Triemides frowns in annoyance, crossing her arms as she stares at 
the dancing lights outside. 


She knows the answer before the thought even leaves her brain. 
Asking is only a formality. Triemides can almost see the smugness 
of Alva's smile as she responds. 


A warrior such as yourself cannot resist a chance to learn... 
Especially when their teacher has knocked them around like a 
ragdoll. 


Several minutes of silence pass. Skrie has yet to return from 
notifying J6rd, but Triemides is almost certain she will return at any 
moment. 


A sense of childlike excitement and glee pours from the strange 
creature in waves, an unexpected and rather unsettling reaction. 
Triemides can't help but curse herself for being unable to resist the 
challenge. The draw of power, beyond the physical and political 
strength her mother had so heavily bashed into her skull, was far too 
tempting to pass on. 


We can discuss the finer details later. For now, | will need your 
assistance. You're aware of this, but as long as they keep me locked 
up | am of very little use to you. | will be of even less assistance if 
they attempt to execute me, an action which will end poorly for all 
involved. Preferably, | would prefer you work over your mother. 
Violating your own laws is something | wish to avoid. 


A wave of palpable displeasure rolls off the creature. 


| do not favor submitting to servitude, but | suppose it will have to do. 


Alva stretches an arm across the gap between them in the astral 
plane, hand extended. 


Let's shake on it. 


Triemides looks at the ridiculously long arm, and scrunches her 
scaled brow. She grips the hand with her right, and shakes. Despite 
the unsettling nature of the appendage, the touch is pleasant and 
warm. 


There are far stranger things in this world than a long distance hand 
shake. 


Skrie walks back into the room, a bundle of clothing and a pair of 
fresh knee high leather boots in her arms. 


"Oh good, you're already up. Come, come, get dressed. Mother 
waits in council chamber with the others? Mustn't keep them 
waiting.” 


Skrie turns, and faces the doorway. Triemides takes the gown off 
and places it on a nearby bed. She slides on the pair of cloth 
underwear, the pants, the shirt, and the boots up over her leg fins. 


Triemides stands outside of the council chamber, her hands clasped 
behind her back, and her teeth digging into her lower lip. Her 
mother, Matriarch J6ré, head of the Finnfolk tribe, and most 
influential member of the Five tribes council, is on the other side of 
the ornately carved wooden doors. It is very likely that she will end 
up receiving some sort of disproportionate disciplinary measure as a 
result of her carelessness. 


You should stop thinking like that, it's bad for your health. The 
entity's message is accompanied by a mental image of Triemide's 
mother with a rather disproportionately large paddle. 


If only you could have heard me on the beach. 


The walls surrounding the doors are carved with hundreds of murals 
depicting great acts carried out by Finnfolk warriors in times past, 
luminescence scattered across the high ceilings of the building. She 
pushes through the doors, and is greeted by a large rounded 
chamber. Five pedestals connected together via a series of wooden 
platforms stand well above the floor. From left to right five Finwives 
with green, black, yellow, light blue, and red scales sit. Two guards 
stand off to the right side of the chamber, each with a chain in their 
hand attached to Alva. 


A Mud-Man with dark hair and brown eyes is speaking directly to the 
yellow-scaled Finwife, Matriarch J6r6. Conversation stops as the 
doors open. All parties involved look towards Triemides as she 
enters. The Mud-Man looks nervously from Triemides to Alva. His 
leg shakes, and his fists are clenched, anxiety radiating from him. 
Something about her unsettles him. 


"Good, you're awake." J6rd's voice is cold and detached. Her blue 
eyes track Triemides as she enters and steps to the right to await 
her own judgement. "We'll get to you and that thing in a moment." 


Her eyes turn back to the dark-haired man. She clears her throat, 
regaining his attention. 


"As | was saying, your majesty, the Tribes of Greece and the 
Mekhanites are currently in a stalemate with the Sarkites and the 
Daevites at Tpoia. We're engaged in a free for all. It's the Trojans 
against us against the Sarkites against the Daevites, and it never 
seems to end. Hundreds die every day, on all sides, and it's only 
gotten worse since the old ones got involved." His voice is dry and 
his breath carries across the room, reeking of desperation. 


Huh. Well if my mother isn't an eldritch abomination. Sounds like the 


others are finally starting to make their moves as well. 


A whole lot of not good rolling into the human world. Don't worry 
about it. It's not going to be our concern for awhile. Alva's physical 
form tenses, as if she doesn't believe her own thoughts. 


Just an expression, | don't have a mother... | think? 


"What," J6rd pauses, clicking her tongue against her teeth, "Makes 
you think we would want to get involved in such a mess?" Triemides 
can't help but smile. Her mother has that familiar look in her eye. 
She's just toying with him. Seeing how far she can string him out. 


