From The Times And Events Of Sangray

There was a deep drag of unctuous crimson bloodwater which spread the scent of flayed faerie across the lavish maritime chamber as the Devilray peered through its sanguinoscope.

"The pedals make their war again!" The voice carried to no one in particular, not even to the silent four Rays drifting near the doorway.

Consul Trixitico pushed his wide pectoral fins away from his body making him sail backwards, away from his viewer. In two of the four claspers by the base of his long barbed tail, far longer than any of his subjects, Trixitico held and smeared blood across the eyepiece of the sanguinoscope. In the other two, he held the still dripping mouthpiece of his prized Hemopipe.

Trixitico's chamber was located in the southern nobular tower of the Sangray Fever's fearsome compound, one of seven such towers-- counting the central spire. Trixitico fancied the chamber for its positioning, installing his sanguinoscope to peer for spies and enemies in the Glittering Gulf. And the sights were many.

He took another long drag of the Hemopipe, only letting a slight grumble of displeasure escape his mouth as he detected a slight woody flavor to the blood-- a sign that the chamber was getting empty once again and a sign that Trixitico was thinking.

Peering through his sanguinoscope once more, Trixitico's concious transferred into the waters, allowing him sight beyond sight. He watched the final remnants of the brief-yet-brutal naval encounter. One of the trade routes, he knew. The pedals would be covetous in their retrieval of the plunder-- the colored sails meant they were the daring humans who braved harsh seas and deep waters. Trixitico felt disgust at the respect he held for the barbarous seamen, their tactics were admirable but their greed matched that of the Ixi-T'chal!

Still... there was a ship sinking; and the one thing these pedals did not seem to covet were the bodies. The Consul felt his hunger grow-- and the wood flavor of the blood seemed to only grow more foul on his lips.

"Three current complexes to colder southern seas... mark four... no, call it five full fathoms down. Estimated body count... 20. Possible pedal presence, but plenty of food. Send no less than three extraction groups," the underwater language of the Ixitxachitl was a collection of sonar trills and sharp fin-swishes that made even the mumbling words of Trixitico loud and clear to the four silent Rays in the back of the room.

One of the silent, whose burgundy red facial markings formed a pattern resembling seahorse flesh, whispered, "Your voice carries downward."

That ray left. It had been the first to speak, so it had the distinct pleasure of carrying out the task. Now the remaining three had a far harder task, as the inevitable next command followed.

"The Hemopipe grows stagnant. Fetch me a refill."

A do-able task, certainly, the silent priests would normally jump at the chance to provide for their Consul. However...

"Consul Mixyao has possession of the bloodstock today, my Consul." The priest's words were biting ice on the tropic waters.

Even the constantly-flowing inner current of the Fever seemed to still. Trixitico waited a long moment.

"Ah, right. The bloodstock." It was not a matter Trixitico enjoyed thinking about-- he never had to think about it before. Now Mixyao, his damned counterpart in the north tower, was going to drain the stock dry!

"Tchrixo!" Bubbles swirled around the Consul's body from the intensity of the words making the priest jump, "Remind me. What were the stock numbers at the end of my possession yesterday?"

"13 my Consul."

"Now go to the stock and see just how much my partner has taken for himself! If it is anything less than 10 I order you to drag Mixyao to me!"

Tchrixi the priest knew that she would never be able to do what her Consul ordered. The thought killed her inside. Still, she turned and flowed out the doorway, "Your voice carries Upward, my Consul."

Trixitico trummed a bit in the water. Her acknowledgement was a not-so-subtle way of saying that he asked much.

Another drag, another displeasing taste. The water swirled in a sludgey slurry as he pumped it through his gills.

Trixitico's two viperish fangs sank temptingly into the gum of his lower jaw. Perhaps he would need to hunt soon if troubles with the Bloodstock continued. Of course, they could use the pedal corpses, but that would go against what their idol desired, and would go against their arrangement with the hags. Besides, pedals did not taste nearly as good as pixies.

Now Trixitico's entire room smelled of the wood. Bah! he thought, he had done it again.

"We go." Trixitico groaned as he turned away from his precious sanguinoscope, only lingering to confirm that the warriors had departed.

