Eyes began to open as a handful of exiles awoke from what should have been certain death. Before being dragged to the surface by the colossal monstrosity that had ripped apart the island they were hiding on, someone or something had not only knocked out a handful of the exiles but had transported them to…

Wherever they were now.

As the ones who had awoken began to stir others from their slumber, the distant sounds of seagulls echoed in from far away and the smell of salt water flowed into their nostrils. As the last of the group got to their feet, a very peculiar ‘man’ appeared to walk out from behind a thin young tree that was far too narrow to have hidden him. Those in the know could identify the dapper gentleman as Lord Wolfenstein or, as he was called while incarcerated, ‘Dave.’. Lord Wolfenstein had no discernable features, or rather, he had features, but they were so ‘normal’ that you could not say for sure whether he had a moustache, beard, red hair, blue hair, glasses, a monocle or even the type of clothing he wore. All you could tell is that ‘he’ was always dressed to kill, and that ‘he’ was the kind of ‘man’ that women would swoon for.

Lord Wolfenstein approached the remaining exiles and looked over them with a rather uninterested gaze. His eyes swept from one side to the other and back again as he sipped some tea from a fine porcelain tea cup. After studying the rather unnerved group for a time, he tossed the tea cup away, but rather than shattering when it hit the ground it merely turned into a sea gull and flew away.

“Well, aren’t you a sorry lot? No home, no country, not even a single coin to your name. All you have are the clothes on your back and the vague hope that you are far enough away from the crazy shenanigans going on in Europa to avoid utter madness and/ or destruction.”

W. took out a perfume bottle from somewhere and used the mixture within it to spritz his spectacles before taking a monogramed handkerchief and wiping the dust and detritus from them. He put on his monocle and sat down in a large cushioned chair that seemingly had appeared out of nowhere.

“Didn’t he have glasses instead of a monocle?”

One of the exiles had paid attention to the details, but L.W. didn’t pay him any mind.

“I haven’t the slightest idea what you are talking about.” L.W. said, looking into a mirror and seeing his reflection that lacked any kind of eyewear.

One of the exiles sighed and spoke up.

“Don’t worry about the details, they will just get you to question everything. Just know that ‘he’ is there, and that ‘he’ is talking to us and not erasing us.”

L.W. pointed in the man’s direction and the waterlogged clothes he was wearing were now replaced with dry ones that were fit for royalty.

“Now then. Enough of the pleasantries. Time for business.”

L.W. stood up and made his way to a podium that had, like the now non-existent chair, appeared from seemingly nowhere.

“I have taken you from utter oblivion, but this is not out of mercy.” Lord Wolfenstein straightened his tie and continued. “I will give you a rather simple choice and you will answer on behalf of all involved.”

Pausing for dramatic effect, Lord Wolfenstein took in a breath and began to dictate the ultimatum.

“You adults will decide the fate of your children. Will you allow them to live as commoners for the rest of their lives or would you rather that they die before lowering themselves to such a position? Choose carefully, for more than you know is on the line. I will permit you only a few short minutes to think this decision over, but you should be aware that any and all choices you make are final and binding. You have only one chance and only one choice, so please do choose what is best for all involved parties.”

Lord Wolfenstein pressed a button on a clock and the timer began to count down to zero.

…

*DING! *

“Time’s up. Let’s hear your choices then, shall we?”

As you would expect, some of the adults refused to even consider forcing their children to live a life that was so far beneath their standing. Roughly one out of three families were more amenable and admitted that they would rather let their children have a shot at life and eventually climbing the rungs of society than facing a terminal end. Then there were a handful of others who made up roughly one out of ten that would rather give up their own status and position than have their children brought low and even asked if they could give up their lives to let their children prosper.

This was about the result that the living example of true uncertainty was expecting. With a snap of his fingers, those who accepted the choice or who offered their own lives in exchange were gone, and only those who refused to lower their lineage remained on the landmass. Lord Wolfenstein straightened his sports coat and began to walk away but stopped about ten meters from the remainder.

“Ah, I forgot to tell you something.” He said, raising his finger and pointing towards the north, “Civilization is that way, but please do note that you are on an island resort in the Atlantic, so do be prepared for some quite miffed vacationers.”

With that, the ‘man’ who had spirited them away from doom had disappeared and the exiles wandered towards the north. As they got closer to the beach, they could overhear the sounds of women at play and the men among the exiles rushed forwards to see the exotic foreign females.

Only for the lot of them to discover that the ‘vacationers’ were all Naga who were none too happy that they had to start working now that humans had arrived. What could be said of what happened next is something that should not be mentioned, but it was not pretty. Those men who resisted were taken and broken in as tools to help the Naga increase their number, while those that cowered and begged were treated far worse. Tortured and abused until they were no longer amusing, the ones who had tried to earn pity or who had tried to run were used to the limit and then given a terrible fate. As for the women? That is something that you should not ask about, unless you find physical/ mental corruption and tentacle rape to be your fetish….

…

Along an unnamed Teutonian beach that led up to the norther sea, a small fishing village was preparing for the day. The tide had gone out last night, and things were going as they usually did in such situations. Things were normal, until one of the children made a horrific discovery near the exposed shoreline.

Several dozen wooden pilings had been embedded at the very edge of the water line and tied to them were the waterlogged bodies of several dozen men of various ages. Their bodies, when examined, still had visible signs of torture inflicted via both physical and magical means and they looked to have expired due to drowning rather than due to the torment they went through. What made the bodies even more disturbing was the fact that every one of the victims had a twisted smile on their face that seemed to be one of utter madness and insanity.

By the time the results of the autopsies found out their identities, the story of the ‘Drowning Village’ had spread far and wide. The village was slowly abandoned as less and less people wished to do business with a place that possibly engaged in cult-like activities and over time the people in said village either left or tried to deal with the aftermath. Those who stayed eventually vanished, and the village vanished from the map due to a freak storm causing the settlement to be dragged into the sea.