"If you don't, the Sarkites or the Daevites will claim victory and lay 
waste to all in their path. They will continuously grow stronger until 
they are upon the great white cliffs." The Mud-Man shifts nervously. 


"Nonesense." The blue-scaled Finwife, Vaenn of the Selchi, speaks, 
her voice high-pitched and airy. "We trade with both the Flesh 
Crafters and the Plant Tamers in the Ice waters." 


"These are not the same. The Daevites are fractured city states, and 
the Sarkites are no longer united beneath lon. They are split 
between his Archons." 


"Then they will fight and destroy each other long before they reach 

any of our settlements." The red-scaled Finwife, orlog of the Selkie 
Fowk, crosses her arms, revealing impressive fins along the tops of 
said appendages. 


"You will lose your monopoly on trade from the Basin!" There is a 
hint of a smile on J6ré's lips as the Mud-Man continues his attempts 
to fearmonger. 


"Hardly. We control all trade that passes through the channel 
between us and the land of the Fae worshipers. A new proprietor will 
mean nothing, as they must still go through us." The black-scaled 


Finwife, Uhtred of the Silki, soeaks with a soft, low tone. 


"Do you have nought but empty warnings for us? If so, then you are 
wasting our time laddie." The voice originating from the green- 
scaled Finwife, Frami of the Sylk, is light and harmonious. 


"But |... What could we possibly do or offer to earn your armies if 
you will not heed our warnings?" J6rd smiles as the words leave his 


lips. 


| believe it's your turn to explain. 


| do enjoy the occasional bit of confusion, yes. Now please, explain. 


That... is oddly disconcerting. Are you sure you are related? 


Possibly. 


"Military alliance." She says; leaning back in her chair. The other 
members of the council look at the Matriarch quizzically. "We pledge 
our armies to this... petty debate of yours, you pledge yours to any 
future conflicts we might encounter." 


"The Kings of Greece will need som-" He's cut off by J6ré's raised 
hand. 


"If your situation is as desperate as you have told us; this is nota 
decision to be left to debate among Mud-Men kings interested in 
only consolidating their power. You accept this offer here and now, 
we will gather and deploy our armies immediately." She pauses and 
looks at Triemides in thought. "Underneath the command of my 
daughter." 


The golden-scaled Finwife blinks, confused. 


| do believe this is your punishment. 


The Mud-Man hesitates. "Very well. We will agree to this military 
alliance." 


"Wonderful. We shall gather our fleet post-haste. It will be slower, 
but it is far safer for us to travel en masse via ship than risk stirring 
the depths of the basin. You may take your leave of us, we have..." 
She pauses, and looks towards Triemides, the smile fading. "Other 
affairs to attend to." 


The Mud-Man leaves the room at a quick pace, giving Alva another 
anxious look. The doors creak shut and Triemides steps into the 
center of the room. The guards drag Alva, none too gently, to the 
center next to the Finwife. A perturbing silence permeates the 
chamber. All five council members staring the young Finwife down. 


Do you want to say a prayer? 


So that | can hear it and tell you | can't do anything. I've found 
Mortals have a tendency to do such things at a time like this. 


| never said | was joking. 


"Triemides," J6r6d begins, "My daughter. You've been warned a great 
many times about sleeping along the beaches, away from 
Finfolkaheem. Yet here we are, having the same conversation we 
always have." She rubs her temples, visibly agitated. 


"|, and the other council members, have come to the conclusion, 
that Finfolkaheem has become stale for you. You are restless and 
headstrong," She pauses. "A fact which nearly, or very nearly 
resulted in your death by this... thing." She gestures at Alva. 


"She's not a demon Mother, she's a-" Triemides is cut off. 


"We're very much aware. She survived five nights within the soul 
crystals of Asgard; so kindly given to us by Freyja. No demon could 
do that." She pauses momentary looking in Alva's direction. 


IS THAT WHAT THEY PUT ME IN? A wave of hot anger rolls from 
Alva's direction. No wonder | passed out after tha- Wait, I'm 
broadcasting. 


No, no. Don't know what you are talking about. 


| can't hear you. 


"Neither is she the sage of the sea, as you told Skrie. The individual 
with that title is currently attending Poseidon in the Basin." The 
Matriarch places her arms on the pedestal, clasped together, and 
rests her scaled chin on top. 


"She is certainly not a regular Mud-Woman, as the isle's tides would 
have washed her back to sea. This leaves only one possibility.” 


This is unexpected. Alva emits a wave of surprise, that quickly 
lapses into amusement. 


Alva laughs before J6r6 can say anything else. It is mirthful in 
nature, but Triemides neck scales tighten, fear running the length of 
her spine. 


"It seems that | have underestimated the children of the sea, once 
again." The chains around her wrists and ankles dissolve. The 
guards stagger back, raising their tridents. J6r6 raises a hand 
indicating for them to stop. "So tell me, J6r6, daughter of Vanadis, 
what do you intend to do with your newfound... knowledge?" 


