Aaron Besson's Blog

From the Things You Should Really Know About Dept.: Leviathan Ages

This year when I attended the H.P. Lovecraft Film Festival in Portland I had the opportunity to watch many excellent films, but none of them stood out as much as a barely three and a half minute piece called Leviathan Ages. The brainchild of Jon Yeo, The film creates a world where the post-industrial and the timeless collide. Ancient entities rise at the beckoning of their emperor, and all involved fulfill their roles at the end of an era. A spoken word piece is the only narrative throughout the film, and further solidifies the tone of the film that is both apocalyptic and regenerative all at once.

I had the opportunity to ask Jon some questions about Leviathan Ages, and he was kind enough to indulge me.

Some of the elements of Leviathan Ages seem Asian and Mesoamerican in nature. Were there any particular mythologies that inspired you?

Jon: It’s partly an open love letter to Shadow of the Colossus, possibly my all time favourite PlayStation game.  But I do have an interest in the visuals of religious sculpture from throughout human history, ancient to modern. I’m not religious at all, but I find the imagery from all religions pretty fascinating. Maybe it’s from my graphic design roots, the idea that you can distill a huge concept into an image or an  object in such a powerful way. That’s what interest me about idols, statues and carvings. I enjoy the design of mythological concepts, it’s character design. But I love the design of fictional mythologies too, in sci-fi / fantasy films and games.

 I’m also particularly taken with remnants from ancient lost civilisations, especially decrepit heads and faces. They look like they are sat motionless watching wave after wave of human tide wash in and out in front of them, for hundreds of years. I think we would see ourselves differently from their point of view.

What do you see as the relationship between the beings in Leviathan Ages and the modern age?

Jon: They are meant as allegorical. We see the central character resurrect nine of his predecessors, they bring the destruction of his era. At the end he has become one of them, like a repeating cycle. It’s a basic reflection on how we make the same mistakes over and over again. Often this is because we lack the observational perspective of deep time, we are not here for long.

Can you talk a little about what inspired the poem read during the film?

Jon: The idea behind this was to create a thread across the whole film that could mimic a hymn, prayer, song or mantra. Also it could be something which fed the viewer just enough stimulus to interpret meanings in their own way, to give the right tones and moods without being too explicit or obvious.





 How much experience did you have with film making and CG going into making Leviathan Ages?
Jon:I work mainly in commercials, and I’ve been doing that for years. It involves shooting live action and lots of VFX. Indie film making is something I do very occasionally when I can fit it in. I dearly wish I could do more, I’ve got loads of ideas which will never escape my brain.

 What was the most challenging part of making the film?

Jon: Making the film was the hardest part of making the film. I had the initial basic idea in 2010. I started designing and sketching it out in 2011. We finished the film in 2013. Everything was against the odds.

I saw Leviathan Ages at the H.P. Lovecraft film festival this year and was absolutely enthralled by it. How has its reception been overall?
Jon: You are one of the few!

 The most common reaction is “It looks nice but there’s no story”. Which I think is a shame, but I understand why most people find it hard to grasp. I think with film people expect three acts, a protagonist, an antagonist and a mcguffin.

 I enjoy regular traditional dramatic narrative, but I’m just not interested in exploring that in my own personal work. I enjoy the interpretation you can indulge in with other media. With a song, a painting or a poem the author need not be obvious. They can be oblique and abstract. They often allow you to be carried away on a mood and a tone, and it’s as much about what you bring to it yourself. I’m interested in how a short can operate in the same way. It means I’m marginal, but I’m OK with that.

The full film and information about it can be found at the official website. Jon's other work can be seen at his personal website.

I'm Too Sexy For My Niche: It's Complicated.

This is the one zombie story I'm ever going to write. It's not going anywhere. Enjoy.

                IT’S COMPLICATED                Aaron Besson     
       Sam hadn't seen another person for about a month now. He had hoped for a while that there'd be other survivors. However, between the total lack of any human presence on the internet when he could find a working computer, and no fires lighting the night other than his own, he had given up that hope soon enough. He had forgotten where he had heard the phrase "You don't know if you're the last man on Earth or not, you just are.", but it fit. On the semi-bright side, Sam had not seen any large groups zombies for a while now. The downside is, where ravenous running zombies are concerned ,all it takes is one.        Ralph (That was the zombie’s name, as far as Sam was concerned. He just looked like a Ralph.) had been chasing Sam for quite a few days. Having Sam as his sole prey seemed to give Ralph his motivation. Really wanting to not get eaten gave Sam his. Sam might elude the zombie for a day or two, allowing for breaks in order to get some rest. However when Sam went out trying to find supplies or someplace safe, Ralph would find him and resume the chase.
       At one point, Ralph chased Sam into and up a ten-story apartment building and onto the roof. Sam's choices being few, he ran and leaped to the roof of the adjacent building, barely avoiding falling down into the alley below. Sam saw that Ralph did not attempt to jump across. He just stood there, looking at Sam. Not really wanting Ralph to get the idea to run back downstairs should he attempt to find a way down, Sam stayed right where he was. So did Ralph. When he saw that Ralph really wasn't going anywhere as long as Sam was in line of sight, Sam realized he could relax a little. He had a couple bottles of water and some Power Bars in his bag. Not enough to survive a protracted siege, but hopefully enough to take some time to figure a way out.

