Downfallen in the Wake of the Slobbernaught

Fanfic for "Pangorio"

"Slobber and Teeth"

When the Slobbernaught sails away, nothing stands tall. Masts splinter, walls crumble, and lives scatter. Ships that once rode proud upon the sea lie in pieces, and towns that once sang with trade are now nothing but smoke. All are downfallen.

To sailors, the word downfallen is a warning. It is whispered in ports as a curse, a reminder that no wall, no fleet, no fortress can withstand the mimic crew. To the Mimickyn pirates, it is a boast — the measure of their triumph is written in ash, wreckage, and bones.

Every attack ends the same. Cargo is stolen, survivors dragged screaming into the bellies of chests and barrels, and the sea runs dark with ruin. Then the ship is gone, vanishing into the horizon as suddenly as it appeared, leaving behind only silence and smolder.

Legends say the Slobbernaught will always return. Whether after ten years or twenty, its coming ensures that the sea and shore alike will again be brought low. And when it does, the cry rises once more from those who remember:

“All are downfallen.”