Abyss

In the deepest darkness of the sea, a small current once whirled from the smouldering volcanic vents that bubbled in the cold to sweep the microorganisms it fed into the swaying tendrils of the luminescent plants, jellies, and small creatures that lived at the edges of the trench. This current was dutiful - spinning through caves and crevices, sweeping across ragged stone, and feeding the sea’s small gardens.

The Tidelord knew of the current, and wished to reward it for it’s service, for it had done its work since the trench had existed, since the vents had boiled, and the current had never faltered or rebelled - it never fled its course or was anything but gentle to its’ charges - it only fed its gardens and tended its creatures, eternally warm and kind. And so one day, the Tidelord gave the current a gift.

As the current spiraled into a cave to free it’s favorite deep sea denizens - the jellyfish who glowed and peacefully pulsed, trusting the current to guide them well - she found her self unable to do so. She was no longer fluid and graceful and all encompassing. She was... solid... and awkward... and a she.

The Tidelord has gifted her with the form of a dragon, and for it, she wept. She could not tend her gardens, nor could she feed her creatures. Her gardens would shrivel without her. Her creatures would loose their path and remain unfed. The current was bereft and unable to continue to do what she had always done - what she loved.

And the current knew who had done it. Her lord - her creator. He had taken away what she cared for, and she wanted her life - her simple duties - back. But when she reached the Spiral Keep, her new body exhausted and starving and injured - for she knew not how to care for it or move about with it - there was no one. No god, no anchient clans. They had fled when their god had disappeared.

Her lord had ruined her. And then he had abandoned her.

She rose to the surface, an angry, bitter thing. And with her rose furious water that pounded against the shore. Where she traveled, storms raged. Or in those moments when she simply mourned her gardens and her jellyfish, then rain soaked the ground or bubbles up from beneath the Earth.

She wandered, an inconsolable, eternal natural disaster, as all lost wanderers in search of nothing with no where to go do.

And now she waits, until the day that the Tidelord dares to raise his head once again. Then she will hunt him, with her scalding, raging water, she will release her cataclysmic rage, and she will punish him for his curse.