            That had been three days ago. After some delicate experimentation, Sam decided he could actually get some sleep, and Ralph wasn't going to go anywhere. Sam spent the rest of his time considering his options, reading and re-reading a dog-eared copy of Robinson Crusoe he had found (It never really stopped being funny) and, having acquired somewhat of a morbid streak, talking to Ralph. He'd ask Ralph how he was doing, tell him how he was doing, ask Ralph's thoughts on the weather, if he would care for a Power Bar, read some from the book to him, and generally carry on a one-sided conversation. Ralph just stood there in his grimy bike messenger outfit and stared at Sam through all of it. "Talking to zombies was probably a sign of cracking," thought Sam, "and if it wasn't, should be."
       On this morning, Sam woke up from a light sleep on the rooftop to the sound of something landing near his head. Startled, he looked around in a panic to see where Ralph was. Ralph was still on the rooftop of the other building as he always was, however now he was sitting on the edge, his messenger bag opened and sitting next to him, and he was holding something in his hand. It was then that Sam saw the cell phone near where his head had been. Sam stood up, picked up the phone, and looked at Ralph. After a couple moments of staring at Sam, Ralph looked down at the thing in his hand and fumbled with it for a minute.
        The phone in Sam's hand vibrated. A message icon appeared on the window.
        Sam found himself forcing himself to hope that it was another survivor who just then tried to contact him through a phone that wasn't his, but he wasn't so far gone as to be able to deny what he just saw Ralph doing. He scrolled to the text feature on the phone and pressed 'enter'. The text read “hngry“.
        "Great." thought Sam. The zombie had enough brain function to toss him one of his cell phones and point out the bloody obvious. The day was off to a good start. Sam grinned. "What the hell," he thought, "I've been talking to the rotting bastard. A text conversation shouldn't be above me". Using the phone's keyboard, Sam texted back “Sorry. Can't help you“ and pressed 'send'.
       Ralph must have gotten the text, because he looked down at the phone. He then spent some time looking at it, then he looked back up at Sam, then back down again. His hand slowly fumbled over the phone again. Sam’s phone vibrated.
       “wht now.”
       “You're asking me?” Sam texted back, wondering where this was going, if anywhere at all.
       “hgry”
       “Bit of a broken record there.”
       “tireddd”
       “Sorry. At least you’re sitting.”
       “wat noww”
       Sam's shoulders slumped. The zombie was just running on autopilot, texting random immediate needs that his rotting brain could still process. What really concerned Sam was the realization he had expected more. "Nothing" he texted, and as he pressed 'enter' he wondered why he had even done that. His phone vibrated after a minute.
       “hng”
       “Too bad”
       “Who you”
       That was unexpected. Sam was about to throw the phone over the side and be done with this silliness when that text came in, a question.

       All the same, Sam didn’t want to be rude. “I'm Sam. What’s your name?”
       “yor nam”
       Sam, suspecting his conversation partner was about to put the needle down on a new broken record, took the bull by the proverbial horns and texted again. “Your name is Ralph.”
       “ralp”
       “Yes, you are Ralph.”
       “i rlp”
       “You catch on quick.”
       “i rlp yyu sam”
       Sam looked up from the phone to gaze over at Ralph. He waved at Ralph, at which point the zombie's free hand spasmed frantically in a waving motion on the roof's edge. Sam resumed texting. Best not to ask too much of Ralph's socialization skills.
      “Why are you still here?”
      “stil her”
      “Why?”
      “hngy”
      Sam felt frustration and anger growing inside him. Standing as close to the edge of the roof as he could, he absolutely lit into Ralph. "I know you’re hungry, you ass!" he yelled. "I've spent the last couple days on this roof because you're fucking hungry! My life consists of this roof, a Power Bar and a few swallows of water because you're fucking hungry! You know what? Tough shit! If you're so goddamned hungry, jump your rotting fucking carcass over here and do something about it! Come on Ralph! Leap of faith! I'm right here! Do it! I won't even run, scout‘s honor!"
        Ralph just stared at Sam for long minutes. Sam, drained after his outburst, sat down on the edge of his rooftop and started laughing. It was a laugh that scared him even though it felt so good. He felt the phone vibrate again.
        “wat funy”
        "Oh, this is too rich." thought Sam. He sent multiple texts in rapid fire, as if it made a difference to the dead thing across from him.
        “You. That’s funny”
        “You asking me what's funny. That’s funny”
        “Me telling you. That’s hilarious”
        Ralph looked at the texts for a long time, then fumbled over the keyboard again.
        “ralp tel u smting”
        Sam looked at Ralph with mock approval, then texted back “Ok tell me something.”
        “Im scared sam”
        That well and truly unnerved Sam a bit. That was almost lucid. Sam looked across the space between them into Ralph's dead eyes. Ralph head was shaking slowly, his free hand starting its spastic drumbeat on the roof’s edge again. Sam felt the beginnings of a conflict inside of him that he had never known before, even before the world went to shit. It was so much less terrifying to think this was just a thing trying to eat him. So, so much less terrifying. He regained enough focus to text back “What are you scared of?”
        Ralph's hand fumbled over the phone. Sam could've sworn he heard a low moan as his phone vibrated.

