The Drowned Watcher

The Drowned Watcher is a terror spoken of by sailors, pearl-divers, and coast-dwellers who revere Merabyss. Said to lurk in the shadow of whirlpools and at the mouths of drowned trenches, the Watcher appears only when offerings to Merabyss have been neglected, when no blood, oil, or treasure is cast to the waves before setting sail.   It is less a single monster than a haunting presence: an embodiment of the ocean’s grievance. Some scholars claim the Drowned Watcher is a servant, perhaps even an aspect, of Merabyss herself, a guardian bound to punish the negligent. Others believe it is simply a legend born of shipwrecks and storms. Sailors, however, swear otherwise.   The few who survive, claim to have seen some kind of Kraken, but with a mass of eyes like drowned lanters shining just below the surface.  

We set sail from Eldalor to Nova Terra, without so much of a drop of oil cast into the bay. The Aderian Captain laughed when i told him we'd anger the Abyssal Mother. This is but a 'superstition for fishwives', he claimed. The sea was calm, not a ripple more than a whisper. He even showed his 'daughter' to another sailor, who objected again. 'Not two calamities can strike us, the Mother protects us and holds sway over the seas. Only Troubles you can see, are those from the Red Dragon.   But that night... gods preserve me... the water beneath the keel began to glow, as if lanterns were burning deep below. Then came the eyes. Dozens of them, staring up from the black. The water rose, not in waves, but in shapes... tendrils, slick as weed and sharp as hooks. One of them scraped across the hull, leaving gouges like coral teeth. Then another seized poor Marnis by the leg, and before we could cut him free, he was dragged screaming into the deep. The sound he made still rings in my ears, like he was drowing before he even touched the water.   And the voice... aye, there was a voice. It came with the rush of the tide, speaking in a tongue I half-knew from my grandmother’s prayers. It asked one thing: "Where is my due"?   We threw every barrel of wine, every coin, every trinket into the sea. The pious captain even cut his hand and let the blood drip into the waves. Only then did the eyes dim and the water settle. But when dawn came, the ship was empty but for me. The crew was gone, as if they’d never walked the deck. I was left adrift, and when they found me a week later, the planks still bore the gouge-marks of the Watcher’s claws.   So laugh if you will, but I tell you this: the sea remembers, and the Watcher waits. Forget Merabyss, and the deep will not forget you!

— Old Varlen, dockside drunk in Nidoran in Gylevail 1,051 AB