl as black as pitch. She told the boy that once he grew up, she would devour him. But as long as he visited her, she would not attack the fishermen. The boy did not falter, and every day he returned to the witch.
Ten years passed, and eventually, Brinehilda decided that she had enough of the boy. Now that he was a man, he would make a most delicious meal for her. The man claimed that he was not plump enough to be a meal for the witch, and Brinehilda, in her hunger, agreed that a morsel should have more meat. The man was clever and promised to come back the next day with someone who would surely be tastier than he.
In her haste, the sea-witch agreed. While she prepared to send him back on his boat, he crept into her chambers and stole the Black Pearl. Brinehilda never noticed, and sent him on his way back to the town. She waited, not realizing that she had been tricked. Hours passed, then days, followed by a week. After a month, Brinehilda grew impatient and ravenous. She returned to her chambers to admire her treasure, only to find that it was missing.
Her roar of fury was heard by every person in the town. Children wept and clung to their mothers, livestock panicked and stampeded, and even the bravest of men cowered. Storms battered the town, rendering fishing and farming impossible. The storms continued until finally, the man who stole the black pearl suggested that they send someone out on a boat to appease the sea-witch.
Desperate and out of options, the townspeople agreed, and randomly selected a man around the same age as the pearl thief. They sent the sacrifice out into the tempest, and within a day, the storms stopped as suddenly as they had started. The townspeople were overjoyed, and hailed the pearl thief as their savior.
The man married soon after, offering the Black Pearl to a girl's family as dowry. They accepted, and the man became the founder of the city of Brinehelm. For ten years, the citizens enjoyed a peaceful existence, until the day of the Founder’s escape came. The storms returned in full force, and the townspeople once again sent another young man into the tempest, calming them.
Thus every ten years, on the day of the Founder’s escape, a young man is sacrificed to Brinehilda to spare Brinehelm from her wrath.
“Our founder was blessed by the Lord with the strength to resist Brinehilda’s temptations and escape with his life. With the Black Pearl, he led the bickering nobility into unity and created our fair city of Brinehelm. Unfortunately, we must pay a price every ten years to preserve the peace that has long blessed us. A sacrifice of a man of around twenty years of age must be sent to the sea-witch to appease her on Founder’s Day. It is with great sorrow that we send these young men to their doom, and we thank them for their sacrifice.”
Father Agosti’s booming voice echoed through the congregation, leaving no room for any sound save his eccentric bellowing. Dressed in grand robes and adorned with gold and jewelry, the bishop was a stark juxtaposition to the modest members of the church. Only the rich could match his grandeur, and Agosti reveled in this fact. Knowing the power he held over the poor and middle class, he belted holy words and proverbs, soothing the unease of the masses.
“But fear not, for the Lord provides, as long as we provide to others. And so I humbly ask for your donations to help those in need. Every coin helps another, and the Lord looks kindly upon those who are generous.”
He waved his arms in a grandiose manner as members of the church passed donation baskets through the pews. The smile on Father Agosti’s face grew as he watched the baskets fill with coin. He cleared his throat, launching into another speech.
“Founder’s Day will be upon us in naught but a week. As the winds howl and the sea froths with unnatural anger, let us pray for our salvation. The sea-witch Brinehilda may roar and bellow for our souls, but our faith in God will deliver us. It is with a heavy heart that we send one of our own into the belly of the beast, but sacrifices must be made for the greater good, just as it has been for generations.”
He took a deep breath.
“The Tempest will be upon us tomorrow. Tomorrow, we will begin preparations for the sacrificial lamb. Let us pray for him, for our lost son who will bear our sins to the beast, as Christ did on the cross.”
Silence fell in the church as the congregation bowed their heads and closed their eyes. Father Agosti peaked towards the donation baskets and smiled contently to himself before continuing preaching. The Lord did indeed provide, and Father Agosti enjoyed his harvests.
In a completely different part of the city, a young man aged twenty years scribbled furiously into a ledger. Several similar tomes were stacked on either side of his desk. As the sun began to disappear behind the impending storms, the last of its rays illuminated his sun-tanned skin and shoulder-length auburn hair. A pair of bright green eyes sat behind round-rimmed glasses. His face was soft, as was the rest of his lean form. If one was to mistake him for a woman, they would not be the first, not would they be the last. He wore the humble clothes of a scholarly type. As the man continued to scribble, there was a knock on the door.
“Come in!”
The door swung open to reveal a wealthy man flanked by his two guards. “Good evening, Morgan.”
“Ah, Mr. Helmgart!” Morgan greeted, standing from his desk. “I wasn’t expecting you until after Founder’s Day!”
“Yes, well, the city council has decided that everyone submit their tax records early.”
“Early?”
“Yes, Morgan. I understand this is short notice, but would you please accompany me to the family library? I believe most of our tax records are archived in this forest of tomes.”
“Certainly, Mr. Helmgart.”