       “Mme”
       That unnerved Sam further. He didn't think for one instant that this thing across from him wouldn't try to take a chunk out of him if he was close enough, but damn it if it wasn't making him feel pity for it. There couldn't be a God, this was too cruel. The phone vibrated again.
       “plea hlp”
       Oh God, don't do this.
       “scard sam”
       No no no no no
       “pea help”
       "Stop it! Fucking stop it! WHY DON'T YOU END IT, YOU FUCKING MONSTER!?" yelled Sam, realizing as soon as the words left his mouth that they weren't directed at Ralph.
       Sam dropped the phone on the roof, and started pacing, smacking his hands against the sides of his head, and started heaving with sobs. Eventually, he dropped to his knees and just cried. He cried like he never did when he saw a wave of these things running into his apartment building just as he was coming around the corner to get his girlfriend to get out of the city. Cried like he never did when his mother's phone never picked up when he called to see if she was okay, a phone that always picked up on the first ring. Cried like he never did when he realized that everything he had thought was his life was never coming back again. This was anguish, and he knew that this was as good as it would ever get. As the pain rode back down to a dull ache, he heard the phone vibrate again. He looked at it for a long minute. Then, he picked himself up slowly and retrieved it.
       “u ok”
Sam felt the tears coming back, then stopped.
       “Yes, I'm ok”
       “sur”
       “I'm sure”
       Sam sat back down on the edge across from Ralph and looked at him for what seemed like forever. He knew what he had to say, and it needed to be said. "Ralph,” He yelled. “I hope you can understand this; Just fall. Push off from the ledge and fall. It will be all over. You won't be hungry, you won't be scared of anything ever again. You'll be okay. Just push off and in a second it will all be alright, okay? You can do it, just push."
       Ralph looked at the phone for a long while, then looked up at Sam. Ralph’s head started twitching, building up to spasms where Sam thought it would fly right off.
       "Ralph!" He yelled. "Knock it off! Hey! Stop!"
       Eventually, Ralph's spasming stopped. He looked at Sam again, then put his attention back to the phone. Sam's vibrated.
       “Cnt b alone”
       Sam sighed. It will be ok. “You can do it, really. You won't be alone anymore.”
       He could've sworn that Ralph let out a sigh as he texted again.
       “Ddnt meen mee”
       Sam looked at the text. Then, Sam and the world broke into a million pieces and became new again.
       Sam lost all track of how long he talked to Ralph across the alley, or what about, but the sun was going down and he was getting tired. He didn't even realize that his phone had vibrated, but there was an envelope on the screen. He pushed 'enter'.
       “uo ok”
       Sam giggled and texted back.“I'm ok man. You?”
       “I ok”
       “Alright. I need to get to sleep. See you in the morning?”
       “ys”
       “Good night Ralph”
       “goo nghtt sm”
       Sam frowned at the low power bar on his phone. He really hoped Ralph had a phone charger.

Leviathan Ages by Jon Yeo

The video teaser would be here if YouTube wasn't being pissy. You can see the teaser video here.
This is something from the You Really Should Put It In Your Eyeballs Dept. I saw this at the 2014 H.P. Lovecraft Film Festival and, despite the brevity (it clocks in at 3:33) of it, it probably had the biggest impact on me of any of the features shown. Creator Jon Yeo puts forth a dream-like, surreal vision of an Emperor being awakened by nine entities. Despite the fantastical nature of the film, there's an internal consistency to it that leaves you contemplating the mythology, cosmology, and magic of what you've just watched.

According to Yeo, Leviathan Ages will continue to make the rounds at festivals until close to the end of the year. If you get any chance to see this, you're doing yourself a grave disservice by letting it pass by.

More info about Leviathan Ages can be found here.

The Imago Sequence- Laird Barron

The Imago Sequence is Laird Barron's third collection of stories, and a genuinely disturbing read. Barron is a name that I've heard many times as a brave light in Horror, and he does not disappoint. The Imago Sequence consists of nine stories, the stories range from "Old Virginia" which starts as a military fiction that soon goes off the rails to "Hallucigenia" which takes the black magical hillbilly cult to a new level all the way  to the title story, which is Lovecraft's "Pickman's Model" exposed to gamma radiation and leaves you at the end shuddering. The range of theme that Barron utilizes is as diverse as his pacing and layering of tension is consistent. The cosmic horror that Barron creates and utilizes defies physical description and personality type, unless you consider all-permeating, eternal Hunger with a capital "H" as a personality type. The Imago Sequence is not a collection that lends itself to a quick read simply because Barron's style lends itself greatly to a slow read with a pacing that builds tension in a masterful fashion. Definitely give this a read. Five stars.

The Worlds of Hurt- Brian Hodge

The Worlds of Hurt is a collection of stories revolving around Brian Hodge's own mythos, the Misbegotten. They are a group of tragic immortals who must feed on something, that "something" being different for each of them and often creating a visceral narrative in the story itself, in order to survive or at least endure. Every story stands on it's own, but in reading it from beginning to end the reader receives insights into the mythos and cosmology of the Misbegotten that adds extra horrific depth through the first three stories in a cumulative manner that reaches an apex in the final story "World of Hurt", a short novel that reveals the great horror associated with the Misbegotten. Hodge's writing style is engrossing and complex without being confusing. The utterly disturbing motives that drive not just the Misbegotten but also the "regular" people in the stories are laid to bare at a pace that creates a tension while reading that is enjoyable in a way that few works of horror that I've come across are able to match. This has been one of my favorite reads of the year, definitely worth five stars.
I contacted Brian and he was gracious enough to take part in a short interview regarding Worlds of Hurt and his writing in general:
AB: Music has a central focus in "The Alchemy of the Throat" and is used in describing cosmic horror elements of "World of Hurt". I've also had the pleasure of reading your story "Cures For A Sickened World" which delves strongly into Black Metal aesthetics. What place does music hold for you in horror?
BH: A pretty foundational place, really. But it has a pretty foundational place in life overall. I nearly always work to music, and it’s often dark or moody stuff. Plus, as a player, I sometimes like to make music that’s a sonic expression coming from the same place as the prose. That got so out of hand with Whom the Gods Would Destroy that it triggered its own soundtrack.
Then there are times I’m interested in exploring creators as characters, and the process of creation, and so on. Although I feel oddly repelled by writing about writers. There’s something about that that feels narcissistic to me. I’m much more drawn to narratively exploring music and visual art … maybe because, as languages, they’re much more universal. They engage the senses directly.
AB: What did you want to do different, if anything, in Worlds of Hurtin contrast to previous works?
BH: It’s an omnibus edition, and that’s something I’d never done. It brings together the first four installments in an ongoing mythos that I keep coming back to every so often: “The Alchemy of the Throat,” “The Dripping of Sundered Wineskins,” “When the Bough Doesn’t Break,” and World of Hurt. That’s three novellas and a short novel. They were all written years apart, so in a way, while still telling an unfolding episodic narrative, they all reflect different interests and concerns and states of mind.
I was needing to get World of Hurt ported over into e-book form, and thought, well, why not package everything together at this point. Instead of just converting over the one book, why not give the reader everything that preceded it, too? As I go forward with new works in that universe, consolidating the previous stuff into a single volume will make it a lot easier for readers to have it all, rather than telling them, in essence, “You have to get this novel and these three story collections.”
AB: Despite the monstrosity factor of the supernatural entities in the stories in Worlds of Hurt, the horror inflicted by humanity seems to be a predominant reoccurring theme. Any thoughts on that?
BH: I think that would be how such entities would operate most effectively in our world. That they’d get things done either through us, or by hiding behind our skins. It’s not only stealth mode … just consider what they would have to work with. Way too many of our species don’t need that much of a nudge.
AB: Do you see any major vital trends in Horror literature occurring that weren't there when you started writing?
BH: It would take someone more conscious of a long-term overview than I am to track something like that. It’s not anything that registers with me. I just do what I do, and try to always get better at it, and to keep challenging myself instead of digging a rut to live in. To me, being concerned with trends leads to the sort of silly conversations that a friend once related. He was talking to his agent, who was telling him, “Why don’t you write a book about a devil dog? Devil dogs are hot right now!” That was our go-to punchline for a while.
AB: What are your opinions on Horror as social commentary?
BH: It’s certainly well suited to the task. It can get away with being as rude as it needs to be, and you have the option of couching whatever you have to say in some potent metaphors, if you don’t feel like being blunt about it. That’s definitely informed a share of my work. Even the story you mentioned earlier, “Cures For A Sickened World,” which I wrote for the upcoming first Spectral Book of Horror Stories … in part that’s an allergic reaction to the rancid thing that journalism has become in the age of click-bait. “Let’s throw up any old hasty piece of incendiary bullshit, because it’ll piss people off and they’ll show it to everybody else so they can be pissed off too.” And so the signal-to-noise ratio gets ever more lopsided.
AB: What would you personally like to see happen with the Horror genre, either through your own writing or the writing of others?
BH: I don’t remember who or where it was, but I once saw someone make an interesting distinction between horror and science fiction: that science fiction is a literature of ideas and horror is a literature of emotion. That’s an oversimplification, of course. Sweeping generalizations usually are. Switching to film for a moment, you can’t look at David Cronenberg’s body of work in the genre and find it light on ideas. I got the point, though. I understood where that was coming from. But there’s no reason that the two should be mutually exclusive. So I’d like to see horror be unwilling to cede that ground. To continue to strive to put forth the best ideas about the world and human existence that it can, and develop them as far as possible.
AB: What would your opinion be if Worlds of Hurt inspired others to write stories revolving around the Misbegotten?
BH: I’m sure I’d be fine with that, and find it very flattering, although I’d rather do more work on the mythology before turning it open source.

