#tannin

The price was too low, I should have known. In one second there was a flash of red flesh and rusted mettal and the ship was in pieces, and the tannin began to pick off those left one by one. I attempted to flee, but I too have stamina, and where would I go.

Sitting down on the timbers, I felt as if I would die there and now, so I might do one last kind thing, and released the shining lobsters. In this place, I felt as they would be safe. And as I did so, the shape paused. She came from the water and she spoke to me.

“YOU ARE NOT LIKE THE OTHERS. FOR WHAT REASON ARE YOU HERE?”

And that is how I met the terror of the seas, the great red beast of raw flesh and metal scars, broken from the Morningstar Skyscraper in Dis to the sea to become the breaker of ships, the greatest and wide-awake.

I informed her that my goal was to chronicle the non-demonic beings of Hell on the way to a friend. “THEN YOU MUST KNOW A TRUTH THE DEVILS WILL NEVER SPEAK HELL MUST FALL, IN RUST AND IN WATER. NO CHILD OF THE FALLEN STAR ALIVE PERMITS MY KIND TO EXIST, AND NO DEMON MUST BE LEFT SPARED. THIS IS WHY I AM THE BREAKER OF SHIPS.”

Ah, yes, the Leviathan rebellion. For in all empires there must be an underclass, and in Hell there are many. The tanninim were here before the fallen, and of the Fallen’s crimes, the conversion of the great serpents to infrastructure is amongst the greatest. I saw the refuse of what she had been built into before.

I asked about the rebellion of the devotees of Lillith, quietly and silently attempting to alter the pit in an image beyond hate. I was interrupted by her right in the middle.

“I DO NOT SPEAK TO THEM, FOR THEY HAVE NEVER SPOKEN TO ME. IF THEIR COMPASSIONS EXTEND TO US, WE HAVE NOT SEEN IT. WE DO NOT TRUST THEM. WHAT SOCIETY DO THEY TRY TO SAVE, I WONDER? ONE THAT IS BUILT UPON OUR BACKS, THE WRETCHED OF THE PIT?”

I noted she referred to a “we,” and asked her if she worked with any other varieties of Tanninim.

“...I WILL NOT SPEAK THEIR NAMES, BUT I DO. THEY… RESPECT ME. THEY FEAR ME. THEY DO NOT LIKE ME. THE CHILDREN OF THE FALLEN STAR AMONGST THE SEA SEEM TO ENJOY MY COMPANY. I AM… UNSURE OF HOW TO FEEL ABOUT THIS.”

There was further conversation. She remembered her parents and how they were taken from her, and has three guesses as to where they are if their frames still live. I aided in narrowing it down to two, which may have been cold comfort, but she still seemed to take some in such.

She then twitched and let out a howl that I… cannot convey in text. I saw a gash in her side, and asked if it hurt. “IT HURTS, THE SEA OF SALT AND ICHOR GNAWS AT MY SKIN. BUT IT IS THE PAIN OF FREEDOM, A PAIN FAR LESS THAN THAT OF CHAINS, AND A PAIN I WOULD ENDURE A THOUSAND YEARS MORE.”

I will note, when people say that, they are usually LYING, insomuch as the pain still DEEPLY SUCKS and they would rather live free without it. I do not think I could change the institutional issues that lead to her raw skin, which is perhaps why those of her situation believe pain is inescapable. Nevertheless, I offered her some healing salve.

I was thankful for buying it in bulk from that… well, let us call her an affable scoundrel of a crab-woman, which has allowed me to keep a canister of it on myself at all times. Most who know healing magic find it useless, and the attitude of wizards is that “the only wound that matters is the last one you take,” (which they are largely correct in until they aren’t), but for those who cannot cast themselves it is a godsend.

She… recoiled at first when I attempted to apply it to the wound, but convinced of my goodwil, she allowed me to apply it. It required the full canister, but it worked, better than I had expected in fact. I saw scales on the surface growing, an iridescent dark violet to blue-green in color.

I know that the tanninim can see, but as creatures born in darkness they do so without eyes. But, I could feel whatever she saw with, there was a look there in… some emotion I cannot quite name. I could perhaps attempt, but that would be gauche. My best description would be a sort of twilight between euphoria and anomie.

This was enough for her to offer me a ride. I get a sense that even amongst her comrades kindnesses like this are few, and the way she spoke of those she gained like treasures gave me further evidence.

Not that I fault those others. All creatures embedded in struggle do as they can; because it is far more difficult to do what you can’t…

...I apologize, that was inane, my brother-sister is far greater in philosophy than myself. She did hum-whistle an old lullaby as I rode upon her back. With her permission I may include it in the notes, but it is a composition about the passing of the ten moons before the pit emerged, the means by which the tanninim of old determined the need for sleep in a world without sun.

It is one of the rare relics of this place before the great wound of the fall was formed, and one I will cherish forever. I did not say this to her for fear of… well, for fear, but I wonder what happened to them in the formation of the pit. I have hypotheses on which may have been scattered, but investigation may be required. I hope what I find might give her some hope…

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Given that my version of Hell is inspired by all that is terrible about the US, it is probably no surprise that beyond those treated as full citizens, there's an underclass or rather several. 

The damned are one, and another is the tanninim, the species that Leviathan was the ruler over. And yes, this is me using obscure mythology yet again, you know me.

For the record, they're not meant to be a direct allegory for any singular millitant oppressed group, just inspired by them generally combined with in-universe Watsonian logic. Tolkien was right about allegory even if he was dead wrong about the design of Hobbits (they should totally be weird bunny-things, it's a more interesting design, you bitchass dead coward).