The Merchant and The River Devil (Tahm Kench slightly shortish story)
Night slowly settled upon the magnolias and mangroves of the swamps. Four men, clothes battered with sweat and mud began to make camp and fire upon the edges of the forsaken swamps of Kaladoun. The night air brought with it as much sweat as the beating sun it seemed in this bug riddled land of rot and muck. Yet no complaints were heard from the men. To eager and giddy with the collection of valuable trade goods from Demacia they were to worry of their physical whereabouts. That, and they were far less likely to be hunted by bandits this farm from the main road at night. Karlos methodically and careful unrolled his sleeping bag, making sure that his fellow comrades would not notice the bulging sack that lay hidden within it’s animal skinned lining. “What a deal, what a deal, what a DEAL!” laughed a burly chested man of his late thirties. Though marks of war left imposing memories for all to see, it did little to hide his enthusiasm for things in general. “I’m telling ya, when we get to the outskirts of Noxus, we’ll make a god damn KILLING off these Demacian silks! Don’t care WHAT those blood hungry bastards say. Might is power, but silk tends to cradle the crotch mighty better than a piece of hard metal!” “Balos, you talk so loudly, I fear the dead may wake and ask you to shut up,” Karlos meekly said, hoping to hide his guilty conscious from them. “Let them bother me. They would gurgle and gargle in agreement now, wouldn’t they? Silk is best cradling these,” he exclaimed, grabbing in the most rude fashion upon his person. “Or better yet, wrapped so damn tightly around a fine woman that you can see the outline of her-” “Now, I like the image of a fine woman myself, but imagining that after hearing about your privates just doesn’t sit well,” cackled Helder. Though slightly younger than Balos, he still chided than man of being his mentor, getting Barlos engaged in the merchant life after the battles took too much of a toll upon the other man’s body. “Besides, the youngin o’er there don’t seem he very much likes that visage plaguing his thoughts either, do ya boy?” he teased. Karlos forced a small laugh, his small and scrawny frame shaking. His face was gaunt and framed by a young, scraggly beard. He only joined this caravan two years ago, but felt more kinship to them than he did his own family. Yet even the closest of families keep secrets from each other, right? he thought. Gently he clutched the small brown sack that lay within his sleeping pack, and while Balos, Helder, and the oldest man that led them Marcos, continued to set up camp, he slunk the bag into his ungainly pants. “Um, I’ll be right back. Gotta go use the bathroom real quick near the river there,” he squeaked. “Heh, doncha let dem gators gobble you up now, ya hear?” Helder joked. “Yeah, uh, certainly. No gibblets of mine will get eaten. Uh…see ya soon.” As he left in the darkening world that was enveloped more and more by night, he overheard the men mentioning how odd he had been acting the past few days. If only you knew, he thought. Though he barely could hear himself, over the pounding of his guilt ridden heart. Finally, he came across a disgusting river bank, filled with rotting remains of cypress trees and decaying fish. It smelled revolting, looked disgusting, and one felt that the creatures of the swamp were spying at you. The perfect spot to hide his treasure. He dug a hole in the side of the riverbed, underneath the roots of an old tree. His fingers worked mercilessly, ever fearful one of his friends would find him and inquire about his actions. When the hole was dug, he reached for his satchel, and looked upon his glorious goods one last time for the night. Finally, he wrapped them up once more, and carefully placed and covered the bag with dirt and dead leaves, making sure to remember and gather his goods in the morning before the others wake. Karlos suddenly felt an eerie feeling upon his sweat drenched neck. His giant eyes turned to the heart of the swamp, and saw in horror what appeared to be dozens of bright eyes floating along the river, glaring at his misdeeds. Worse, he swore that he heard a deep voice, humming gently amongst the darkness. The young boy quickly scrambled back up the bed, and with a quick pat, wiped his hands of any noticeable dirt, less he raise even more suspicion. As he walked in the dark, now illuminated by the cold moon, his fears were shown true. At the campsite, the men had overturned and placed all their personal belongings in the center. It was a tradition amongst these merchants. Every couple of days, they would overturn their own goods and mix them with each other, so no one would feel the need or want to cheat their brothers out of a good cut of any goods picked up without the others noticing. Karlos suspected they would do this soon, and his paranoia seemed to pay off. “Took ya long enough buddy!” boomed Balos. He patted a spot on a log he had pulled up around the freshly made fire. As Karlos sat down, Helder passed him his share of the meal for the night. Roasted quail and boiled root of the local marshes. “Put some more hair on ya chest there,” he said. Karlos quietly ate his dinner, watching as both Helder and Balos consumed their meal like a pack of starving barbarians. Yet, the eyes of Marcos seemed to watch Karlos as he ate. Oh