Wordslinger Shootout time

The second round of  Kenneth W. Cain's Wordslinger Shootout has begun. It's me vs. KT "Calamity Jane", doing what we do best with the writing prompt "Wire Brush". Vote on your favorite and leave a comment for a chance to win great stuff to read. Go here.

Review: Codex Born- Jim C. Hines

Codex Born is the second book in the Magic Ex Libris series, and an excellent continuation from the first book Libriomancer. Our hero Isaac Vaino, librarian and covert Libriomancer, a magician capable of pulling items directly out of books (I KNOW, RIGHT?! SIGN ME UP!!!), is sent to discover what killed a Wendigo. This is a problem, as whatever can kill a Wendigo is something is probably something that can cause a lot of damage to...well, pretty much anything. 
This is the part where I say that Wendigo killing is the very least of our hero's concerns.
Codex Born is an great follow up to Libriomancer on many levels. On top of providing a new playground for Hines' unique and wonderfully consistent literary Magical system to run around in, you also learn more about key players in the story line, both friend and foe. You discover some interesting things about Gutenberg as well, things that not only affect future stories in the series, but possibly some things that have already occurred as well. 
I recommend this series to anyone who loves to read, simply because Hines takes what we have done with our imaginations whenever we read and makes it just a little bit closer to real. I can't appreciate that enough. Five stars.

State of the Aaron Address

Kenneth W. Cain is hosting a fun little competition over at his blog wherein sixteen authors are paired up, given a word prompt, and are turned loose to write what they can out of that. I am one of those lucky sixteen who will be taking part in the shootout.  What is to be won? Nothing less than FORTUNE AND GLORY!!



Actually, it's just for fun, much like caps locking FORTUNE AND GLORY!! At any rate, the details can be found here. A lot of good reading to be had from all involved, so check it out.

Review: The Rhesus Chart- Charles Stross

The Rhesus Chart by Charles Stross is the most recent full-length novel in the Laundry Files, an on-going series that combines espionage, bureaucracy, and cosmic horror equally, and it's sometimes difficult to separate the three. It is also probably the best book in the series thus far.
Without giving anything away, The Laundry comes into contact with vampires (the non-sparkly variety) and it all goes horribly wrong and downhill from there. I'm marking this as the best in the series because of all the books in it thus far, The Rhesus Chart has the most straight-ahead plot without limiting complex subplots, the most character development on multiple levels, and a wrap-up that left me just saying "daaaaaaaamn" over and over again. It's an incredibly quick 370 page read, which is unfortunately because you really don't want it over and done with as quickly as it is. Very well done, 5 stars.

I'm Too Sexy For My Niche- Sinbad And the Eye of Dagon

I'm Too Sexy For My Niche is a hopefully not too frequent series of rejected stories of mine meant for ultra-specific theme anthologies that I don't think are ever going to see the proverbial light of day. This is my way of letting them think they're loved, even if I haven't smiled since they were born.
Sinbad and the Eye of Dagon

by Aaron Besson

The robed figure lurched through the dark streets of Basrah. Its gaze took in every detail as it scurried along, finally stopping before a wooden door with a rose carved on it. Looking around briefly, it pushed the door open with a bandaged hand and went in.

The place was dimly lit, with immense clouds of pungent hookah smoke interweaving with the lilting sound of a maqam player. The figure gazedslowly around the room at the few people smoking and reclining on great pillows, then shambled towards the man behind the great, wooden bar.

