Of the southern isles, the furthest reaches past where good sailors venture willingly.
I meet a rather nice siren who had lost her voice. She was ugly as the barnacle scrapped from a decommissioned hull. I taught her to write while our craft repaired the sails and the sailors made repentance to the wind Fae the had angered.
She taught me her favorite tale
A mermaid from of the elven bloodline, with hair as black as night and a voice that soothed the waves.
She would practice her songs alone. Was she afraid that other would think less of her unrehearsed verses? Or was she guarding her method of perfecting pitch? The siren could tell me neither.
The maiden of mer found the deepest, darkest, and least traveled spot in her waters. With her hair and scales so dark none could see her private spot as the swam passing’s above.
After her sessions and the rehearsal was finished the to perfection, the vents of the valley she made her studio erupted with sulfur cloud and a warm wash encore.
Being of pure sense she would have to leave as the clouds rose of course, lest the stink follow her back to the coral stage…
All was well with this arrangement between her and the lava that heard her private sessions and applauded after her confidence and craft was complete for the day.
Till one fateful day, a new singer had arisen from within under her nose.
She was younger and her performances effortless as they were impeccable. The new songstress could hit notes in tandem both high and an octave low. If the dark maiden was to match her and keep her title as the voice of the depths, she would need to master this.
With her confidence low and her mind not right she retreated into her hidden valley cove. Resolute that she wouldn’t leave until the technique had been mastered.
After the length of her normal practice session had passed. The sulfur started to rise.
She took comfort in the heat and it renewed her resolve to practice.
The cracked floor started to fill with light from the magma flows fighting against the cooling affects of the water.
The mermaid had grown blind to the sulfur
Deaf to the sound of steam boiling
her hidden practice spot was home to soul infused golems of liquid rock, who had listened to her private concerts for years. Her music stirred and calmed their hearts of rage and they would rest to the sound of her songs. But on that day
They could not so easily rest. As she practiced they came forth from their home of molten rock just beneath the valley’s floor.
To comfort her?
To capture her?
To conquest her?
The siren shrugged and telling me the why did not matter.
That a single lick of a golem’s finger against her fin, turned her tuning
from crafting vocals to torturous wails.
In response to her cries of pain, every golem in malifar’s realm rushed to her aid,
The ocean floor crumpled away, red and black golems of pure fire and molten rock, climbed over their corpses rushing to her aid.
A new island was born as the wind and waves stole the heat from the golems and the mermaid of the immortal elven bloodline encased eternal in the center of the siren’s cliffs could sing forever for her audience of stone, so long as the wind continues to blow through her guardian’s chords.