[2021] The Manfish

If you're ever out in the Deadlands, somewhere along the riverside at dark, you would hear from the water, the sound of whispers close by, its sound deafened by the staccato of machine guns or the sudden percussive blast of ordinance from afar.

Deep in the black water of the river, where years of filth and rot have coalesced at the bottom of the silt, a shimmer often bounces along, just below the surface, following you at all hours of the day, so long as you stay along the shoreline. If your back is turned away from the water, you can hear the sound of air escaping to the surface, an errant splash echoing through the moonlit reeds. Turn, and the water is still. Travel alone, and the whispers grow louder, soon supplanted by the moans and cries of lost souls who found their end in a watery grave, their remains claimed only by the river mercy.
The fish speak for the dead here. Every bloated, festering body that washes upon the shoreline is but another voice added to the choir of the damned that stalks the riverside. For those of us that have lived here our whole lives, we've learned to coexist with the creatures that live under the surface- a strange being that resembles a disembodied head, attached are gills and a tail, connected by leathery scales that hide the rich sinew of the dead now come to life. Its eyes are wide, its mouth agape in an expression of sheer terror.

Only rarely do they ever appear before someone- and that's when they're about to succumb to drowning in the river. It's not an uncommon occurrence- many do during the wars here, but...to attribute the stories to those that survived a fate reserved only for traitors and witches, one must consider why these things exist. No real story can be corroborated to prove their existence, however, the belief that the beasts are a manifestation of negative spiritual energy at time of death seems to ring true for both Velian and Caoivish man. The stories remain the same.

If you should go seeking food from the riverside, never wade too deep into the water. Always keep yourself near a campfire, and under no circumstances, do you speak to the voices in the river. The night I learned of this creature's existence, I had traveled a far distance from Reaching Trail. I had sought refuge in my old stomping grounds, as I knew the best hiding spots. I took care to stay out of sight of anyone who may have had bad intentions. Famished by my travels, I found an old fishing line and lure in one of the bombed out houses of The Plaza, and having made my way to the riverside, cast my line into the strong currents that resided below the still waters of the river. As daylight fell, I had yet to catch anything besides minnows, but I was determined to catch something substantial using the minnows as bait. As the sun crept below the mountains that surrounded the region, I heard a voice call for me, asking what day it was.

I was so tired, I cared not who had asked me. A quick check of my journal, and I replied with the date. Whoever it was had seemed pleased with the result, for I heard not their voice for sometime. Soon enough, a storm crawled above the skies of Abandoned Ward, littering the ground with sleet and small flakes of snow that melted at first touch with the Earth. Again, I hear the same voice call for me, softer now, a whisper traveling along the ether. I said nothing, unsure if it was a hallucination brought on by my fatigue. Soon, however, as the Moon illuminated the night sky, and the clouds broke, the reflection of the moonlight plunged beneath the surface, and I could see them.

Thousands, it seemed, their grotesque human-like faces with bulging eyes, watching me cast my line into the water, toothy grins on their face as the light of the moon created a cat-like glint in their eyes as they stared at me from under the water- I could reach out and touch them, if I had so desired.
But even so, I remained, ankle deep in the water as I cast my line once again. Their grinning slowly subsided into something more neutral as I took momentary glances upon their faces, a scowl growing across the multitudes of these creatures as they seemed perturbed by my failure to acknowledge them.

Soon, a northern breeze took my attention away from the congregation for but a moment, and as I turned, the sound of a deep suction echoed through the valley as a weak, creaking, hissing noise began to echo through the vast emptiness of the realm. It bounced off every surface and fed back into itself, the hissing suddenly becoming the moans of the dead I had heard for so many conflicts, pained, hopeless groans of death, as if every fish in the water had suddenly succumbed to a mortal wound.

Then they screamed.

A human-like roar, stacking atop themselves as they intensified in their virility.
Frightened, I took off back towards The Plaza, as they screamed at me to come back to them. The faces of those fish looked like dead men, and their howls and screams that echoed through the night sounded more ethereal than physical, as if they had managed to find the gateway into my soul. I know not why they exist, but I know they live in the river. And as I have studied them, they study me as well. Every night, I hear them whispering my name, telling me the date of a moment in time yet to come- a date, I fear, is the day of my demise.

Don't go fishing in Abandoned Ward. For you will meet the Manfish, and they will tell you when you will join them.