The landlord looked up from the bar he was wiping down and smiled politely as the stranger approached him. The smile disappeared from the landlord's face as the figure gurgled something quietly to him. He showed great hesitance in responding to the robed one, until two small gold nuggets dropped on the bar top. The man looked at the nuggets, looked back up, then quickly nodded his head off to the far corner as he snatched up the gold and found another part of the bar to clean.

The robed figure looked to where the landlord gestured, then slowly made his way towards the two men reclining there. The men looked up from their hookah as they were approached. The taller of the two chewed casually on the stem of his hookah as his friend stared silently at their new guest. The taller man nodded at the stranger. "Greetings, sahib," said the man, making a welcoming gesture with the hookah stem. "Can we help you?"

The hooded figure looked over the two men, then settled his sight on the taller of the two. "Greetings, effendi." he said in a raspy voice. "A thousand pardons for my intrusion, but are you he who is known as Sinbad?"

The man quietly assessed the hooded figure again for a long moment, taking a draw from the hookah. Finally he said "Aye, I am he. Who asks?"

The hooded figure gave a gurgling sigh. "It is a true honor to finally have found you, effendi. The tales of your deeds have rang far and wide throughout the land and seas. It gives me pleasure unending to stand before the greatest of sailors and warriors."

Sinbad's companion leaned back against his pillow and gave a great laugh. "Ha! You will cause Sinbad's head to swell and his turban to unravel with talk like that, sahib!"

Sinbad picked up a date from a bowl on the low table and threw it at his friend, who laughed again as it bounced off his bald head. "You must forgive him," said Sinbad with a good humored smirk. "Jabir is an excellent first mate, but otherwise simple of mind. Your name, sahib?"

"Forgive my blathering, effendi. I am Al-Moheet, a humble trader of antiques and rarities. I come to you with a quest worthy of your greatness."

Sinbad arched an eyebrow. "Indeed? Please, sit and regale me." Sinbad gestured for Al-Moheet to sit and offered the hookah stem to him.

Al-Moheet bowed in apology. "I thank you for your kind offer, effendi, but forgive me if I prefer to stand. My bones are old, and standing allows me some measure of dignity."

Sinbad gave a small shrug. Al-Moheet continued. "I have searched for you to ask you to find a jewel of great worth to me, a jewel I will pay you handsomely to reacquire for me."

"'Reacquire', you say?" asked Sinbad.

"Yes, effendi. The details of the theft will shed proper light on why only the employment of one such as you will do. It is one of the great prizes of my collection, an emerald as large as a man's head. As great as its worth in sequins would be, the sentimental value is a thousand times greater to me. Its theft has caused me no little grief, I assure you."

"Your pain is clear, sahib. Who is the thief that causes you such suffering?"

Al-Moheet gave a shudder. "A foul race, brave Sinbad, true monsters of the deep abyss. 'Awlad el Dagon', they are called. They rule beneath the seas, yet come to land to steal from honest men such as you and I. It is they who stole my emerald, and great rewards are yours should you reclaim it."

Sinbad sat up and leaned forward. "Your tale is truly worthy of consideration, sahib. What is this great reward you offer?"

Al-Moheet reached into his deep robes and pulled out a purse which he tossed to Sinbad. "This is but a trifle of what shall be yours when you return with my property."

Sinbad picked up the heavy pouch and poured its contents into his hand. Out fell a large nugget of gold, easily the size of an eagle's egg. Jabir whistled upon seeing it.

"You shall have twenty of those upon the return of my property." said Al-Moheet.

Sinbad held the nugget up close. He noticed that it was covered with small coral growths and barnacles, and had a briny smell to it. Alas, gold is gold, and this was undoubtedly worth many, many sequins. Sinbad gave a slow nod of approval. Jabir's eyes shone almost as brightly as the gold. If Sinbad knew one thing of his friend, it was his love for treasure.

"You shall have your emerald, Al-Moheet," said Sinbad, "Where has it been taken?" Al-Moheet handed Sinbad a roll of parchment, which he unrolled to reveal a map of the western sea.

Al-Moheet pointed a bandaged finger at a small symbol on the map in the middle of the ocean. "The temple of the Awlad al Dagon is here. That is where they will have hidden the emerald. You must make haste, effendi, as their temple only sits above the waves until the new moon, when it will sink beneath the waters once more for one hundred years."

"If this map is correct, the voyage is but two weeks’ time and easily accomplished. What of temple itself?" Sinbad asked as he perused the map.

"Be warned," said Al-Moheet in a hushed tone. "Great and foul is the magick that the Awlad al Dagon use. You must be wary, or all will be for naught." Al-Moheet pulled out a translucent pouch that looked much like a jellyfish. "When you find the emerald, place this over it before you pick it up. There a magically warded gems on the altar where the emerald will be. If you pick it up before concealing it, the Awlad al Dagon will know, and your lives could be forfeit."

Sinbad took the pouch, which felt cold and rubbery in his hand. He looked it over, then placed it his belt pouch with the gold. "Well noted. We shall set sail on the morrow. Meet me here in a month's time and you shall have your property restored."

Al-Moheet bowed. "My gratitude is beyond words, Sinbad! Good journey to you, and may fortune fill your sails. I will await your return." He bowed once more, then lurched out of the cafe.

Jabir looked to his friend as Al-Moheet left. "He is an odd fellow, to be sure. Do you trust him?"

"His passion to regain his property is sincere, and his money is good. That will serve as well as trustworthiness until it does not." replied Sinbad. "Gather the crew, Jabir. We sail tomorrow!"

Sinbad stood at the prow of his ship, gazing along the horizon as his ship cut through the crashing waves. Basrah had disappeared behind them a week ago and the voyage had been uneventful, blessing them with strong winds and clear skies.

Jabir joined Sinbad at the prow, and noticed Sinbad's furrowed brow. "What ails you, Sinbad? The journey has been without peril."

