It splits open, and she's falling; the walls flutter, lights flash, and 
Finfolkaheem is no longer visible. She falls through many places, 
many times, none of which she recognizes. Towers of iron and 
glass, sprawling colorful structures as far as she can see. Through 
another hole, dimly lit ocean bottoms, a hermit crab moving... no, it 
too is made of iron. Through yet another hole she goes, and 
another, so on and so forth, faster and faster each time. A scene on 
the surface of the ocean flashes past, an enormous lobsier locked in 
combat with a gulper eel, dozens of tiny iron boats scattered across 
the thrashing surf. 


Flashes of faces, Mud-Men and Women, Finnfolk as well. The throb 
in her skull increases with each pass. All are unfamiliar, and seem to 
blur... Except one. A single Finwife, standing on the steps of some 


great white marble structure, staring out into a labyrinth of lron 
towers from which smoke rises. Death permeates the air. Her scales 
are golden, and her hair fair. She turns, and for the briefest of 
moments, her blue eyes widen in surprise before Triemides passes 
through. It was almost like looking in a mirror. 


Triemides lands, on solid ground, none too lightly in an empty 
landscape. A single symbol fills the horizon, an eye at the center of 
a ring, with three arrows pointing inwards. It starts spinning, faster 
and faster, then the floor turns several times, finally righting itself 
back in Finfolkaheem. There are shapes everywhere, things phasing 
into and out of walls, strange and alien creatures floating and 
writhing. Space appears to fold and unfold before her very eyes. 
Turning, under some foolish pretense that she might escape the 
madness, she's blinded. 


An enormous, amorphous, shifting mass juts from the ground in 
front and below her. It's unlike anything else she can see. This thing 
takes up her entire field of view; bright greens, yellows, blues, and 
pinks swirling together in a shifting mass around four dark spots. 
The dark spots open, revealing four yellow eyes, all locked on her 
comparatively tiny form. It reaches towards her, a single impossibly 
large claw becoming a hand, rending the space between them. She 
recoils. A shiver runs the length of her spinal chord, unable to 
conceal the fear of the eldritch entity before her, electrifying the air 
with unbelievable waves of power. 


Her heart clinches, the nausea returns. She can't breathe. She can't 
look away. Her eyes won't open. The pain in her skull throbs. The 
thing reshapes, into something resembling a lobster...with far too 
many heads and claws. 


Breathe. Everything's going to be alright. You're experiencing astral 
perception for the first time. It's going to take a little getting used to, 
but it will be alright. 


The voice in her head is soothing. It originates from the swirling 
lobster. Calming images of rolling green hills and gentle ocean 


waves flash through the Finwife's mind. Her chest loosens. Relief 
lasts for only a moment, as a river of fire pours into her skull. 


Another image flashes through her mind. The Mud-Woman on the 
beach. The gears in her pounding head clicked into place, another 
blast of pain more severe than the last. 


She pauses, 
head starting to spin again as she flashes an image of her 
surroundings, namely the lobster of shifting color, back at the 
source. 


Yes. Images are easier. Verbal communication alone was proving 
unproductive, and you were on the verge of seeing something you 
were not ready for. There is a hint of frustration, and regret in the 
thoughts. /n my attempt to open you, I'm afraid | overstepped and 
exposed you despite my best efforts. 


Confusion and pain warp into unmitigated anger, roaring to the 
surface of Triemides' mind. Her astral projection grows, radiating 
energy. It pulses in time with the throbbing of her mind. A trickle of 
blood leaks from her nose in the physical world. 


Her anger manifests, lashing against the lobster, 3 prongs of gold 
and crimson flames stabbing at the edges, causing it to recoil. The 
eyes widen, as if surprised. Her swings are wild, warping astral 
space, but the claws deflect them. It shifts again, taking on the 
appearance of crab, with far too many legs. 


Curious. Such power, in such a short period of development. The 
Finwife picks up on thoughts that were not directed at her. 
Triemides, calm yourself so that | might expla- 


Her mind lashes out yet again, five prongs this time. The crab's 
claws snap the prongs in half, as if they were merely sticks rapping 


against a wall of bricks. The act is extraordinary painful, piling onto 
the virtual spike already driving into her brain. The Finwife flinches, 
her aura faltering. 


Cease this foolishness, | can sense your pain, and it will not lessen 
by striking at my astral form. Your swings are wild, and untrained. | 
am only here to help and can relieve your pain. 


The throbbing beneath her skull reaches a cacophony, and she 
unleashes numerous prongs at the crab, all at once. They penetrate 
it, and for a moment it seems as if Triemides has vanquished the 
creature. The atmosphere changes in the blink of an eye, the many 
strangely shaped creatures stop, and appear to glance all around. 
They turn and run, swim, fly, and wink in all directions. Fear. Fear 
permeates everything but the mass. 


