In the murky depths of the Abyssal Cove, not far from the city of Urgaroth—a bustling, cavernous metropolis known more for its tattered taverns and dubious adventure peddlers than anything remotely resembling culture—a mermaid named Delphina languished, dreaming of a life beyond her soggy limitations. Naturally, being a mermaid in the Abyssal Cove came with more seaweed shackles than dreams, but anyone poking their heads into the murky water could tell you she wasn’t your average fin-ticker.
You see, first off, Delphina was given far too much credit for her intelligence. In fact, one of the more dangerous tavern drunks, Old Gregor the Grizzled, expressed it best during a night of heavy rum consumption and poorly thought-out bets: “She’s as smart as a barnacle glued to a rock. But my dear!, her tail’s a sight for sore eyes!” Now, one would think that being both fantastically beautiful and unbelievably naïve would pave the way for a charming existence among the gilled residents of the cove. But Delphina, in all her glimmering misfortune, had somehow managed to stir up trouble everywhere she swam.
Instead of spending her days swimming amongst the swirls of troubled plankton or gossiping about the intricacies of mollusk romances, Delphina entertained the deeply flawed idea that she was destined for greatness beyond the Abyssal Cove—because, of course, who wouldn’t? The problem was that her grand ambition veered toward the shores of lunacy, leading her to an astonishingly bad idea to befriend local humans. Yes, those delightful, smelly creatures that conquered the land with their incessant need for fire and metal.
On one ill-fated afternoon, she spotted a group of human adventurers sunbathing on the rocks—fools basking in the warmth like sunburned crustaceans waiting to be picked off by hungry seagulls. Delphina, with her hair like a wisp of kelp swaying in the current and scales shimmering brighter than seafoam in sunlight, glided closer. Oh, the depths of her optimism! Surely they would see her splendid tail as an offer of friendship and not the prelude to a rather sloppy meal.
“Oi!” she called, her voice spilling over the waves like a drunken sailor. “Care for a swim? I can help you find treasure or lost pearls or even… your… dignity?” Because clearly, nothing says “I’m friendly” like openly mocking their sense of self-worth.
The humans squinted toward her, their faces twisted with confusion and a healthy sprinkle of disbelief. “A mermaid?” one of them—whom Delphina later learned was named Bert—squawked. “What next? A talking crab?”
“Oh, please,” Delphina scoffed, flipping her luminescent tail, “I’d never be that crass. I’m far too charming for crustacean life.” Her ears perked up slightly, almost wishing they would appreciate her wit instead of shrieking like banshees. One would think they’d respond well to her dazzling humor; humans typically loved a good jest, or so she’d assumed while eavesdropping on passing sailor tales.
Bert and his companions, however, were not impressed. After a few moments of stunned silence filled with awkward shifting and scratching of heads, one brave (or stupid, one might argue) soul named Gerald seized the moment. “I dunno lad, let’s check if she’s tasty! Anyone’s up for mermaid stew?”
With that, they broke into a fit of laughter, a truly hearty belly shaking that made Delphina nearly sink to the bottom in shame. Oh, the stupidity of humans ran deep. “I’m not made for stew!” she retorted, starting to feel a pang of resentment. “How could you even consider making soup from such an extraordinary being?”
Delphina flared her gills indignantly and made a point of twirling, flashing her tail in a showy display. Sadly, it only garnered them more laughter. “Look at that! Her tail’s as fancy as your underpants, Gerald!” The gales of laughter taunted her like a pack of hyenas teasing the last wildebeest stuck in an unfortunate puddle.
Taking a deep breath, the mermaid decided the jokesters would serve as entertainment for the day, even if they clearly weren’t appreciative of true artistry. “Alright, listen up. If you’d like to see some real magic, come closer!”
With a flick of her tail, she summoned shimmering bubbles and summoned forth a likely entirely useless spectacle involving a school of bioluminescent fish, all shimmering with obscure shades of blue shades unknown to the realm of land-dwellers. They darted around, creating a magnificent display.
For a moment, the humans oohed and aahed, dropping their crude humor in favor of eyes wide, mouths agape—until one particularly foolish lad, who seemed to have sniffed one too many fumes from the local forge, shouted, “That’s wicked! How about we catch one and eat it instead?”
Delphina lost it. “Eat it? This feast for the eyes is a display of the profound beauty of the deep! You simpletons!” Mortification washed over her like overcooked clams. As if summoned by her anger, an insatiable hunger gripped the land-lovers, and their gnarled hands shot out toward the twinkling fish. With a horrified gasp, she watched as they flailed about, and her heart sank—it had gone horribly, horribly wrong.
What ensued was a flurry of chaotic splashes, gurgles that would haunt even the most jaded fish, and a cacophony that attracted everything that swam in the dark waters. Delphina could have sworn she saw a shark roll its eyes at the spectacle before retreating back to its lair, clearly outraged by humanity’s antics.
“And why do I even bother?” Delphina thought, her dreams of transcending the underwater fog and reaching heights of glory evaporating as quickly as spilled rum on a beach. Was it too much to ask for some intelligence among the masses? She swam away, leaving behind a cove littered with dim-witted guffaws echoing against the rocks.
In her despair, she found solace in the Whispering Grotto, a silent bay known for its tranquility and creatures of wisdom, or at least something resembling wisdom from the slouching octopus named Lotho. Floating there, Delphina lamented, “Why must they be so insufferable? Is it too much to hope for intelligent conversation, the noble pursuit of knowledge, or even… a civil dinner?”
“Mermaids and men—two species forever cursed,” sighed Lotho in his most smug, octopoid fashion. “You want advice? Stick to the plankton. At least they don’t make you feel like an idiot for being a dreamer.”
And so, in the scraps of Delphina’s heart and the salt of her tears, amidst the drowning laughter of foolish adventurers, a flickering ember of resolve began to unwittingly ignite. If humanity embraced stupidity, well then, perhaps she’d simply have to show them—embrace it wholeheartedly. For Delphina realized that if being a magnificent creature of the sea meant constantly battling bouts of inadequacy, perhaps it wasn’t quite the tragedy she fancied it to be.
There in the depths, lost to time and folly, her vision sharpened—far from the treasures of gold and glory she had yearned for, she mourned the mediocre life of everyone else around her, resigned to an existence of slimy depths, endless whispers, and an unyielding craving for something they were all far too afraid to reach for in the first place.
And so, not far off, in that grime-filled corner of the world, Delphina grew into her skin. Not the brilliant heroine of rippled waters she once imagined but rather an outlaw of her own misadventures and a merry jester on the stage of despair. She might still venture back to the shores, sparingly, with a glimmer in her eye and a flicker of scorn towards the humans who thought she bore the weight of their folly—a true mermaid thriving in this grand, ridiculous, absurd surf of life.