"Aye, and that has given me much time to think. In all my travels, not once have I heard of these Awlad el Dagon, and no legends of this temple of theirs. I say in all humbleness that I find not knowing of them suspicious. Despite our fortune thus far, from hereon we shall be cautious."

"Best to start now," said Jabir, staring to the port side. He pointed off into the distance. "What is that?"

Sinbad's gaze followed his first mate's gesture. Multiple wakes cleaved through the water at a startling pace towards the ship, like a large school of fish. As they moved closer, the clear waters showed they were anything but.

"Are those...men?" asked Jabir in astonishment.

Sinbad frowned. "If they are, those weapons they carry do not fill me with confidence of their hospitality." Sinbad yelled to his crew "Men! To arms and gather to me! Be prepared to be boarded!" The crew gathered to Sinbad's side immediately, on alert but confused as there was no ship to be seen. When they saw the source of their captain's alert, they were doubly confused, but ready for battle as seasoned warriors.

They didn't have to wait long, for just then the shapes leaped out of the waves like dolphins and landed on the deck of the ship. They were man-like in shape, but that is where the similarity horribly ended. Their bodies were covered with slimy green scales, and they stared malevolently at Sinbad and his crew with wide, pale eyes. Spiny fins crowned their heads, and in what could barely be called hands they held wicked tridents that looked to be hewn out of coral. They made guttural, croaking sounds as they lurchedtowards the men. Sinbad had seen many strange things in his voyages, but never anything like these monstrosities.

Sinbad's shock lasted not a second. "Defend the ship and your lives, brothers! Send these horrors back to the unholy depths that spawned them!"

Bolstered by their captain's command, the men roared a battle cry and fell upon their attackers. The sides seemed evenly matched in terms of numbers, and the men took to their charge with great bravery and ferocity.

"What are these accursed things, Sinbad?" asked Jabir, sizing up his opponents.

"We will be sure to ask one if we leave that many alive, my friend!" Sinbad said through gritted teeth as he brandished his scimitar and charged towards the largest of the attackers, a monster in the truest sense of the word that stood a head and a half taller than Sinbad and wielded its mighty weapon like a child's toy. Jabir shook his head in admiration of his friend's bravery and faced off at the nearest opponent, mercifully smaller in stature than Sinbad's chosen foe, but no less fearsome in appearance.

Sinbad roared towards the behemoth. The huge fish man turned its unblinking, baleful eyes at Sinbad, croaking in rage and swinging its trident around quickly, causing Sinbad to leap back quickly lest he be disemboweled. Sinbad slowly circled his opponent, getting its measure. The thing had a definite advantage with the length of its cruel weapon, but it was obvious to Sinbad from the thing's ambling gait that it was much more used to fighting in the deeps than on solid surface.

Sinbad feinted many times towards the fish man with jabs and slashes that the coral trident easily blocked. He didn't intend for any of those blows to connect, he was merely trying to aggravate the monster. Judging from its hateful glare, Sinbad was succeeding. Picking his moment, Sinbad feinted high and to the left, which the fish man overextended to block, leaving its side wide open. Sinbad quickly went in low and opened a gory wound in the thing's side before it could block the blow, leaving it to scream mightily as it put its webbed hand to the cut.

The thing was gravely injured, but was not giving up the fight yet. It stabbed and swung wildly at Sinbad, pure murder in its eyes. If any of the blows had connected, Sinbad would surely be cut in twain or impaled, but the wound he had dealt the fish man was a truly cruel one, and its attacks faltered considerably. It was a short waiting game indeed for it to leave an opening which Sinbad took full advantage of, coming in quick and low to run it through. It fell to its knees on the deck now slick with blood both human and otherwise, heaving a final, wet rasp as it died.

Sinbad looked up from his fallen foe to judge which way the wind of battle blew. It saddened him that many of the men he had called friend and brother had fallen before these abominations, but they had sold their lives dearly. The numbers of the attacking horde had been reduced greatly, and upon witnessing the greatest of their number fall before Sinbad, all spirit left those foul things that were still alive. A wild croaking raised up, and the fish men started hopping in a panic towards the railing to escape. A fewmore were cut down as they fled, and the men roared in victory as the remaining monsters leaped over the side to plunge deep into the depths.

Sinbad peered over the railing, staring into the deep waters, lest they return. Jabir quickly joined him at his side.

"I am going to hazard a guess, and say those were the Awlad el Dagon." said Jabir, breathing heavy.

"I am inclined to agree with you, my friend." Sinbad replied grimly, still gazing into the ocean. "This bodes ill, Jabir, most ill, indeed."

"We showed them our quality, Sinbad. They shall think twice about trying us again."

Sinbad shook his head and turned towards his friend. "What concerns me is that they thought about it at all. Do you not see? They obviously know of our quest."

Jabir saw his friend's dire meaning. "But how can that be? Even the men don not know what we are seeking."

"A question for later." said Sinbad. "See to the men, and prepare for an ocean burial for our fallen. I want double watch at all posts for the rest of the journey." Jabir gave a quiet nod to Sinbad, then went about his given tasks.

Sinbad did not regret the precautions. Twice more during their journey they were beset upon by the Awlad el Dagon. The men on watch raised the alarm both times, and the foul spawn of the sea were routed both times. Even so, the loss of life on Sinbad's ship was dear each time, and by the time the temple of the Awlad el Dagon's appeared on the horizon, the ship had only a meager crew.

Sinbad gazed in amazement. What looked to be a tall mountain in the middle of the deep blue sea, proved to be anything but as the ship drew closer. Before them was a large spire of some sort, hewn out of what appeared to be lapis lazuli. The men commented on the odd mixture of curves,angles, and curves that were angles that formed the edifice, and were quite wary of it.

"Not much of a chance that this is not what we are looking for, is it?" Jabir asked Sinbad, his attempt at levity doing little to mask his concern.

"Very doubtful, my friend." replied Sinbad. "It is at the location that Al-Moheet marked on the map, and the unnaturalness of the place is obvious. This is the temple of the Awlad el Dagon, to be sure."

