What Lurks in the Deep

The dark of night hung heavy over the eerily still sea. The silvery glow of the full moon reflected in ripples as the Azure Mariner sailed northwardaway from Thiolor toward Sravine. The scent of salt hung in the air, the sails billowed softly in the wind, and the ship's frame creaked gently below. The night's skeleton crew went about their usual tasks with a practiced efficiency, their voices hushed as the ship tread through the water.
First Mate Henley manned the helm, eyes on the lookout for any sign of danger. Tonight, though, rather than an unexpected cannon shot, or stowaways, in the distance appeared a light. It appeared on the horizon, and slowly grew brighter as the beam went from left to right, then disappeared, only to reappear a few moments later. "A lighthouse?" Henley mused. The ship shouldn't be in sight of Sravine for a few more days at least. He called down to the nearest deck hand, "Elias, see the light on the horizon?" He received a nod in response, "I want an eye in that direction at all times. Something isn't right."
Elias squinted into the darkness, trying to make out any sort of shape from among the light. Over the next couple hours, the light did indeed draw near. The light came around once more, and fell onto the deck of the ship, passing by, piercing the darkness ahead. Elias peered up, trying to see a shape behind the light, but just as he was sure a shape was coming into view, it vanished. Elias waited for his eyes to adjust back into the darkness as the ship gently swayed under his feet.
There, in the light of the moon, a shadow loomed overhead. Two small, piercing lights that must have been eyes peered down at the ship in eerie silence. The shape must have been nearly 60 feet high. The sillohuette revealed little, but a hulking, nearly humanoid upper body, hunched forward, hiding anyhing resembling a head. At the waist, where the should be legs, enormous, octopus-like tentacles somehow held the figure just above the water, tapering down to a single point, like a spinning top.
As the crew watched, the shape descended into the water. Despite it's immense stature, it made no noise. It didn't so much as disturb the water as it seemingly fell into the ocean.
A collective shiver of primal fear overcame the crew for a brief moment, before the first mate shouted, "All sails full!". From the crow's nest, a bell sounded, loud and piercing. Within moments, the crew from below were scrambling onto the deck, and Captain Braxton was at the helm.
"Report," he commanded. Henley's shaking voice came stuttering, "The...The North Sea..." He trailed off, quiet, a look of defeat in his eyes. The captain's confusion lasted only a moment as the deafening roar erupted behind their vessel, the caiptain himself doubling over, covering his ears to protect them. From the ship's sides, the tentacles emerged, ensnaring ship and crew alike.
"All hands, battle positions!" the captain's roar nearly matched the beast as the cannon crew went below decks, while others drew sabers and axes on deck. The captain was first to strike, swinging a wide arc with his saber, severing the end of a tentacle, sending a spray of thick, black ichor into the air. The crew followed suit hacking away at the beast as much as they could, but even as they fought, the beast's grip tightened, the ship groaned in complaint as the frame bent beneath the crushing weight.
Men were thrown overboard, some crushed or rendered useless by sprays of shrapnel as the deck began to splinter. Already things seemed hopeless, but just as all seemed lost, they heard it: a sound like the boom of thunder, a light from below illuminated the beast for a moment as it recoiled, its grip loosening, releasing the ship just enough for it to break free. Captain Braxton pulled the ship hard away from the beast, the wind whippin gat his face, the beast's bellowing slowly growing more and more faint.
The men didn't sleep that night, not until dawn broke, when they momentarily gathered on deck, faces drawn and weary.
"The North Sea's Son," sighed the captain. Braxton, for the first time in a long while, considered retiring.