North Sea Dungeon

By the time Saprya began to work there was a chill in the air, carried across the empty beach by a salty breeze, and the last remnants of daylight were quickly fading.

She had spent the better part of the day along the eastern coastline of the island, wandering along the trodden down footpaths and watching adventurers and island residents taking walks and going about their daily business. She had noticed how the paths from the town towards the dungeon were busiest while the coastline further up north was more quiet. Beyond the Corpse Retrieval building, behind a grove of young trees, she had found a perfectly quiet spot to spend her evening. To watch the sunset utterly undisturbed before opening her bag and laying out her tools.

Smooth stones and seashells she had collected during the day. A couple sticks of incense. A vibrant blue flower plucked from the fields. A rusty red feather, given as a gift from a friend. A worn and sturdy dagger.

Her hands worked slowly but surely to arrange everything in a deliberate pattern. Not one she had remembered from any book, but one that felt right for her hands to move in and her heart to follow. None of this was necessary for what she wanted to do. But preparing a ceremony still seemed respectful. It was, after all, her first communion with the Sculptor after setting foot on this island. That occasion deserved to be special.

Once Saprya had laid out the marks and symbols with the stones and shells and arranged the other items in a satisfying manner, she lit the incense and retrieved one more thing from her bag.

The Sculptor was not a god who demanded sacrifice. Not the ones other gods demanded, at least. But carrying their blessing into this world had become second nature to Saprya and she would not commune with her beloved deity without sculpting at least one fortunate creature according to their wishes.

She had found the little crab not far from here in one of the tidepools. It was a beautiful, vibrant shade of red, barely larger than her palm. At first it had tried to flee and then pinch her. But by now it was docile, pinchers shut and spindle legs barely moving as she cupped it between both her hands.

"Hidden Father, Mother in the Thicket", she whispered, lovingly cradling the little creature between her hands."Thank you for guiding me safely to the shores of this island..."

Night was slowly setting in as Yehla was making her way out of the town and closer to the shores. She just ate a hearty meal, and a walk would ease the sleepy feeling that was starting to seep into her bones. She was supposed to meet someone later, reviewing some spells parchment a party found in the dungeon, and she wanted her mind clear for it. As her boots kicked some dust along the way, she lit up a match, using the rough ridges of her own horn for that, and lit up that old worn pipe she had been filling moments before.
Inhaling deeply, she sighed with ease as the trees were clearing more and more, revealing hints of the ocean beyond. She hummed, puffing out some smoke as she came atop a sandy dune. She shivered in the breeze, having left her cloak in her room, her shoulders nude under the evening sky.

She breathed in deeply, and held it for a second, before her nose twitched. She covered it quickly, out of habit, and frowned, fingers still pushed against it. The air was still, and the birds had stopped singing. The sound of the waves were still reaching, but something wasn't right.

Incense? The smell was potent all of a sudden, along a sickening underlying smell of what could only be magic. Yehla focused, tilting her head toward where the scent seemed to come from. The presence of magic wasn't that surprising in itself, more so the cloying smell it seemed to carry, almost like... Rotting meat?

Squinting, Yehla walked up the edge of the water, following the lead of the smell, along the hint of dark shimmering purple she could sometimes glimpse in her periphery, a clear sign magic was being used in the immediate vicinity.

She stopped when she spotted what seemed to be a young woman with brown hair, kneeling on the sand and leaning slightly forward, looking at something on the ground. Something was wrong here. Yehla's face pinched and she took a couple more steps and stopped, making sure her boots were loud enough in the way the sand crunched under them.

"Hi there!" She called, pushing the pipe to the side of her mouth to be able to articulate better. "Nice evening for a stroll, isn't it?"

It was not long after Saprya had begun her prayers that the little crab cradled between her palms began twitching. Its legs trembled, then jerked, pinchers clacking together in nervous excitement. It, too, must have felt the rush of heat and power in the air, the promise of blessings on the breeze.

Saprya could not help the smile, wide and wild, that spread across her face as she felt the Sculptor's presence. Letting out a shuddery, elated breath she pressed on.

Another twitch, this one violent, as one of the crab's legs bent backwards, twisting and crunching until it snapped. First in one place, then in two, three, several more. The other legs followed suit.

And from each fresh wound a scent seeped into the air to be scattered by the winds. It was not pleasant but such is the nature of change. An awakening, pain, but with it healing.

Saprya kept whispering her prayers as the exposed white flesh of the creature began to bubble and boil. Perfectly malleable it flooded out from within the hard outer shell, pushing apart leg segments to elongate them, stretching to double, then triple their previous length. Once the legs had found their new form, long and spindly, elegant and beautiful, the bubbling, boiling flesh settled back into calm. Forming a tough, leathery outer layer to protect it.

But Saprya had not finished her muttering and the transformation was not complete.

She felt movement against the sensitive skin of her palms as the creature's shell began to tremble. So she shifted her grip, setting it down on gorgeous new legs and only holding it gently in place now.

There was a crunching sound, like gentle footsteps on a gravel road. A crack appeared, then another, dozens of them running down and across the shield until it burst open with a wet, organic ripping sound.

What emerged between the remaining red shards of the shell was not the same soft white flesh from before but a shining, delicate, tangled mass. Like thick spider webs dotted in glistening dew. Like layers upon layers of iridiscent dragonfly wings shimmering in the sun. In the low light of nightfall they even seemed to writhe and flutter.

Saprya gasped, reverently holding on to the blessed creature as she began her next verse.

"Nice evening for a stroll, isn't it?"

The sudden words made her shriek, flinching as she let go of the crab, that was not quite a crab anymore. The creature skittered away across the sand, spindly legs carrying it much faster and further than before.

She looked up, wide eyed and terrified, at a woman. A woman who had been blessed in her own way. Beautiful. Unique. 

Unwelcome.

"What have you done?!"

The voice of a lost friend ringing in her ears Saprya could not think, jittery panic flooding her bloodstream and stealing her air.

But she could grab the worn dagger and launch herself at the stranger.