Trixitico and the remaining two priests took the current out of the Consul's chamber down the winding spire towards the Fever's main assembly area. They passed many other priests, as half the priests resided within Trixitico's tower. The better half, he argued. There were no verbal greetings, beside a soothing pulse of water many of the priests made in honor towards Trixitico. A few went as far as to brush their tail against the Consul's wiping it free of any detritus or debris. Trixitico hardly paid them any mind.

He flowed into the feeding chamber. This chamber being central and most accessible to the entire Fever. The unique design of the chamber cased a strong current to flow from the outside water, so strong that many weak schooling fish could not escape. Trixitico himself hardly took his meals here, but as he arrived he watched as no less than 40 Ixitxachitl chased and speared a school of sardines. It was a relatively light feeding party for the time of day, but it was to be expected.

Looking outside one of the many openings in the wall, Trixitico observed as 50 of his warriors patrolled and hovered around the Fever like a great net. For almost a half-moon the Fever was receiving pedal visitors, many with unsavory intentions. Already a priest had been hurt, the next group killed a priest. Trixitico would not forget these pedals for as long as he lived, even if they never knew who he was.

Trixitico was snapped out of his wandering stupor by a cry of Infernal, the language of the priests. A victory cry reserved for times of war. Trixitico's heart fluttered in elation!

In a burst of aquatic speed, Trixitico shoved his pectoral fins downward and propelled himself dramatically out one of the openings, blasting clear through the current. He may spend his time in the chamber, but Trixitico was chosen by his god and his people-- he would be stronger and faster. To the warriors outside, the arrival of their Consul caused a vibrating thrill of mass elation. To Trixitico, it was a cheer. Yet it was one that was shared.

The priest who let out the cry was orb-swimming around a heavy object, letting the current keep it suspended in the water.

"Consul!! Your scouting is fortuitous! I have stolen the heretic pedal's direction!" the priest Niritto indicated at the object: the entire rudder of a longship. Now Trixitico shared in the cheering.

"You have proven yourself worthy of your share Niritto!" Trixitico switched his own tongue to Infernal, "Tulcattocitlxaxin witnesses you on this day!" At the recognizable word of their god, the warriors began trilling in celebration once more.

"Without their direction, the pedals will be without fins! Damned to drift like the school-less minnow!" Trixitico switched to the language of the Ixi-T'chal.

"Ahhh, you're quick to assume our pedal adversaries are hopeless in our element." The tone and words sent an instant stab of unwanted ennui through Trixitico. Flowing from the front gate of the Fever came the heavily marked co-Consul, Mixyao. Trixitico's tail-barbs flared. Mixyao's priests brought his Hemopipe, and it was full.

Every insightful Ixi-T'chal, and many were, knew the unspoken rivalry and hatred between the two Consuls. This was the way of the Fever, the bitter adversarial nature of their leaders often breeding compromise and debate. These debates were beloved by the Rays, the eloquence and heated nature of the Consul's arguements were one of many reasons they held the spots they did. Blessed by Tulcattocitlxaxin, rhetoric being one of its many gifts.

Mixyao continued, "Pedals can still direct their air-currents, pedals can still sink their dredge-iron. We have hardly disabled them. They shall likely carry on without a second thought." Already at his words warriors looked a mixture of disappointed and eager to inflict further damage.

"Pedals need direction! Even with their air-currents they are on our domain! One may use their tail to steer, but one needs one's fins to push! The same is true vice-versa. Who among us would swim without a tail? This is a great victory!" Trixitico attempted to fan the fires of action he saw beginning in a few of the warriors.

"A pyrrhic victory which will only serve to keep the pedals in our waters," Mixyao did a summersault in the water, the equivalent of a head-shake. He then gripped the hose of the Hemopipe and took a long drag. The blood was fresh and sweet, so potent in flavor and consistency that it refracted the light in a nebulous way as he filtered it out his gills.

Trixitico felt the blood in his own body flow at nearly double speed. He wanted to hurt Mixyao for so brazenly waving his possession of the bloodstock in his face... but he couldn't resist pulling some of the remnants of the blood into his own gills, exciting a chuckle from Mixyao.

Trixitico knew he was on the losing side of this argument, he had to make a play quickly or the warriors would too question the point of the sabotage.