Jabir sighed. "Alas, to be wrong once."

Sinbad gave a brief smile to his first mate, and clapped his shoulder. "We have made it this far. Let us get this over with posthaste, that we may get home to enjoy the fortune that awaits us."

Jabir brightened somewhat at the mention of fortune. "Aye, I look forward to that as much as seeing this place far in the horizon behind us."

Sinbad nodded to his friend in agreement, then turned to the crew. "Jabir and I will take the skiff to the island to retrieve the eye. You men prepare the ship to leave immediately upon our return. If you do not see us rowing back within two hours’ time, do not hesitate to set sail for home. Go to my estate, you will be paid well for your good and loyal service." Sinbad turned to the man to his left. "Aasim, you are in charge. If we do not return, you have this final order from me." Aasim gave a quick nod to Sinbad, then set about making the ship was ready for the return voyage.

Sinbad and Jabir were lowered with the skiff into the water, and proceeded to quickly row towards the silent structure. No sounds of birds or wildlife of any sort met their ears, only the slap of the waves on their boat greeted them. When they reached the island's edge, they tied the skiff to an outcropping of the strange, blue stone and climbed out cautiously.

The journey to the edifice was a slow one. The odd angles of the ground were precarious to navigate, and both men could not look at where they were stepping too long without slight nausea setting in. Finally, they stood before dark, cave-like entrance.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" asked Jabir as Sinbad prepared a torch.

"Not in the least," replied Sinbad, lighting the torch. "But we are at the point of no return."

"Poor choice of words, my friend." chuckled Jabir humorlessly. "Very well, fortune awaits."

The two men entered the darkness, scimitars brandished. Sinbad held the torch out far in front of him, but its light only illuminated a few feet ahead. The walls of the cave felt smooth, as if polished. The floor descended slightly downward until, after what seemed a lifetime in the stygian darkness, a dim blue green light could be seen not far ahead of them.

They soon came to the source of the light. They stood in a room shaped like an inverted bowl, completely covered with bizarre, ancient runes and murals depicting a great battle between what could be none other than the Awlad el Dagon and a great, bearded man, hurling strange magicks at them and obviously winning.

"Hm," muttered Sinbad. "Odd story to tell in your own temple. You would think the Awlad el Dagon would show a battle they won."

"Never mind that,look!" said Jabir, pointing to the far end.

Sinbad looked to the source of the light that filled the room. Sitting on a blue-green dais was a huge stone, giving off a sickly green light that paled in comparison to the light of four large sea-blue gems surrounding it that bathed the room in their luminescence.

Neither man could take their eyes off of the emerald. There it was, the goal that they had risked and lost lives for, finally within their grasp. As they approached the dais a low, deep humming could be heard coming from the four blue gems.

"Look at those gems, Sinbad," Jabir whispered covetously. "Each of them could make a man rich..."

"Do not even think about it," interrupted Sinbad. "There is absolutely nothing about this situation I like, and I will not go begging trouble more than I have to. Let us finish this." Approaching the dais, Sinbad took out the odd pouch that Al-Moheet had given him, and slowly placed it over the emerald. The four surrounding gems hummed at a higher pitch briefly, causing Sinbad to suck in his breath, then lowered to a low drone again. He deftly picked the pouch and hoisted it over his shoulder. "We are done here," He said to Jabir. "Let us depart, quickly!"

"You will get no argument from me. Lead the way." said Jabir.

Sinbad hurriedly led Jabir back up and out of the abyssal cave, whereupon they were surprised to see Al-Moheet awaiting them.

"Al-Moheet?" Sinbad asked incredulously. "What are you doing here?"

"Have you retrieved it?" replied Al-Moheet excitedly, ignoring his question. 

"Of course," said Sinbad, "But you still have not expl..."

"Excellent," replied Al-Moheet with a hiss, "Now for the reward that is due you!" With that, Al-Moheet pulled from his robe what appeared to be a puffer fish of sorts which he squeezed towards the men, sending a foul green mist spraying towards them. They fell coughing, Al-Moheet's croaking laughter fading as they lost consciousness...

When Sinbad awoke, his head pounded like a hundred elephants were running through it, his hands bound behind him. Standing over him was Al-Moheet holding the pouch in his hands, now unbandaged to show moist, green-grey skin. Surrounding them on the odd-angled stone of the island were many of the accursed fish men, croaking excitedly. Jabir was bound next to Sinbad, groggily shaking himself awake.

"Ah, Sinbad!" Al-Moheet sneered. "Welcome back, I did not think you would want to miss the ritual." That damnable croaking laughter rasped from the depths of his cowl once more.

"What in the name of all that is holy are you talking about?" asked Sinbad slowly, still trying to overcome the effects of the poison.

"'All that is holy' indeed, fool!" replied Al-Moheet. "What you are about to witness is a holiness that your land-crawling kind has never seen the like of!" Al-Moheet reached up and pulled his cowl back, causing Sinbad and Jabir to gasp. Al-Moheet was barely human, with great, round eyes glaring balefully at them from deep pits in his grey, fleshy face. A bit of drool fell from his bulbous lips. "With the Eye finally in our possession once more, Great Dagon shall rise again! The Days of the All Ocean return!" TheAwlad el Dagon loped and gibbered in joy at Al-Moheet's words.

"This is madness!" exclaimed Sinbad, struggling to sit upright. "What isyour game, Al-Moheet?"

Al-Moheet leered at Sinbad. "No game, effendi, yet you were most definitely a pawn. That was no temple of ours that you pillaged, but the shrine of hated Nodens." Al-Moheet spat as he said the name. "He is the one who tore the Eye from our lord, rendering Dagon impotent. He is the one that secured it in that foul place that none of the blood of Dagon could enter, except upon pain of death. Your kind were still huddling in caves when Nodens sundered Mighty Dagon, never would he expect you to be a tool for the Eye's retrieval!"