The crab grips the Finwife's astral prongs, the undulating rolls of 
energy folding and shaping. Triemides cries out in pain, the entity's 
form flows along the prongs, enveloping her torso, and lifting her 
high into the air. It grows, exponentially in size, reforming into the 
silhouette of an enormous Mud-Woman, the former yellow eyes 
repositioning upon the familiar face of the woman from the beach. 
The colors swirl dangerously around the Finwife, shifting from bright, 
warm tones into black and red. The fist clenches, tightening as 
Triemides cries out and writhes in agony. 


Insolent daughter of the sea, !am no demon. | am Mither the 
Progenitor, eldest of the 13. You fail to understand the gravity 
of my gifts, should they be rescinded you will perish, and that 
shall not come to pass. Fate has chosen thee, one with golden 
scales, fair hair, and stubborn will to unite thy race against the 
coming storm. | shall relieve thy suffering, and then thou must 
cease thy foolishness. 


The swirling mass envelopes Triemides, as she cries out, struggling 
to break free. The struggles slow, as the pain fades from her skull, 
and she slips into unconscious bliss, fading from the astral plane. 


In her cell, with its bars made of hardened crystal, the entity, 
disguised as the Mud-Woman Alva, slumps against the wall, cuts 
and bruises across her physical form. 


She smiles, eyelids drooping. "So the age of sealing begins." 


She too fades from consciousness. 


Cold fluid pours into Triemides mouth stirring her back to 
conciousness. A bitter taste sweeps across her tongue, and down 
her throat. She coughs, ejecting some of the fluid out, onto the bed. 
Her eyes flutter, slowly opening. A dull, distant pain in the back of 
her skull is palpable, but it continues to fade. Something about the 
infirmary seems off, as if her very perception of it has changed, but 
she cannot place it. 


Memories of the encounter in the astral plane come flooding back. 
She recoils from them in some misplaced sense of shame. At 
allowing herself to have been controlled, by pain. 


Her embarrassment deepens, as she relives each moment where 
she lashed out at something, no, someone whose motives she did 
not yet grasp. The deepest humiliation comes at having been so 
easily vanquished. Her; Triemides Aqualian, daughter of Matriarch 
J6rd. A fearsome warrior princess feared for her prowess; admired 
for her height and beauty; respected for her cunning and iron will; 
crushed in a single blow. A mistake that never should have been 
made. A foolish fight that should have never been started. 


"You're awake, good. Your mother was convinced the demon had 
taken you from us." An ancient Finwife with silver scales administers 
a cloth, soaked in warm water, to Triemides' forehead. Triemides 
rolls onto her back, propped into a sitting position by the 
apothecarist. "Here, you must drink the rest, yes." 


"Thank you granny Skrie." The young Finwife takes the crystalline 
bowl from the ancient creature's hands, taking brief note of the lack 
of scales, and wrinkling pink flesh. She looks at the purple fluid, 


brings the bowl up to her face, and sniffs. With a single motion she 
downs the concoction, turns her head and coughs. The bitter taste 
irritates her throat, as she hands Skrie the bowl. 


A hand grips Triemides by the jaw, turns her face towards the 
ancient Finwife. It pushes her face to the right, and then back to the 
left. It pulls one of Triemides' eyelids up, an uncomfortable sensation 
that makes her want to squirm. The silver scaled creature stares into 
the exposed eye, red eyes belying an awareness fitting of someone 
far younger. 


"You sure you're still my lil Triemides? Didn't get supplanted by 
some demon while you were out?" Skrie releases the eyelid, 
allowing Triemides to rub the now watering eye. 


"Of course it's still me Gammy." She pauses offering a smile. 
"Besides, that woman isn't a demon. Just a harmless sage seeking 
help. She caught me napping." Of course she couldn't reveal the 
truth. Whatever she is, the Mud-Woman is far more powerful than a 
demon. An execution would only deprive the young Finwife of a 
chance to redeem herself... and would most likely get everyone else 
killed. 


"Good good. Must make sure your mother knows, or she will 
execute the Mud-Woman." The elderly Finwife pats Triemides cheek 
with one hand. 


*Smack* 


A string of curses and foul language escapes Triemides' lips as she 
tenderly nurses the site of the slap. 


"Ah, good. It is still my granddaughter after all. You pull another 
stunt like sleeping on the beach, alone, again, | will skin your scales 
myself. 750 years I've lived, never seen a child so smart yet so 
stupid." The elderly Finwife scratches a place on her back. "Wait 
here, | will go tell your Mother you are awake. She will want to see 
you with the council. Wants to make a decision on the Mud-Woman, 
and receive news from the Great Southern Basin." She hobbles out 
of the infirmary leaving Triemides to nurse her slightly swollen 
cheek. 


"Crotchety old hag." Triemides mutters to herself, massaging her 
jaw. 