Nigel Helmgart was well known in the quaint town by the see. Being descended from the Founder himself afford him with exceptional wealth and social standing. As the eldest son of Godric Helmgart, he was next in line to the Helmgart inheritance and business. Of course, Nigel spent every waking moment ensuring that his family's fortune was well maintained, which required the use of several accountants and tax experts.
That's where Morgan came in. The bespeckled youth followed Nigel and his escorts to another part of town, to the Helmgart family library. A large ornate building rivaling the size of the city hall, the Helmgart library held many a tome packed with the rich history of the town's founding family. Books upon books lined the shelves, forming a massive repertoire of history. Nigel gestured towards a few shelves in the back. “You'll find the records in those shelves. Take all the time you need, the taxes aren't due until Founder’s Day anyway.”
“Understood, Mr. Helmgart. I'll get started right away.”
“Very good. Good day, Morgan.”
“Good day, Mr. Helmgart.”
Nigel and his guards left the library, leaving Morgan alone with the dusty tomes. He sighed and got to work, reaching for a few tomes here and there. Most were tax records, some were completely unrelated, and others turned to dust in his hands. Morgan worked through the evening, jotting down notes and calculating taxes as he continued to go through tomes. As he reached for a high shelf, a leather bound journal fell and hit the ground with a heavy thud. Morgan cursed under his breath and sighed. He picked up the journal and dusted it off, not finding a title.
“Curious,” Morgan murmured to himself. “Never seen a ledger bound in this fashion.”
He opened the book, flipping to the first page and began to read. The lettering had faded in some places, but a lot of it was still legible.
I met the Sea-Witch for the first time today. She's not monstrous like the old fishermen say, and is actually very beautiful. She calls herself Brinehilda, and she blushed like a pink coral when I smiled at her. I find her to be quite charming, and I plan to visit her tomorrow.
The signature at the bottom was faded, but Morgan could still make out a last name - Helmgart.
“Is this the journal of the Founder?” He asked aloud. He turned the page.
Brinehilda is beautiful, and knows many things about the sea. I bowed out to meet her again today, and we spent many an hour discussing the sea and the surface. I had lost track of time, and Mother was quite furious with me staying out past dusk. Tomorrow, Brinehilda will bring me down to her home in the sea, and hopefully I shall be back to tell the tale.
“The Founder himself visited almost daily?” Morgan flipped a few more pages, finding an entry from a few weeks later.
Today, Brinehilda allowed me to see her treasure trove. A massive pile of gold and jewels decorates one of the rooms in her keep, glittering like her scales. Atop it all stands a gleaming white pearl, Brinehilda’s pride and joy. I wonder if she would be willing to part with it, as there is a girl I fancy in town, and I have not the money for a dowry. I keep meaning to ask Brinehilda, but everytime I try, she blushes and races away.
Have I offended her in some manner? She seems to be keeping her distance, but it is almost as if she is waiting for me to ask her a question. I do not understand what she wants, but tomorrow I shall ask.
Morgan paled. Despite his young age, he was not fool to being courted with. Many a young woman -- and man -- had attempted to court him, but his work as an accountant kept him far too busy. He just told himself that he simply lacked the time for a relationship. However, even he could plainly tell from the journal that Brinehilda had loved the Founder. The young man had simply been too oblivious to notice.
“Founder, you fool.” Morgan chastised as he turned a few more pages in the journal.
Something is wrong. The pearl I took from Brinehilda-- it turned black, like the inky depths of the sea. I still it presented to my beloved's family as a dowry. They accepted, but the sky has turned dark. The sea trembles with rage and agony. I told Brinehilda that I would be back soon with the pearl, but it has been nearly a month.
Now I fear that I have made a hasty decision.
Morgan paled. The Black Pearl had been stolen by the Founder. Everyone in Brinehelm knew this from the moment they were old enough to hear the stories. But they never mentioned that it was for a dowry. What fool would cheer on someone who had stolen from a woman who loved them to present another with a dowry? Morgan turned the pages until he came upon the last entry. The handwriting was messier now, as if written by an elderly man.
It has been 50 years since I have stolen the Black Pearl from Brinehilda. Those 50 years have seen many a miracle: I was wed, became a leader in my community, and father of three healthy children who in turn gave my wife and I plenty of grandchildren. I have had a wonderful life, and yet, like many old men, I find myself filled with regret.
My wife loved me for 20 of those 50 years. We stayed married as is the tradition, but became bitter and estranged from each other. She lived in another house for the next 30 years until she passed naught but a month ago. Looking back, I suppose neither loved each other once the children had grown up. She returned the Black Pearl to me, and it had sat on my desk, taunting me with its jet brilliance.
The people of this city hailed me as their savior. Ha! I am only a savior because I solved a problem I created. I told Brinehilda I would return the Pearl, and I lied to her face.