While Al-Moheet spoke, Sinbad slowly worked to slip a small blade out of his wristband, hidden there for when his scimitar was not available. He deftly started cutting away at his restraints. He looked at the Alwad el Dagon surrounding them, then back to Al-Moheet. "What foul pact have you made with these monsters, Al-Moheet? What did they promise you?"

Al-Moheet put his misshapen hand to his chest in mock offense. "Monsters? That is no way to speak of my family, good Sinbad. Surely you see the resemblance." He lurched forward to grin two inches away from Sinbad's face, his breath reeking like rotted fish. "Granted, there must be more changes before I can join them fully in the blessed deeps, but soon...soon..." Al-Moheet looked off briefly in reverie, then snapped back to Sinbad. 

"My current state has served us well. It allows me to further our ends on the accursed land easily. Would you take a task offered from such as them?" He waved his hand to the fish men. "If even I were to enter the temple of Nodens, I would be dead on the spot. You were necessary to our plan, good Sinbad. Your crew was a concern, but they were easily whittled down over time." Sinbad looked past Al-Moheet's shoulder to where his ship should have been anchored. In its place was floating debris. His heart sank.

"You obviously got what you wanted," barked Sinbad, looking to see that Jabir was now awake and upright too, taking stock of their dire situation. "Let us go with our lives."

Al-Moheet's laughed as he started ambling towards the water. "Oh, dearest Sinbad, would that such could occur, but I fear I still have need of you. Great Dagon has slumbered for countless ages, and I fear he will be hungry when he awakens..." He left the horrible implications for Sinbad and Jabir to consider as he raised his claws out to the ocean, the pouch holding the Eye in one of them.

"Ia! Ia Dagon!" he roared, the rest of the fish men now on their knees in worship. "Ia! Ia! Dagon fhtagn!" he roared once more, removing the Eye of Dagon out of the pouch and held the great emerald above his head. Sinbad could see a great, explosive bubbling occurring out in the ocean not far from the island's edge as Al-Moheet continued his foul chant. His heart sunk. In all his voyages, nothing filled him with the dread he felt now.

Suddenly, over the sound of Al-Moheet's invoking and the surging of whatever was coming out of the ocean, Sinbad heard a high, keening tone. He looked around to see where the noise was coming from. Even Al-Moheet noticed it, and stopped his vile incantation to find its cause. All eyes fell on Jabir.

Jabir shrugged at Sinbad apologetically. "They were so beautiful, and the emerald was safe in the pouch." Jabir was absolutely sheepish. "I had to take one of the gems!"

"YOU WHAT?!" yelled Sinbad and Al-Moheet in unison.

"One gem was easily worth twenty times the gold offered!" Jabir retorted. "Tell me we couldn't live like rajahs with what we..." Jabir stopped talking. Everyone felt tremors start to shake the island as water bubbled forth from the pouch on Jabir's belt. 

"Is it supposed to do that?" asked Jabir weakly.

Al-Moheet and the Awlad el Dagon started gibbering in terror as the island shook, not knowing where to run. Sinbad finally cut through his bindings and rushed over to Jabir. He reached into the man's belt pouch and pulled out the gem.

The gem was now a pulsating orb of deep blue water, pouring in great streams over Sinbad's hand. In the center of the orb, Sinbad could feel something fighting to get out. He threw the orb and it bounced over the odd-angled stones, finally coming to a stop at Al-Moheet's webbed feet. The seawater around Sinbad and Jabir rushed away from them to follow it.

Al-Moheet screamed horribly as the now large pool of water at his feet rose up into the form of a blue giant of a man, his beard made of seaweed and kelp. Al-Moheet fell to his knees, dropping the Eye and putting his claws up over his head in a feeble attempt to protect himself.

The colossus looked around slowly, his deep blue eyes resting on the Eye of Dagon, then onto Al-Moheet's cowering form. "So, little fish," rumbled the man, his voice like crashing waves, "You sought to undo the work of Nodens, stealing the prize of my hunt to rejoin your pathetic master? Allow me to help you, then." Nodens waved a hand out to the sea. Immediately, a great tentacle made of seawater shot out of the ocean and sped towards Al-Moheet. The tip of the watery tentacle plunged through Al-Moheet's back and tore through his chest like a spear, causing the him to gasp in pain and shock. The tentacle quickly pulled back to the ocean, yanking Al-Moheet with it, his screams cut short as the bubbling waters consumed him.

The remaining Awlad el Dagon scrambled in all directions to try and escape their doom, but it was all for naught. More tentacles burst from the ocean, impaling the fleeing fish men and pulling them back into the surging waters.

Sinbad and Jabir watched the massacre in amazement, but Sinbad's keen mind told him that now was not a time for idleness. "We must go, Jabir," said Sinbad, cutting his friend loose. "I do not see us being much more welcome."

"I could not agree with you more, my friend." replied Jabir, rubbing his wrists. With that, the two men escaped across the alien surface to where their skiff remained tied. They freed the skiff and rowed as fast as their strength provided. Their escape was none too soon, for not long after the final fish man was thrown screaming into the bubbling miasma, the foul bubbling faded to mild waves once more, and the ancient edifice quickly sank back beneath the ocean's surface.

Sinbad and Jabir sat in the skiff, look out at the vast ocean that showed no trace of the horror that had occurred. "Well," said Jabir, breaking the silence. "It seems that Al-Moheet got what he desired. I'm sure he and the rest of his foul brood will keep fine company together under the waves."

Sinbad smiled. "Jabir, should I ever again tell you to leave the gems alone, kindly see fit to ignore me."

Jabir's deep laughter filled the air. "My pleasure, Sinbad. Speaking of which, might I assume we are not getting paid for this voyage?"

Sinbad gave his friend a disbelieving stare, which quickly broke into a wide smile. "Man the oars and start rowing. The voyage is not over yet." Jabir looked around at the wide, blue sea around them, shook his head, and muttered various curses and rowed as Sinbad laughed.