"This pedals are the same as the ones who attacked and hurt the priest Dozodiri!" Trixitico only had a few seconds to let the point linger-- he needed more. From the blood he could quite literally feel shooting through his veins, he generated power. Focusing his mind on the priest at his side, his well-informed memorybank, he psychically extracted the information about the belligerents. In the few seconds, Trixitico compared details, made inferences, and crafted a narrative. True or not, this would be his defense. He knew that Mixyao would begin to do the same.

"They are the same... yet different. The chicken-bird and fish-summoner remain. Demori, we learned, killed their champion of the False-Tide last night," he wavered his fins in a sine wave, a sign of his approval and pleasure, "But the stumpies have all vanished, gone, disappeared!" A shame, the Ixi-T'Chal valued the taste of stumpy creatures almost as much as faerie.

"Your scouts on the Canal saw them last! They were close to the drop-off point, were they not? Did the pixies not stop flowing after this report?" Trixitico nodded frantically, "The pedals! The pedals! They have siphoned and stifled the flow of the bloodstock!"

Mixyao now had a chance to retort, more accurately, Mixyao butted in at this point, "Neither Gertrude," the Common name sounded incredibly foreign on Ixi-T'Chal lips, "nor her family have been at the drop-off for the last six days! But she lives! I have spoken with her, and she ensures me that the bloodstock can flow once more. We only need have patience!"

Trixitico, in his years of debating and competition, was a master at picking up on the subtleties of Ixi-T'Chal conversation. Trixitico had no doubt that Mixyao had spoken with their strange contact. "You spoke to her on our sacred inner words!" Trixitico exclaimed.

Mixyao hissed, causing a flurry of bubbles to erupt into the water as he retorted, "She contacted me!"

The thoughts and elation of the broken-off rudder were gone now as the Consuls began to bicker and argue with one another. Short back-and-forth accusations and arguments began to fly back and forth between the two rays, their tails slashing and flicking the water like two live jumping wires.

"--You know as well as I, Trixitico, we will not forsake the wildercrone's gift!" Mixyao stabbed his tail towards the center spire, where even now a collection of priests kept it satiated and safe.

"Mixyao, you let your short-sightedness blind you towards the dangerous future the wildercrones weave for us! They are not for the Ixi-T'Chal! They are for their own gain, they manipulate!" Trixitico found it harder and harder to make counterarguments.

Whereas Trixitico tried to craft elaborate and beautiful stanzas fit for a warrior-poet, Mixyao had a better talent for speaking bluntly and directly when needed. Trixitico's skills came in handy during the construction and expansion of the Fever, yet now Mixyao was proving just how effective plain language could be. The warriors only saw the benefits of the hag's gift; how the fish almost willingly swam into their capture currents, the strange device that Demori destroyed over their waters, the power, the glory of their god.

None of the warriors, nor even the priests to an extent, could fathom how difficult it was for both Consul's to give up such a large portion of their food. Pedal corpses were all to be given to the gift; the Consuls able to keep only 1 in 10. The one and only time they hadn't followed the rule resulted in no fish coming near the Fever for a Gap and a half. Blood powered every higher process of Ixi-T'Chal life, from Trixitico's Sanguinoscope, to the way the priests prepared their spells, to the food Trixitico and Mixyao needed to survive. The stories of what happens when blood runs out were as infamous in Ixi-T'Chal mythos as they were inevitable and expected.

Of course, the gift hadn't been accepted from any desire to hasten this process. The wildercrone's offer was irresistable: fey blood in copious amounts. Bi-gaply shipments of exactly one dozen pixies-- some of the most delectable creatures known. Though neither Consul knew it, or necessarily wanted to admit it, they had been hooked by the intoxicating draw of that most sumptuous blood.

Trixitico saw a dark implication. The wildercrones were beginning to assert full control of their food source. The past month had seen an explosion of their population. Last reports indicated over 600 fry were viable. If the hags couldn't maintain their end of the bargain, the Consuls would need to turn to other food sources. Their fellows, of course, were the final option. Fish, naturally, were undesireable and common. Pedals, they knew, were dangerous to extract, not when 1 in 10 were the Consul's share. To deny the hag's request would be to deny their people, to allow things to continue would be to deny their instinct. The gift allowed them to feed and mate, they would need it still to maintain.

There was no way his fellow Consul hadn't arrived at the same conclusion; but where Mixyao held a certain trust and direct contact with the wildercrones, Trixitico held only suspicion.

