Peering down into the inky depths from one of Westmarch' many docks, Rathma was reminded why he'd never lived by the open ocean. It was late in the day, and the choppy waves were nearly black without the sun to light them. Swimming was something that came naturally to him, and despite its shadowy look, it was not the water itself that concerned him. No, it was of course what lived in the water that was so off-putting.
He knew better than most what sort of primordial creatures dwelled beneath the surface. Inarius and the other renegades had started with the oceans after all, before moving onto the land-based flora and fauna. There were things older than even he within Sanctuary's oceans, and Rathma did not want to come face to face with any of them.
Fortunately most of the bigger creations stayed away from the shores. Simply knowing they were out there was enough to dissuade the old nephalem from hanging around the waters any longer than he had to though.
Instinct, wisdom, call it what you would. The oceans did not belong to anything mortal.
Heavy boots clunked on the dock, pulling him out of his reverie, and he looked up to find Tyrael making his way towards him. The former-angel bore his armor once more, and there was a glow of magic about him. Rathma decided he should probably lecture him about the dangers of lightning and water again. The two really did not mix well.
"Sense anything out there?" Tyrael asked, coming to a stop beside him.
Tilting his head, Rathma mentally turned to the waters again. With whatever was wailing in the forests, and the knowledge of what sorts of things could be found far out, focussing on any one specific thing could be tricky for the nephalem. At least he knew he was looking for an island based threat, which narrowed the search. It was still unfortunately easy to become distracted.
"There's certainly something." He offered after a moment. "Something old, dark, wet and probably treacherous." A wave slapped angrily at the dock, and Rathma's cloak fluttered indignantly. Tyrael raised a brow.
"You don't know what it is?" He carefully asked.
"I have ideas of what it could be. This region was never mine to guard though, and its legends and myths are mostly unknown to me." Rathma admitted. The west had always been Bul-Kathos's to reign over. He and his descendants had long watched over the lands, up until the (relatively) recent migration of Rakkis and his kinfolk. Rathma's expertise lay in the east, and that was short and long of it.
Tyrael looked vaguely disappointed, his mouth pressing into a grim line. "Then we will be going in blind."
Shrugging, Rathma turned his back to the water, and his cloak drew itself tighter about him. His tail flicked agitatedly. "We have local legends, and what your scouts have reported. It's more than you've had to go off in the past."
A small laugh left the former angel, and he scrubbed a hand down his face. "I had senses beyond that of a mortal at that point." He then gestured out into the gulf. "Whatever this is, it has been causing people to disappear, and we don't even know if they're alive-"
"They're not." Rathma's voice was flat. Tyrael stared at him for a long moment, stricken.
"I would sense a living mortal. There's no one alive out there right now." He clarified for the former-angel. Tyrael looked like he wanted to sit down, and Rathma wondered if he'd been too blunt. He sometimes forgot not everyone accepted it when others died - it's not like anything could be done about it save honor their memory.
A heavy sigh left him as Tyrael strode down to the very end of the dock. "We will have to inform the families then...and deal with this island swiftly."
Sensing the shift in Tyrael's resolve, Rathma decided he would probably need to prepare a bigger arsenal to take with him. Bones might not cover this one, and failure to deal with the threat was not something they could accept.
"You have a plan then?" He asked. Tyrael tilted his head, and turned back around to face his nephew. From the way he frowned, Rathma could guess the answer.
"Part of one. I will need to finalize, and make preparations…" Winds blew suddenly, causing his cloak to flare and the waves to grow rougher. Salt and iron were on the air.
"This could be bigger than we think. Bloodier." Rathma bluntly spoke. "Make not a plan with haste. Plan carefully, and plan thoroughly." Tyrael nodded, but he was not looking at the nephalem. His gaze was over the water once more, and filled with some trepidation. Rathma thought he looked more concerned about the waves than he should've…
"Can you swim?" He suddenly asked. Stared hard at his uncle. Didn't miss the somewhat guilty look the former-angel threw him. Leaned back against his tail, threw a beseeching look into the skies.
"I used to as an angel…" Tyrael offered.
"But mortal bodies are different." Rathma concluded.
"There was never any time to learn. And I haven't been this close to water without a ship before."
The look Rathma gave his uncle was wholly unimpressed, though slightly amused. "Well. We will simply have to fix that once this," He threw a hand out at the night-black waters. "Is over and done with."
Honestly, it was a miracle Tyrael had made it this far as a mortal. Sanctuary was not exactly a place for one to blunder about.
Tyrael laughed, open and honest, at that. "Yes, I suppose we will." He then began heading back towards the shore. Rathma carefully followed after him - some of the planks of the dock were far enough apart that a hoof could slip through. Not a fun discovery, and not something he wanted to repeat.
"Lorath might've dug up some legends about what's out there." Tyrael brought up as they went. "Unfortunately they leave a lot out, but Westmarch apparently had a history of these sorts of disappearances over the water…"
"I would expect that of all port-cities." Rathma replied mildly, still listening to the slap of water behind them. "Tell him to check through the barbarian's histories, they lived here longer than this city has stood."
Tyrael nodded, and their conversation continued as they left the water's edge. Behind them, the winds howled ominously, and the waves leapt up at the dock upon which they'd stood.