Curse of the Primordial Were-Fish

Two strange things happened that day. Nordicus Nuttman, the court wizard of the kingdom of Freebo, unceremoniously left his position. When he had not appeared at the daily roundtable, it was assumed that illness had prevented him. The medical staff that arrived at his quarters reported back that they were entirely devoid of Nordicus however, insinuating a more dire situation.

Had someone kidnapped the mage? King Corvian sent out his best spies across Freebo, as he and his advisors waited to see if a ransom request would appear. Little did they know that this was a long time coming; Nordicus was happily sunbathing on a remote island. An enchanted fan made of palm fronds kissed the sweat of his brow, as another drink appeared in his weathered hand.

In the swamplands mere leagues from the capital city of Freebo, the Boogin woke up. It is still a matter of debate whether these events were related.



Week after week, dejected spies returned. Each reported the same, it was as if Nuttman had vanished into thin air. Instead, they brought news of the hamlets down South. The bayou village of Num had been reduced to a population of 0 overnight, whispers said some sort of fish-man had beset himself on the people there. "A what?" the king huffed, "No that's... No."

He seemed deeply troubled by this, notably at odds with his apathy towards every other struggle his populace endured. The General Magnus, powerful commander of Freebo's vast armies, had furrowed his bushy brow when the king had insisted on speaking to this informant in private.

Details were just not adding up these days, but it would not be the meathead Magnus who figured out why. A hundred miles away, Nordicus was feeling very at odds with his retirement.

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"Stop summoning nonsense in your water glass and listen to me,  Nordicus!" Corinthia growled across the rough table. His wild white hair stuck up in spikes, a growth of 5 days of stubble replacing the beard he had worn for decades. "Since you've left, things have gone haywire! Did you know there's some sort of fish-man ravaging the coastal towns now?"

This prompted Nuttman to spit the sip of water he had just taken right back out into her face. "Pardon me," He said aghast, "There's a what?" waving off his own question before she could respond, he continued. "No. Nope." Corinthia felt her eyebrow flick up, Nordicus knew something.

As if precognition jolted him, Nuttman jumped up from the table. "Well, it's been wonderful Cor, I—" Gripping his arm, the small woman yanked him back down. "Spill it Nord, who's the fish-man?" Corinthia's eyes blazed in her heart-shaped face. He sighed before leaning in close to whisper to her, "Well, a long time ago there was this sorceress, Ondine..."



Two months after the disappearance of Nordicus, the legend of the fish-man had spread. Sightings of the pale specter who leapt from the shadows to tear men to shreds were reported outside the castle. King Corvian had issued an interesting edict in the face of this, "He who brings me this specimen alive will be rewarded with vast wealth!"

General Magnus had been appalled, quite convinced his ruler had gone mad. Afterall, did Freebo not have the greatest armies? Why would they not simply hunt down this fish-man? Yet, it was the court alchemist who the King turned to, conversing in hushed whispers which ended at the sight of company. Magnus ached for a simple knifing to take place, finalizing this whole debacle.

Meanwhile, Nordicus had really had it with retirement. First there was ex-girlfriend Corinthia, pulling on his heartstrings and nether regions, hoping to glean the latest court drama. Then he had received a visit from Ondine herself! She had swooped in on him while he was on the road, hoping to find a more remote pub to scatter his memories in.

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"Are you seriously on a broom Ondine? How cliche..." He had hoped his disinterest would nudge the sorceress on. Instead, she floated beside his horse with her chestnut hair steaming in the breeze, waiting for him to speak again like she always did.

With a sigh he submitted, "It's nice to see you, of course." Nordicus said, risking a look straight at her. Ondine was almost painful to set eyes on, her face one of memories where he wished he was a better man. "Look, just— what can I do for you?" The words escaped from his lips. She took her sweet time answering, and when she did it was almost inaudible.

"Don't interfere." She stated softly. He knew well enough that they would already be fighting if she wanted revenge, the request brought relief.

"Well, does it look bloody likely that I will?" He snorted in response, "I'm headed in the opposite direction."

"The king will die." Ondine said. Her eyes were somber, digging a pit in his stomach.

"Oh well. I'm sorry Ondine— I was a fool. You always deserved better, and I fear you always will."