"My esteemed partner. Have more faith in our Fever and our prosperity!" Mixyao sweeped his fins out, drawing in the crowd. "But know this. I have full faith in it." In that moment Trixitico felt a cool presence flow through his body, Mixyao was linking their minds.

"Our portalsource was compromised. Lori returned to the Feywild to create another gateway. I remain. May goes to you. Now we must be extremely careful." Trixitico drew his second eyelids over his corneas, recognizing the mental dialect of the hag. This was the part of the Consul's intricate verbal dance where the work got done, and it got done rapidly-- they understood each other's positions and reservations. "Five days ago, pick-up day." "Where is the wildercrone?" "Not here." "Why." "Demori." "Oh?" "Dead last night." "Good?" "Not sure." "Gertrude?" "Alive." "Pedals?" "Same ones." "Wants to break us." "Yes." "Wants to split us." "Yes." "Gift?" "Must protect." "Food?" "We strike?" "We strike." The exchange took no less than two seconds.

"My Consul has delivered wisdom to us." Trixitico hated that he had to say those words. He turned towards Niritto, the Ray who had severed the pedal's direction. "Priest Niritto, you have delivered the first strike in what will become the story of Sangray! The Story of Sangray!" Trixitico switched to Infernal for the second iteration of the title, preferring how the syllables sounded in the tongue.

"These pedals lead an effort to steal our gifts and prosperity! They are sorely mistaken if they believe they have dominance of the water! They are fools if they believe they can overcome the Ixi-T'Chal!"

A great hissing erupted among the warriors and priests both, the Rays stirring into a frenzy on the Consul's words.

"We witness the surge of Sangray! The Surge of Sangray!" Mixyao used Infernal as well, annoying Trixitico and, in his mind, diminishing the effect he had. He then went back to dragging his Hemopipe, an even more annoying display.

"The young of Sangray are to be the largest generation in Ixi-T'Chal history!" Who knew if that claim were true or not, but Mixyao stirred the spirit through it, "Ours will be a school so large that we shall outsize the tuna, whales will turn and run at the sound of our war cries!" The red markings on Mixyao's body glowed once more, "Our tails will drag their ships to the bottom of the deep, and we will make banquet on the pedals as they scream for their toxic air!"

Warriors around the Fever began to stir and flip throughout the water. With a final flourish, Mixyao declared. "Five, no, eight extraction teams!! There is a pedal ship traveling three to four current complexes to colder southern seas, mark... one fathom deep." The warriors started, that meant the ship had not even sank. Mixyao, in a tone and expression that only the Ixi-T'Chal could witness the sinister pleasure upon, ordered, "Destroy them. Send the message."

"Your words carry downward, Consul." The collective affirmation of the warriors shook the Fever as many began taking off in the directions given. Multiple extraction squads were already blasting off towards the ship at break-fin speeds.

Trixitico bobbed there with eyes wide open. That was the ship he had spotted only minutes prior. Mixyao had extracted the coordinates from his mind during their exchange! There was nothing the Consul could do, he watched the warriors as they disappeared into the blue-hued gloom.

Trixitico did not really take in his surroundings as they went into the Fever from the front gate. The warriors were on their way to the ship, they were going to bore holes in the bottom-- attempt to capsize the vessel. The attack was blatant, inexcusable for pedals. The stories of other Fever's demises ran through his head as he swam to the central tower. Yes, all Fever's ended in a famine, in consumption, in collapse. But the current that loosened the shale in every circumstance was almost always the same-- wars with the pedals.

"You underestimate pedal temper and revenge, Mixyao." Trixitico found the words to speak again. He had his co-Consul had traveled together, their priests still swimming behind them. The central tower was forbidden to all but priests and Consuls, the upper chambers of the tower forbidden to all expect the Consuls and their entourage. Only when they were fully alone did Trixitico find the urge to speak to his partner without the finery.

"I underestimate nothing; you underestimate how much they will continue to harass us regardless." They flowed up another chamber, "We should send the message. The Ixi-T'Chal will not tolerate abuse."

"We are vermin to them." Trixitico summersaulted, "Neither of us could even distinguish between a seaman pedal and a wilder pedal. We attack the seamen pedals, the ones best suited to fight back."

"The smartest ones to eliminate," Mixyao grumbled.