god, he knows, he thought in a panic. With great dread he watched Marcos lean over, and with a hushed tone that could silence thunder, he said, “Karlos…it’s your turn to tell the story. Did you forget again?” Karlos stood still, eyes caught between terror and relief. “Oh…oh um, yes. Uh, I’m sorry Marcos. I meant to find a good story in the last town over, but, uh, I haven’t been feeling good. I feel off and odd, so I forgot.” “Don’t worry, I’ll tell one of a very charming Frejilord man I met once called Braum!” said Balos. “Ah, not that damn Braum again. I swear, every time you tell it, his friggen stache gets bigger an bigger!” whined Helder. “I got one better! How bout the damned warden of them there Shadow Isles? I’ll even sing the rhyme.” Marcos chuckled, and with thin, nimble fingers he produced a pipe, and stuffed it with fine tobacco. “That’s all and well, but I dare say, we are in need of a more fittin story, I do say so myself.” The three men looked at him quizzically. “What do you mean, ‘fitting’ Marcos,” Karlos asked. The old, wrinkled man with the sunken but lively eyes lit a match as if from nowhere. The dramatic lighting seemed to light every etched line of time upon his face. Finally, with a deep breath, he whispered, “Who here knows of the River King, Tahm Kench?” A sly smile was produced, as the men looked at each other for answers. “Ah, no one, eh? Even better. Cause some say, this tale is bout as phony as the sun is bright. But others…well, others whisper that name for good reason. They don’t want ol’ Tahm hearing his name, and remembering his debt that needs to be paid up to him.” “Ya see, Tahm ain’t like no other creature or person you EVER did see. His face and body is that of an over bloated catfish, with teeth and claws of the most ancient alligators you ever seen. Time seems to slip off him like the murky water he wades through. Never before, a more magnificent monster did man or woman see. Eyes as yellow as a greedy man’s gold. Voice as deep and powerful as a proud woman’s scarlet silk. Clothes so torn and raggedy that stupid and intelligent men would think him sensible but refined. But it’s the teeth, that scream through the lies.” “See, underneath that mud of deceit and monstrosity lies the heart of the purest sinner one did EVER see. He peddles back and forth from this world and the next, taking the souls of damned men to other destinations.” Barlos scoffed loudly. “An overgrown fish ferry man? Who fears that?” Marcos toothy smile sapped the bravado straight out of him. “The best devils don’t make themselves out to be angels. No. They ain’t nothing more than simple sinners, trying to make it by, hoping you’ll just help them out, by letting YOU help yourself.” Helder and Karlos both gulped in fear, as Barlos face turned white. “As I was sayin. This sly devil waits and sings out to anyone who’s vices have come callin to collect. Whether it’s drinking, sleeping, gamblin, or murder. It don’t matter to the River King. It all washes through, down to the deep, brackish waters.” “But what’s the price,” Helder whimpered. “Seems too good. Gets ya outta binds? Fer what?” “That’s the most devilish thing of all. See, this beast has an ache to consume like none other. It devours anything it can get ahold of. But it’s most treasured morsels, are of the priceless possessions of it’s clients. Get away and build your house of your dream? He’ll come by and consume it, brick by brick. A beautiful wedding? There goes the guests and the glorious bride. He’s taken kingdoms from former thieves, souls of past sinners, and fame from nobodies. He’ll eat whatever you thought gained, and more.” All fell quiet. Only the sounds of crickets and howling winds of the swamp could be heard. Yet, Karlos asked, “How does one make a deal and contact this monster?” Helder and Balos looked at him with confusion, wondering why such a young boy in their eyes would even ask such a horrible thing. But Marcos stared coldly in his eyes. In that moment, Karlos knew that he was found out, and why Marcos told this tell. “Well, ask any sinner that question, and they’ll tell you son. You don’t need to go looking far for the devil, when your hands already doing his corrupt work.” Karlos felt his face go pale, and his soul wailed at the piercing eyes of Marcos. The other men murmured, confused by the serious tone of their leader. “If you boys must know…some say that only those he intends to deal with can hear him. His deep song, a sirens call of evil. He’s followed by a large group of gators, chomping and snarling for the flesh he drops after his meals. They whisper secrets in the water, watching for their master, imagining what scrap they’ll eat this time. And when one goes running, well…he goes findin ya. And the rest, you know. But I warn all of you, true or not,” he seethed with vile. “Ain’t even DAMN near worth the price to pay. Cause even if he chooses not to eat you, your soul is still as good as his.” Marcos looked toward the deep swamp, eyes lost in the swirl of misery and mourning the shadows conjured in his mind. “And forever you hear him singing, whenever he seems near to a new prey.” With that, Marcos dumped the leftover pale ash out of his pipe, and walked over to his sleeping bag. The other men sat in silence, fearfully that their breathing would bring new terror to their leader. Yet, one by one, they all finally went to sleep.