I was a fool. I thought that she would get over it, not realizing how deeply my betrayal would hurt her. Maybe I always knew, and convinced myself that she would understand. The only thing she understood was that I stole her heart and stabbed her in the back. And for that, she comes every 10 years seeking vengeance, and we have sent 5 young men to their deaths.
If someone finds this book, I have hidden the Black Pearl in this very tome. The light of the new moon on Founder’s Day will reveal it. Indulge a foolish old man in his wishes, and please, return the Pearl to the woman who loved me. She deserves better than the twisted existence I have thrust upon her.
A drawing of the new moon was present in this last entry, followed by one last line.
Please tell Brinehilda that I am sorry.
Morgan closed the book, absolutely stunned. A stunning truth had been revealed. He turned back to his ledgers of the Helmgart family, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Trying to work his way through the books led him to one conclusion: Nigel Helmgart was committing some very serious tax fraud.
Morgan found himself on the Loveraft later that week. When he had reported the Nigel’s tax fraud to the city council, he had been arrested and elected as the new sacrifice for Brinehilda. There had been no trial, he had simply been whisked away to a place where no one could find him. This left him on a boat heading out towards the Tempest, where the Sea-Witch waited.
“There once was a ship that put to sea the name of that ship was a Billy of Tea--”
“Howard, must you insist on singing that every time we go out?”
“Ye protest, but ye know ye love it, Philip.”
The priest opposite of Morgan sighed and closed his Bible. “My apologies. Captain Howard can be a bit… eccentric at times. There are days that I wonder why I married him.”
“It's alright,” Morgan assured him. “Brother Philip, I want to thank you for listening to me. Once I reported the Helmgarts to the council, they had me jailed.”
“And then they threw you on this boat to be sacrificed to the witch. I offer my most humble apologies, Morgan. My hands are tied.”
“I understand. My only hope is that this is the last sacrifice that Brinehilda needs.”
“Speaking of, we’re nearly to our destination. Into the dingy you go lad. And may God be with you.” Captain Howard called.
“Amen,” Brother Philip agreed. He helped Morgan into the dingy, and pointed him towards the center of the stormy sea. Brinehelm was but a bright speck in the distance, and the rain came down in sheets.
“Goodbye, Captain. Goodbye, Brother.”
“Goodbye, Morgan. May the Sea-Witch be merciful this day.”
Morgan rowed out into the storm, the journal of the founder under his shirt. The rain kept filling his dingy, but he kept going. The waves rose higher and higher, threatening to capsize the small boat. Eventually, Morgan passed into the eye of the Tempest, and the waters calmed. The new moon was dark overhead, and by the light of a single lantern, Morgan opened the Founder’s journal. The tome glowed with an ethereal black light, and the drawing of the new moon on the last page pulsed. Morgan reached for the drawing, then suddenly, the boat rocked.
THIEF.
The word was not spoken aloud, but Morgan heard it all the same in his mind. He grabbed at the drawing of the new moon, and something popped out. A ball about the size of a large jawbreaker appeared in his hand, the lanternlight reflecting off its jet-black surface. Silverly mist swirled within the orb, whispering to the sea.
LIAR. CHARLATAN.
The presence came again, and this time, a dark shape emerged from the water. Another and another followed it, until the boat lifted out of the water. Morgan realized that he was on a hand, and a face the size of a galleon followed. Two gleaming white eyes peered out from the sea, pale skin and white curled hair, and a black crown sat atop her head. A space on her crown revealed a depression where a jewel was supposed to be.
I LOVED YOU. YOU TOOK MY GIFT, MY DECLARATION, MY LOVE, AND GAVE IT TO ANOTHER. WHY?!
“Brinehilda, hold on!”
THE THIEF SPEAKS. NORMALLY YOU ARE NOT SO BOLD, SCUM. YOU ARE CONTENT TO SCREAM AS I GIVE YOU THE PAIN YOU HAVE GIVEN ME.
“I’m not him.”
NO. BUT YOU WILL DIE IN HIS PLACE LIKE THE OTHERS BEFORE YOU.
Brinehilda began to close her hand, the boat splintering under the force.
“Wait! I have the pearl! I HAVE THE PEARL!”
…WHAT?
Morgan held the Black Pearl in his hand, presenting the orb to her.
MY PEARL… I…
Brinehilda’s other hand, the size of a small house, approached. Morgan dropped the pearl into her palm, where it grew to match the size of the missing spot in her crown. She replaced the pearl into her crown, watching as it magically clicked into place. She fixed her eyes back on Morgan and growled.
YOU WILL COME WITH ME. WE HAVE MUCH TO DISCUSS.
“What--”
Brinehelda dove beneath the waves, her hand wrapped tightly around Morgan. He screamed, but his lungs did not fill with water. A small air bubble surrounded him, and he continued down, down into the deep until there was no light save for the gleaming white lights of Brinehilda’s eyes.
SLEEP, THIEF. WE WILL TALK SOON.