They arrived to the part of the central spire situated just 10 feet underneath the surface of the sea. When they arrived, Mixyao and Trixitico were treated to the sight of 10 priests circled around a cylinder of cyan light, chanting a long series of practiced notes, purrs, and hisses. The light was the source of the constant intricate currents and smaller navigation lights alit throughout the Fever. It went upwards to the surface of the water, split through into the above-sea chamber above their heads, went through that roof, and continued up into the heavens for as far as their eyes could make out. Supposedly the light partially went to their god Tulcattocitlxaxin, partially to a source which the Consuls never truly cared about until now. The light also provided the priests a boost in their own abilities, many of the priests reporting feelings of strength and capability after long chanting sessions.

The priests did not stop nor look up from their chanting because of this. They would continue for roughly five and a half more hours, at which point another group of 10 would take over as night began. The two Consulrays observed the priests for a while before swimming to the surface of the water.

They crested into the one chamber built above the waterline. It had been painstaking to construct this part of the Fever, with it only being done to accommodate the great gift from the wildercrone. On the blood-soaked rugged floor between the condensation-dripping windows in the overly humid sauna-like chamber sat a pallid and hunched figure. It was like a pedal in physiology. Mixyao had once heard Gertrude refer to it as a "shaper of ideas." It was unlike any other pedal, thin and feeble, withered and wrinkled-- at times Trixitico wondered if it were truly 'alive' or if what they were seeing was something more complex.

Its eyes opened slowly, like everything it did, the popping and creaking of its limbs sounding as it adjusted its posture and position to better witness the two Consuls. It was expecting its tributes.

The thing was capable of speech, but sadly numerous language barriers existed between it and the Consuls. The priests would normally interpret, but that wasn't the point of their arrival.

"Trimmpo griv vla-siff rivverra merra?" Its way of speaking was unnerving. Its toothless mouth just opened and the sound came out, like when a shell is held up to the ear.

The Consuls did not respond. The creature, whatever it was, was not a threat, at least not yet. But they knew better than any other in the Fever that the tributes it was offered were never seen again. It ate them... but not in the way the Consul's knew or respected. It was a process neither of the two had figured out yet, one that was irredeemably horrid and repulsive to view, but a process they could not stop witnessing.

Mixyao clicked his tail twice to the ceiling of the lower chamber. A pedal corpse coated in calcium-paste was quickly gathered and brought to the sea-surface from one of the priestly helpers. Wrapping their tails underneath armpits and thighs, the aquatic Ixi's bore the corpse onto the moldering rug of the surface chamber. The creature's nearly fully-lidded eyes could be seen glinting. It looked at the two Consuls, waiting, like it always did, to see if they would leave it alone. They wouldn't. It didn't care.

The Idea Shaper fell forward. The creature's legs were so weak and feeble, even after so many tributes, that it could not walk. Instead, it crawled like a pedal child forward. Slimy mildew on the soaked rug allowed it to slide itself forward, through each pull of its body caused it to let out a wheezing labored exhale. Again Trixitico worried that the creature might just keel over and die before it got to the tribute. But it did.

The Shaper took position over the body, mounting its arms on either side of the corpse. Its mouth opened again... the Consuls both braced. VRRMMMMMMMMMM. An awful tearing sound began to echo around the chamber as flakes of the corpse began to break away from the body. It was a brutal process, witnessing a creature being broken down molecule by molecule, one that revealed the true inner intricacies of pedal anatomy. Blood poured out from the wounds that melted underneath the creature's void-mouth, blood that would have fueled the Consuls for days.

The creature made no expression or emotion as it did this dismantling. Only maintaining the constant sound. If anything, it looked most truly at peace during this process. After an hour, all that remained of the corpse was yet another vaguely pedaloid outline of blood in the rug. The Consuls had watched the entire time.

The creatures next move kept the Consuls up at night. It leaned back while shutting its mouth slowly. There was a pause as it seemed to sadly stare at the place where the body used to be... Then, quick as a flash, the creature did a full backflip to its original place, hunching down, and returning to its statuesque appearance.

Neither Consul really knew why they continued to watch this process. This was the closest the two got to each other during the day. Maybe it was the uncanniness of the creature's feeding style. Maybe it was jealousy at the creature for consuming their preferred sustenance. Maybe this was part of what the creature was. Trixitico never left feeling very satisfied. He left the glowing central chamber without saying goodbye to his partner.

