It’s Mer-May! Turian Mermaids, anyone?
I’m back on my bull-shit and working on the sequel to Fathomless Depths. I’m nowhere near ready to publish anything, but I’d be remiss if I didn’t share something for this month. So here’s a snippet from the first chapter:
The volus were penguin herders who split their time between the glacier choked ocean and snow strewn shores. They flourished in the near permanent freeze, bundled in feathers, skins, and furs, as at home beneath the waves as the flocks they attended.
Their seas were too cold for permanent merian outposts. During the summer when the ice pack retreated, scouts would investigate and report any changes or resources of note. But they always returned before the biting jaws of fall, with ice nipping at their tail fins.
It was considered the worst assignment in the merian military. No matter how intense the sun’s rays the waves always retained an uncomfortable chill.
Now, despite his heightened station in the world, Garrus found himself swimming the frigid waters with an envoy of merian scholars and soldiers. An aggrieved growl stuttered in his chest. Whatever the volus herders had found had better be worth this trip, he thought irritably.
The Normandy had been forced to turn back by heavy ice flows. Not built to sustain bludgeoning or gouging by glaciers, their merian escort had pressed on alone.
“This water is disgusting,” an older merian commented. “What’s the human phrase? A frozen hell-hole?”
Garrus hummed in annoyance. Lorik Qui’in had proven to be an invaluable asset when it came to negotiation with pirates or patrol discipline. The amber eyed merian was, however, a man accustomed to certain luxuries. Warm, tropical waters being one of those.
“Do you think it’ll be colder near the island?” Lorik wondered aloud, adjusting his own fur seal cape. “I cannot imagine bare rock holding much warmth.”
“Quiet, Qui’in.” Garrus admonished subvocally. The old man’s bitching was starting to rub off on the rest of the envoy and the last thing he wanted was to listen to muttered complaints the rest of the way to the volus capital.
Thankfully, Lorik kept his mouth shut and after what felt like a lifetime of plowing through the heavy waters, the rocky sea floor rolled up beneath them. Their arrival was heralded by the squawks and cries of thousands of penguins, their sleek, black and white bodies leaving trails of bubbles in their wake as they soared beneath the surf.
The water smelled like guano and Garrus watched Lorik gag in revulsion as a passing penguin shit right next to him. Where was the fucking volus chieftain they were meeting? Garrus felt like he wanted to crawl out of his plates.
Up ahead, the squat, round forms of the volus finally bobbed into view. They were heavily layered in penguin pelts, heads adorned with crowns made from seashells and brightly polished stones. Garrus could barely make out the bulbous, yellow eyes from beneath their trappings when the most ornately decorated of the bunch swam up to him.
“Tsk,” the chieftain slurped. “Greetings Palaven clan. I am Din Korlack, leader of the majestic Irune tribe.” He gestured stubby fingers bound in kelp at the other volus behind him. “Welcome to our shores. Your haste in this matter is most appreciated.”