An uneasy silence strangles the room. 


"Clearly, we cannot have knowledge of your true nature spread 
amongst our people. We also cannot have you roaming freely." She 
pauses and shifts to Triemides. "Some sort of measure must be 
taken to provide Triemides an avenue of maturation, so that she 
does not self destruct. The original discussion between myself and 
the rest of the council agreed upon a temporary exile, to the farthest 
reachs of the sea. As an emissary for future trade and diplomacy, 
with you accompanying her." 


"The revelation of this... human's," The word is said with some 
difficulty, even a hint of disgust, "nature, and the representative from 
the basin has changed both our minds, and the situation." 


J6ré rises from where she sits, and walks around the podiums. She 
stands in front of Triemides. One hand is placed on the golden- 
scaled shoulder, wrinkling webbed fingers clenching the clavicle. 
Her other hand dips into a pouch, and emerges covered with yellow 
powder. 


"Triemides," the older Finwife draws a symbol across her forehead 
with the yellow powder. "With this powder, | gift thee the luck of the 
Finnfolk, fairest of the five tribes, and appoint thee arbiter of the 
council's will. You will take with thee 100 seafaring vessels, and 
2000 warriors from each tribe to the Great Southern Basin. The 
entity known as Alva shall be bound to you and only you by oath of 
blood. It shall serve as your teacher in all things arcane. Do you 
understand?" A depiction of a larger circle, containing four yellow 
spheres within decorates her forehead. 


"| do." The golden scales around her lips purse, her brow furrowing 
in determination. 


Wait a second. A curious line of images emerge from Alva's mind, 
far too quickly for Triemides to interpret. 


Nothing, just remembering. 


"Your hand please?" J6rd draws a knife from her belt, and cuts the 
palm of Triemides hand; the younger Finwife flinching. J6rd turns to 


Alva, and hesitates. Alva offers her hand without being asked. 
"Alva, do you understand your role as-" J6rd is cut off. 


"If | did not, | would not still be here." The Mud-Woman indicates her 
hand, a hint of impatience in her voice. J6ré cuts it with the knife, 
releasing a trickle of blood. 


Alva and Triemides shake, forming the blood oath. 


White water surf beats against the hull of the Bireme as it cuts 
through the North Sea waters like a knife through butter. Ninety-nine 
more follow behind it, thousands of multi-colored scales glittering in 
the midsummer morning sun, hundreds of oars beating in time 
against the waves. Triemides stands at the prow of the vessel 
looking out onto the horizon, the Mud-Woman Alva standing close 
behind her. Green armor made from the toughest leather with 
bronze plates covers them both. 


"What do you think we'll encounter once we get there?" The shout is 
just barely heard over the crash of the surf. 


"If | Know my brethren, it will be a mess." The response is barely a 
whisper, but it carries to Triemides' ears, and beyond. 


"Then let us be the maids." Triemides says, a smile on her lips, and 
fire in her eyes. 


2993 Years Since the Sealing Summer (YSSS) 


"And that my dear Hege, is how Triemides met The 
Mither." A Finman with orange scales sits in a chair 
pulled close to a kelp bed within a luxuriously decorated 
chamber. A book with green paper and strange 
combinations of writing arcing across the pages rests on 
his lap. 


"More papa, more." A Finwife, with golden scales and 
fair hair lies tucked into the bed. Her eyes are as blue 
and bright as a clear midsummer's sky, and display an 


SCP-974: Treehouse Predator 


Item #: SCP-974 
Object Class: Euclid 


Special Containment Procedures: One specimen of SCP-974 is 
kept within Zoological Reserve Site 16 in a lightly wooded 
containment area measuring no greater than 2500 m?. An armed 
patrol is to be conducted at least once weekly in order to ascertain 
the status of any instances of SCP-974-2 and destroy any that are 
determined to be no longer in use. 


Once every 3 months, a group of no fewer than 4 children between 
ages 6-12 are to be acquired per Protocol 12 and transported to the 
containment area. They will be housed in on-site barracks and daily 
encouraged to explore and play in the containment area. If SCP-974 
has not targeted one of the children within 5 days, a different group 
of children will be introduced. This cycle is to be repeated until it is 
confirmed that at least 1 child has been targeted by SCP-974. 


If SCP-974 attempts to leave the containment area, on-site security 
will herd it back using flamethrowers. 


Agents are instructed to attempt to capture any instances of 
SCP-974 encountered in the wild, but are authorized to use lethal 
force to eliminate SCP-974 if capture is not feasible. This may 
include the total immolation of any areas inhabited by SCP-974, if 
warranted. 


If any instances of SCP-974-A are encountered, they are to be 
destroyed as rapidly as possible. See Document 974-C(4b-f) for a 
full list of recommended weaponry and tactics.