Back in his chambers, Trixitico anxiously spread fresh blood on the sanguinoscope to once again transfer his consciousness into the water and gain sight beyond sight. This time Trixitico wanted to witness events with alacrity and assuredness. He begrudgingly used a small amount of the pixie-blood he kept in a water-tight pot in his chamber.

Trixitico's spirit and conscious was disseminated into the water like the blood from a Hemopipe. His fins were now as wide as the Gulf itself, his eyes were the entire sky and the seabed beneath. Now he just had to enclose his target.

It did not take long to locate the extraction teams. In the flurry of excitement from Mixyao's words traditional squad-sizes and formations more or less went out the window. No less than 85 Ixi-T'chal formed an inky undersea cloud of flapping fins and lashing tails.

Trixitico had to admit, watching the large group surge southward, they mad an inspiring sight. Trixitico had not had time to appreciate that Mixyao had effectively ordered the largest coordinated movement in Sangray history. Now, watching his warriors fly so easily through the sea, Trixitico felt an upwelling twing of... pride? It was a strange thing to have for others, an Fever culture often did not allow pride in the fellow Ray to exist. Trixitico felt it now, it made him want to keep watching.

Trixitico even laughed! He pictured the scream of a pedal underneath the water, their terror upon seeing such a huge group of Sangray! Now they would know the paranoia. The same paranoia he had felt countless times in his life seeing the hull of a ship pass overhead.

The collective push of the Ixi-T'Chal caused a current to begin to flow with them, only boosting their speed as they made contact with their target current. Trixitico could hardly believe it. They began singing songs! Various warsongs to Tulcattocitlxaxin, oh how Trixitico remembered them from his youth! They did not stop, not even when the bottom of the hull came into view. He had to look. Blast... the ship had a rudder.

Trixitico shifted his conscious up. He hardly ever popped his conscious above the water, but with the Rays singing... he had to see the reactions of the seamen.

He found exactly what he wanted. To the pedals, the Corsairs of the Rina Admirer, the songs of the Ixitxachitl were hisses and alien vibrations from underneath the water. The sun was setting now. The song only grew louder and louder. Trixitico felt his heart pump! Was this how it felt to be a pedal against the Sangray?

Trixitico could not see his warriors in the evening sun, the golden surface of the water concealed the force. Still, paranoid, the pedals rushed into action. Two went to the front of the ship, mounting the heavy harpoons they used to spear ships, sharks, and whales. They fired directly into the water, but the sound was all around. A few of the pedals began to panic. They took to the rigging and ladders, climbing upward away from the surface of the sea.

Only now did the surface break, the darkened backs of around ten of the warriors crested, threateningly lashing their tails to intimidate the pedals. It had the desired effect, Trixitico very clearly heard the name "Devilray" come from their lips multiple times. It caused the pedals climbing the already climbing the rigging to pick up the pace. But the harpooners, and now multiple pedals armed in the fire-blasters of their kind, did not relent so easily. The men with guns formed two lines on either side of the ship at the other of the pedal leader.

The thundering sound of their fire-blasters began to add discordance to the Ixi-T'Chal song! Trixitico began to swear and beat his fins watching the conflict, howling in agony as a warrior was split through his backside by one of the damnable bullets, cursing the name of a pedal who ripped a warrior from the water with a harpoon.

Trixitico was fooled. He was so focused on the terror, panic, and actions of the pedals that he did not watch his warriors under the water. Trixitico shook in place, much to the worry of the onlooking priests, as he focused hard on the battle.

Then the ship disappeared!

In a smooth motion, the ship simply dropped under the waves like it had been filled with boulders. Frantic screams of the pedals were, in the course of moments, cut off through gurgles. Trixitico was stunned, he willed his conscious under the waves, and the satisfaction he felt was just as equivalent to a drag of the Hemopipe.

Hundreds of holes were bored into the bottom of the ship's hull as around 50 Ixi-T'Chal did exactly what Mixyao called for, they dragged the ship down to the bottom.

Trixitico laughed, he laughed hard and for a long time. Had he really feared the pedals? Could they really hope to withstand something like this? If they attacked like this, if they could do this regularly their food concerns would be a thing of the past. Perhaps, Trixitico thought, he had erred. Perhaps Mixyao had been exact, and now was the time for the Surge, not the Story.