Karlos awoke abruptly, his body covered in sweat and agony. The guilt of his deeds seemed to overtake him still. He thought of the gems, and his friends. He thought of the River King, and the price one pays for their misdeeds. Yet, his mind seemed to remain on that pretty woman, her clothing rich with Demacian silk and gold, countless jewels etched across it. The broach she boastfully wore, and the rings she flaunted before all she saw. Quietly, he got up, afraid to make a sound. He began to stumble around the trees near the campsite, thinking to splash some swamp water on his face to remove the image from his mind. But it would not leave. No, her face of agony and despair would forever weigh upon his forlorn soul. It seemed so simple, at the time. She was too proud, too rich. He was caring out a deed to make him, a worthier man, better in this dark world. Karlos always heard of the stories Barlos and the countless death he saw waged in war. The mutterings of Helder, and how he tried for eight days straight to bottle feed his older brother while he tied of painful maladies. Greatest of all, the tale of Marcos, and how his beautiful wife, a princess, was ripped and killed from him on their wedding day. I thought if I had this money, I could prevent that from happening to me to, he cried in agony. CRICK! Karlos whipped his head around, no more than thirty or so feet from the camp. He heard heavy footsteps. As he glared into the darkness, only shadows it seemed moved upon the night tapestry. It was broken by the piercing image of a shiny blade, raised above his friends, and brought down in force. Screams erupted from the mouths of his family. Karlos bit his own tongue til it bled to keep quiet, watching the devils make short work of their quarry. “Only three, m’lord.” “Three? What do you mean three? Tell me one of them is the young bastard with the beard.” Quickly a match was lit, forcing its fire upon a torch. Karlos felt his heart sink. The bodies of his friends. His family. The only men in the world that loved him. They lay gutted like pigs in a slaughter yard. Their souls still seeping fresh from the wounds upon the steamy night. The faces of the five killers were not bandits though. Too clean and healthy. Suddenly, the head of their leader whipped up. His eyes locked on to the shadows of Karlos, and yelled for him. He ran. Ran deep into the swamp, towards the riverbed of the dead. He did not need to recognize that face. It was the medallion’s symbol that bore upon his cloak that told him all. The husband of the noblewoman that Karlos had killed in Demacia wanted blood, and cared not how much was spilt, so long as his was gained in the end. Karlos lurched and tripped amongst the branches and roots of the trees and muddy land as he prayed to get away. He prayed to get the jewels, swim into the swamp, and pray to make it next day. Yet the sound of their footsteps getting closer and closer, their dark, burning light becoming ever so much brighter, told him it would not last. Finally, Karlos made it to the river bed. He ripped his nails off, bloody fingers working frantically against the cold dirt that seemed so soft hours earlier. With hushed whimpers, he finally pryed the filthy bag from the recess of the cold earth. He opened it up, and watched as the jewels of the broach and rings of the dead woman shone bright. He quickly covered them, fearing they could somehow scream out to the husband. “THIS WAY,” he heard them distantly yell. He saw more torches, going in different directions. It mattered not though, he realized. They would find him eventually. He could never outpace them. A faint murmur was heard, deep in the wicked waters. Then, a velvety, seductive song began to be hummed. Karlos watched in complete awe, as alligators innumerable seemed to suddenly appear, lining up and down the river bank, surrounding Karlos. Then, from the waters he did emerge. Karlos recognized him all too well, and the last vestige of hope he had went with this new found revelation. “Why, I must say, my good sir. You seem to have heard my call. It appears that your deeds and desires have placed you in a predicament.” He merely nodded, watching as the grotesque tongue darted around the monster’s face. “My, my, my. What wondrous webs us sinners do weave, do we not? Tapestries for all mankind to see and judge. But we know better,” the beast said, placing a slimy, clawed hand on Karlos’ shoulder. “Fact of the matter, I was originally in this here part of habitat for I dare say, I heard the song of a past man I dealt with. But it seems he has gone on now. No matter. Was a good man. Held true to his bargain. I reckon though, it was for my own abilities that allowed him such privy to even HAVE the ability to pay me back.” Karlos looked upon the menacing devil, his yellow, dead eyes glinting pale upon the moonlight. He heard the gators snap and his for his flesh, and the deep thronging gurgle of the beasts stomach resonate throughout the swamp. It was shattered by the cries of the hunting party. “He wasn’t here. Did you find him?” “No. He must be at the bank. We’ll find him, by this I know,” yelled the nobleman. Karlos clutched his ill gotten jewels tightly, eyeing the torch light as it seemed to grow closer and closer. Finally, with heavy breath, he turned towards Tahm Kench. “Devil, I know what you are. I know your deal. But I’ll take it. I’ll take it, so long as you get me far away from here, and give me a fresh start with these,” he spat in a mixture of fear and anger. If his hopes of intimidating the River King were real, they were sorely shot down by his minacious laughter. “A devil, I am not. Nothing but a simple sinner trying to do write by his fellow ilk of this cursed world. But…if my terms you understand, and you still agree…” His voice grew even more imposing, as his jaw began to unhinge, thick tongue slithering around Karlos. “Then I best say, my son, your debt will be a fine one to collect!” The noble and his men heard the cries from the bank. Quickly, the rushed to it. As they lifted their lights high, they saw nothing but a small whirlpool, and hungry reptilian beasts sinking deep into the swamps water. “Those monsters must have gotten him first,” said one of the men. The noble stared out into the dark, anger and misery falling from his face. He did not know if he truly believed that the boy would be so careless as to run into the maws of the gators. But into the maw of something else, was quite plausible. “Perhaps. Perhaps not. For his sake, let us hope it was the gators.” “Let’s hope so too. Cause if we caught him, his fate would have been worse,” one muttered. “No. I dare say, that the fate that most likely befell him, is worse than any mere mortal like us, could ever inflict.”