"What was that | hear?" comes Skrie's voice from some distance 
away. 


"Nothing Gammy." The young Finwife responds. "Hearing like a 
hawk, and a slap like a dolphin." She whispers to herself, her lips 
upturned in a slight smile. 


Triemides turns her head and stares out the arch-like window. The 
sun is visibly beginning to dip below the horizon, the sky around it a 
mixture of pink and red. The light refracts off the surface of hundreds 
of intricately carved crystalline structures emitting a prism of color 
into the sky, creating an artificial Aurora Borealis. The colors dance 
in the midsummer sky, outlining hundreds of historical scenes, each 
relaying some small part of the Finnfolks' past. 


Such wondrous beauty and heritage. So few of my kind appreciate 
such things, even when they are on our own scale. 


The voice trickles into the Finwife's head, and with it comes a 
sudden awareness. The difference in perception, the change in the 
infirmary is not because the room has changed, but because she 
has. Her mind touches tiny specs of energy, strange molecules 
spread through the air, through every solid object, and living thing. 
She can see them, and feel them in the candle on the counter 
across the room, the crystals on the farthest building, out to the 
campfire on the beach. In every Finwife and Finman she can feel 
them, concentrated, but untapped. It is both intoxicating and 
fascinating. 


You can do far more than that. The tiny specs of energy you feel all 
around are Euclid particulates. They permeate the universe. Some 
places and things have more than others. Some have less. Focus 

on the candle over on the counter. Can you feel the Euclids in it? Try 
to grab them with your mind; it's going to feel weird at first, but you'll 


speed with the siren and flashers on. This is accompanied by a 
looping message played on the target’s radio, consisting of the 
phrase “Run, [EXPLETIVE DELETED]”. In % of cases, the target 
will flee with SCP-973 in pursuit and will be overtaken in 1-6 
minutes. At this point, [DATA EXPUNGED]. 


The remains of thirty-four individuals and nineteen vehicles have 
been found within 6.4 km of the affected roadway. The range of 
damage done to bodies includes evisceration, rape, [DATA 
EXPUNGED}], and three cases where the body had been damaged 
by the impact to the point that visual identification was impossible. 
Five survivors are within Foundation custody, all suffering from 
varying degrees of mental trauma. The recovered vehicles 
showcase heavy impact damage, both environmental and inflicted, 
and severe burn damage to the interior. 


Addendum-1: Destroying the roadway affected by SCP-973 has 
proven ineffective. The demolition of part of State Route in 1983 
led to SCP-973 relocating itself to its current position. 


Addendum-2: 08/ /20 - Attempt to capture and contain SCP-973 
fails, resulting in the death of nine agents. SCP-973 is believed to be 
wounded, but is not incapacitated, re-appearing nine days later. 
Firsthand accounts indicate a change in SCP-973-2's appearance, 
as shown in this excerpt from the post-mission interview of Agent 


Agent : | can’t really say. He just looked...different. 
His eyes were red, | remember that, and his mouth was 
just this black hole. No teeth, no tongue, just a hole. | 
was too busy shooting at him to get a better look than 
that. 


Addendum-3: SCP-973’s area of effect seems to be expanding, as 
does the window of time that manifestations occur. Security 
protocols have been adapted to this. 


« SCP-972 | SCP-973 | SCP-974 » 


get used to it. 


The Finwife closes her eyes, and focuses on the candle. She tries to 
grip it with her mind, the particles glowing in the darkness of the 
astral plane. 


Very good. Now move it. 


The candle shakes, and jiggles, and then begins to slide. It falls from 
the counter with a sharp cracking noise. Triemides' eyes pop open, 
and she slowly stands, walking towards and picking up the candle. 
There is a moment of quiet contemplation, and then a smile breaks 
across her face. 


Child, this isn't like magic. This IS magic. | have only shown you the 
very surface. We can go so much deeper. 


The childlike wonder spread across the Finwife's chest slowly 
dissipates into caution. She remembers who she is communicating 
with, and what they did. 


There is a moment of silence. Triemides takes advantage of this to 
explore the newfound ability to see into the astral plane. The 
enormous mass of energy is no longer occupying the entirety of her 
vision as she turns. Only the shape of the Mud-woman somewhere 
below. Despite its condensed form, the entity is radiating more 
energy now than it was before. It's a sensation that is not at all 
comforting. 


The simple answer to your question is you will need a teacher. 
Untrained use of magic of any kind is dangerous, to both yourself 
and others. Your people, in their current state, are unable to do so. 
The only reason you can, is because of my actions; however much 
initial pain they may have caused... The latter is something | very 
much regret. 


A laugh pings through the golden finwife's head. 


Maybe you have some common sense in that stubborn head of 
yours after all. You shouldn't trust me. You don't know me. You, 
most likely, don't even grasp what | am. This is all expected.