"It's me, Nordicus, I'm the Boogin." At this he pulled in on his reigns, bringing their traveling conversation to still ground. "But, they said a fish-MAN?!" was about all he could muster. He had assumed the Boogin was the king's bastard.

"Well Nordicus, fish do not have breasts."

"Oh yeah, suppose I could see the confusion. At least you seem to have it under wraps!"



Years ago, he had helped Ondine go into hiding with her son Iver, the unfortunate bastard of the king. Believing that no one knew their whereabouts, he didn't think much of them again. When he was asked to draw up a potion that would cause a lengthy sleep, he did not consider that the brew would touch a friend's lips... No.

Nor did King Corvian consider just how bored Nordicus was, dying to do literally anything different. Looking back, he knew that's when he should have left... Instead, he drafted a primordial were-fish potion, a fun take on the king's request to break up the monotony. It was not until months later that he found out where the baleful beverage went.

With deep shame he discovered that the elixir had been meant for Iver; a way to put him to sleep until the king could sort things through with Ondine. You see, it was by her choice that Iver was not instead a prince. Leaving in the face of Corvian's growing corruption, she had sworn their son would not follow in his steps. So, King Corvian figured he'd trick his mage into putting Iver under a spell, use it to bargain with Ondine.

Except, this obscure potion causes an irreversible curse, led by a lengthy slumber...

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King Corvian paces slowly along the garden path, trying to get what little pleasure he can from it. Magnus had advised that he stay within the castle walls, and he need not be told twice. Just the previous night, 14 guards had been slain at the front gate by the monster!

They said it had a lengthy tail, which it swung like a mace. Yet it was the venomous horn which sent men to their graves. The fast-acting tremors which came on from its sting were debilitating, mere moments later the foaming from the mouth would begin... With a shudder, Corvian listened for the jangle of chain-link behind him, only then realizing it was no longer there. "Hello?" He murmured.

He eagerly scanned for his son, knowing the spies on the walls would arrive with the alchemist at any moment if the fish-man had been spotted. In the shadows, he finally spots Iver. "My son, at last!" he begins, ready to launch into his side of the story. The silky voice that responds knocks him on his rear, he knows straight off how screwed he is.

"Your agent got the wrong target. I was pleasantly surprised to know that Iver took roots up North when I woke, it seems you never did find him." Ondine thought of her shock when she had woken up in the muddy waters, dredging herself out to find that 20 years had passed. And then the first full moon came... "If only I had come to kill you sooner, I could have raised our son."

She steps out into the moonlight, her pale skin just as creamy as he remembered it. Shoulder length hair sweeps her bare shoulders, and one delicate hand reaches to pull a swirling amulet from her neck. "No—" Corvian attempts, but the light of the moon warps the beauty of her naked form.

Her shoulders expand, scales sprouting from patches which rapidly spread. Her chest becomes muscular as gills form on her neck, her eyes narrowing into slits. Between them the horn erupts, and it rushes towards his face. Then there is only pain.

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Nordicus is pulled from his thoughts by footsteps, he knows it's Ondine before she speaks. "That's a lot of rocks, how long have you been out here?" she asks. He doesn't answer her as she sits beside him in the meadow, gazing past his stacks to look at the hazy mountains beyond.

"I don't know why I didn't leave sooner. I had this feeling that I was already awful, I might as well try to maintain a moderate amount of awfulness in the kingdom..." Nordicus eventually says, sighing deeply. "Will you go find Iver now?"

"There's no justice in that. Yet I find a great deal in the notion that maybe Iver has no idea any of this happened. He was 2 when I left him in that village, he's lived that 20 times over now Nord."

He looks for the words to say, but instead produces, "I'm sorry I cursed you." he knows it's far too late for such. With a gut full of grief he redirects, "Good job on the amulet though, you always were brilliant." Ondine blesses him with a chuckle, and they stare off into the sunset of another life.


The fish I based this cursed form on is the Xenacanthus, which is actually a pre-historic fish. A humanoid version of that sounds SPOOKY! Pre-historic didn't flow as well as 'primordial' though, so... ✨m a g i c✨ land history🤷‍♀😂 I hope you liked my were-fish LOL 😁💕