It should be said, as
referenced within the tale of Otter, that storms possess power. They speak a
primal language belonging to the old ones and the very land itself. The new
sound that Jagtor could make out, belonged to a beast beyond his comprehension,
a predator of the deep so old and strong that it had lost the will to
communicate beyond a roar or a wail. All that was left was a hunger for
destruction, and the Giant understood the creature’s will without words. He
could feel it deep within his bones as every survival instinct he had hit him
at once, urging him to leave the danger of the ocean.
When the creature broke the surface of the water,
Jagtor saw its tentacles first. It grabbed at the ships he had been unable to
catch, tossing them with ease; smashing them into the rocky cliffs until their
wooden bodies splintered and cracked from bow to stern. Briefly, he saw what
looked like a beak hiding rows of serrated teeth when the creature turned
nearer in the water. It filled him with horror to look upon a creature so
ancient and terrible as this. Debris littered the coastline, but the abhorrent
Kraken’s appetite had yet to diminish. It turned its sights on Mirador and the
ships that Jagtor had rescued in the harbor.
Jagtor was no warrior, and it would be a lie to say
that he hadn’t strongly considered running for his life, but when he heard the
screams of his neighbors and friends upon the shore behind him, something
within him stirred. The artist became a warrior, for Mirador and her locals
still had many stories to tell, and many sunrises to embrace. Jagtor rolled up
his sleeves, took a deep breath, and turned towards the deeper water where the
Kraken approached. Bards sing of this moment in many ballads, from wind tossing
the Giant’s hair as he strode forward to contend with a leviathan even larger
than himself, to an epic staredown between two titans battling over the fate of
civilization. The truth was nowhere near as pleasant at this, for the battle
was long and ugly.
The Giant ripped through muscle and blood, holding
the suckered limbs of the Kraken at bay. The beast continued to grab at him,
trying to pull his head beneath the waves. Their wrestling match left Jagtor
gasping for air as he choked on salty water and breath every time he managed to
get his mouth and nose above the surface. His punches carried the strength of
boulders, forcing the creature off of him in short bursts, but always would it
return. It had more arms than he, and each of them a potent weapon that tried
to clasp onto his skin and stretch him in ways his body didn’t want to go.
Covered in ichor, water, and slime, Jagtor couldn’t
hold onto the briny tentacles. He’d manage to capture one, straining all the
muscles in his body to try and beat it into submission, but the darned things
just managed to slither free, leaving him tired and forced to do it all over
again. He knew he had to stay away from that beak, snapping at him and getting
closer with every failed attempt to subdue the behemoth. His only chance was to
get away long enough to find a weapon.
The next time the creature came at him, Jagtor shoved
it backward with all his strength and started to run. He squinted his eyes,
raising his hand above his brow as he peered through the storm. There was so
much wreckage and despair about him, but he couldn’t let himself be distracted.
He had to find something to change the course of this battle before it was too
late. Breathless with fatigue he willed himself to go faster, for the thrashing
Kraken was right behind him.
Suddenly,
a blinding light caught his attention and he made haste towards it. It was the
lighthouse! Still a beacon in the
darkness of the storm’s devastation he had forgotten all about it until the
light had crossed his eyes. Jagtor grit his teeth and planted one enormous foot
against the rocky coast while his hands grasped the bottom of the lighthouse.
With a mighty heave, he tore the tower from its foundation, loose stones
tumbling free down into the water. He spun the building around his head like a
child’s toy, turning to slam his newfound club into the head of the beast.
The
tides had turned, and Jagtor smashed the Kraken as hard as he could. Blow,
after mighty blow, the creature sustained at the onslaught of the Giant, and it
shrieked and writhed in agony. They fought until the dawn when both their titan
frames could hardly move. The Kraken whipped one last tentacle for Jagtor’s
ankle, and the Giant felt his legs pulled from under him. His back hit the water with a loud splash,
creating a wave of its own. Down into the depths, the two did sink, never to be
seen again.
When
the people did behold that Jagtor had saved them from the wrath of that beast,
they proclaimed him the savior of Mirador and adopted the likeness of the
monster for their banner so that they might tell Jagtor’s story for a thousand
ages. That night, they poured out drinks for their fallen hero, whispering
their prayers and thanks over spirits and ale. They lamented he would never see
the world the way he wanted, giving his all for their home. A hero deserved
better than death they agreed.
Their
prayers and mourning would not go unheeded for long, for the spirits always
bear witness to truly heroic acts. We know not whether they are always
watching, or are simply drawn to greatness, but they know when they are needed.
With their magic, Jagtor’s spirit was transformed into the form of a salmon, so
that he might swim hither and thither as freely as he pleased; his courage
rewarded with new life and freedom.
The
broken husk of the lighthouse still stands upon the shores of Mirador, a
testament to a Giant’s strength, and a monument to one of the greatest
guardians to ever live. Local maps simply call it “Jagtor’s Spear.” The telling
of this legend continued into the times when humans began to settle in
Voraniss, and Jagtor the Salmon became a favorite of sailors and travelers who
believed his wandering spirit would protect and guide them on all of their
journeys.