Perhaps it was the Ixi-T'Chal song ending abruptly that pulled Trixitico's thoughts back to the present. Dozens of pedal corpses were beginning to fill the water. Too many even for the carnage. Trixitico watched in dismay as the pedals mounted a sneaky counter attack. Their vessel was lost, and with it their hope of any escape in the situation. But never once did the pedals fully give up. Even the ones who were climbing the rigging made their last stands. Trixitico was reminded of the physical disadvantages his people were at against pedals, even in the water. Tails were stopped with nothing more than a well-timed fist, daggers sank into the soft flesh of numerous warriors, a pedal priest caused words of power to break the warriors, and restore others.

The magic man wavered a wilderkelp and suddenly a small group of pedals could breath the water. One roared and attacked, striking down no less than eight of his warriors alone. This small group of pedals fought hard for thirty seconds before finally dying from dozens of stab wounds. The water around the sunken ship was filled with the blood of Ixi-T'Chal and pedal alike, but they had won.

Trixitico found himself pulled back to realty as he counted the number of dead warriors, 17. They couldn't risk that every time, not against every ship. But Trixitico had seen much from this fight, he saw where his people erred, he saw how they gathered their loses.

Trixitico continued watching the aftermath of the fight for some time, taking great pleasure in the way the warriors gathered and strung up the new tributes. He was only taken away from this observation by a gentle fin-flap to his side. Tchrixo, the same priest he had sent to keep an eye on the bloodstock's inventory. The brief annoyance he felt was washed away by the realization that the priest must have monitored the stock all day.

"I'm sorry my Consul, I return with my report-- but I was by rights unable to fulfill your full wish." The priest bowed deeply in the current.

Trixitico, having gotten over the temper he had earlier in the day, waved a fin, "I am not dissatisfied. Yet. Tell me the numbers."

Tchrixo, who had truthfully just been avoiding returning to the Consul, quiveringly began, "Well, my Consul, after thorough observation and searching I have determined we have... 6 remaining, my Consul..." the official title-usage was only to soften the blow.

Trixitico summersaulted and spoke in disbelief, shock in his eyes, "Priest you may have just had an eddy in the reef. That number is far unreasonably low."

The priest-ray hadn't miscounted. Tchrixo counted the stock for over an hour to make sure, and spent the next six asking the other priests how she could possibly break the news to the Consul.

"The official bloodstock is 6, my Consul."

Trixitico grasped a mini-coral covered pummice stone and launched it with all his force at the door! The soft stone exploded snapping the corals and sending them drifting to the ceiling.

"THAT IS LESS THAN HALF!" Trixitico roared at a volume he hoped would carry all the way to the north tower.

None of the priests spoke. Trixitico felt immense rage at this. How could they drift minnow-bodied in the face of this terrible news. Why didn't they share his fear?

"GO." The priests instantly turned to leave, but even that wasn't good enough for Trixitico in the moment, "NOW!" They darted.

Half the bloodstock in one day! Had Mixyao gone mad!? Yesterday Trixitico reduced it from 15 to 13! The audacity of Mixyao-- no. Grr. Trixitico began to chide himself. He should have been the one to take the stock, he had already thought of it yesterday, but he didn't do it, he didn't do it because history taught him to covet was to collapse. History told him. History told him. History told him!

Trixitico swam in rapid angry circles around his chamber! Then damn that Mixyao! Damn it all and his plans! Tomorrow he'd take the remaining bloodstock-- the lesser share. The thought made him hurl more of his belongings across the room and scream once more in rage.

Mixyao! Mixyao! MIXYAO!! Trixitico could murder him now, place one of his priests in the Consul spot, restore order. He could set the plans right, revive the blood stock without the help of any damned wildercrone--

The wildercrone.

Trixitico calmed himself. How many times had Mixyao had a similar thought about him? Something must have compelled him to reap the bloodstock. The wildercrone. This was their manipulation at work-- it was putting Sangray under their control.

Trixitico looked into the great mirror of the Sanguinoscope. When not powered by blood the entire device reflected the contents of his chamber. He looked at himself. He was thinner than before, his markings speckled, his fins nicked in a few spots. Dread came over Trixitico.

He had to play into their hand now... he would claim the bloodstock come morning.