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The Descended Divers
Trudging slowly among the sea floor, step by step through the ink black. Brushing past coral clusters, swift undersea currents sweep up slow schools. Cursed to roam the sea floor for eternity, large clomping metal boots create sand craters. Ancient equipment of brass and steel covered in living coral and barnacles, long pitted and dented by the constant pushing sea.
The wanderer continues to move through the dark miasma, step by painful step it continues the eon long journey. The long trek brings it close to an underwater city. It watches the merman through a cracked, yellowed amber view port. It remembers the feeling of lungs taking in air, of wind on the face and food in the mouth. A terrible rage builds as it starts to walk towards the city, behind out of the awful black more deep diving suits place a foot in front of the other.
Cities will come and go, kingdoms will rise and rot. The eternal curse will always exist.
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