Tuga’s Backstory

*Note: This is a rough draft per our conversation. Keep throwing ideas my way. I’ll do it as a full
write-up after the next session

*The Greater Reefian Catholic Church: The Reefian Church might well be the apex of Tortle
civilization. They are a bureaucratically minded folk and the church is a sprawling bureaucracy
that touches every end and every aspect of the entire realm. It wields immense power. Spiritual
power. Political power. Military power. The church is broken into many separate dioceses and
each diocese is attended by an ArchBishell who themselves oversee the Bishells. Ultimately,
however, all power descends from the Holy Roman Nautilus where he sits upon his Mighty
Seashell Throne in the sacred Bivalve City

*Monastic Crèche: Tortles aren’t the most family oriented species to begin with. Probably has a
lot to do with laying eggs as opposed to giving birth. But, even by Tortle standards, the Greater
Reefian Catholic Church has a particularly pragmatic and utilitarian outlook on breeding. An
outlook that seems cold and perhaps even cruel to most outsiders. The church adheres to a
strict social structure that borders upon a caste system. For centuries they have had a breeding
program in place that supplies them with new members of the church’s inner sanctum. They
almost never recruit from outside but rather claim to have perfected a breeding program that
produces ideal servants, and soldiers, and priests, and even the upper echelons of Bishells etc.
Of course there are rumors aplenty that the breeding program serves even less mundane and
savory purposes as well

*Pious Servitude: Tuga was born into a crèche devoted entirely to monastic servitude. Her life
was destined, from the very moment she hatched, to be one of mops and brooms and teakwood
oil. She herself, alongside the entire crèche, was given to the care and the custody of
ArchBishell Tangaroa. Tangaroa was a powerful Tortle indeed and owned both a magnificent
palace in Bivalve City as well as a fortified castle in his Diocese of Marseille. He had vast
wealth and a staff numbering in the hundreds. To work at the behest of ArchBishell Tangaroa
was considered a great honor. Unfortunately for Tuga, niceties like ‘great honors’ and such were
wasted on her

*Seemingly Simple: Tuga was a bit different. This difference manifested in a multitude of ways
and was apparent even in childhood. She wasn’t incapable. She was in fact at least as skilled
as the others when set about the various tasks of servitude. She was especially good at
polishing. She just adored polishing. It was simply that she seemed oftentimes distracted. Trying
to talk to Tuga, to impress things upon her, was a bit like reaching for an object sunk just
underwater. Tuga was there, but just a touch refracted, seemingly out of reach. When spoken to
Tuga oftentimes appeared to be listening intently to private conversations or lost in thought. She
would stare out towards nothing intently, sometimes for hours, and she would smile and laugh at
things unbeknownst to others. To her superiors she was a problem. A nuisance. A potential
hiccup in the well ordered world of the Tortle’s Greater Reefian Catholic Church
*ArchBishell Tangaroa's Manservant: Tuga’s awkwardness unfortunately came to a head on
an incredibly important day for the ArchBishell. Tangaroa was receiving an audience of
emissaries from the Peregrine Falcon Princes of Saudi Arabia. It was bound to be a tense
meeting regardless, as the followers of The Red Tailed Prophet ‘Mohawkmed’ had long been at
odds with the Reefian Catholic Church. It was made all the more tense when Tuga spilled piping
hot soup on the lap of an Arabian dignitary. There was an uproar. Curses in various languages
were hurled Tuga’s way. Tangaroa himself beat Tuga so badly with his Crozier Staff that he had
no choice but to retreat into his shell right there on the dining room floor. And though apologies
were made, and dinner was salvaged, and negotiations hammered out between the two warring
nations, no one in attendance expected this would end well for Tuga. After the last guest had
departed Tuga was brought once more before the ArchBishell, and her handler begged
forgiveness for the unforgivable stupidity of involving a dunce like Tuga in such a delicate
matter. Tuga’s handler described to Tangaroa her myriad problems - her apparent dullness - her
lack of attention - her disinterest - her lack of communication - and then suggested a number of
appropriate punishments, each worse than the one before. But, Tangaroa surprised everyone,
Tuga included, by requesting that Tuga be not punished, but rather made his personal valet and
manservant from that point forward. To serve by Tangaroa’s side day and night

*Late Night Rendezvous: Why Tangaroa hand-picked Tuga as his valet was soon revealed. It
was most certainly not out of the kindness of his heart. Tangaroa was many things, no doubt,
but he was not a kind soul. If anything the ArchBishell was dismissive and at times even cruel to
Tuga. He valued in Tuga her disinterested and quiet nature. Tangaroa had comings and goings
at all odd hours of night, and from equally odd characters, well outside the normal purview of an
ArchBishell. Tuga would greet them. Tuga would serve tea and coffee. Tuga would clean up
after them, putting away their maps, and their scrolls, and their notes for safekeeping. When
anyone inquired about Tuga’s attendance at their late night rendezvous Tangaroa would reply,
‘Don’t mind the girl. She’s as simple as arithmetic. Whatever you say blows through her head
like the wind through a wheat field.’ But, Tuga wasn’t simple. She was indeed self-involved, as
her head was all aswirl with things few can imagine, but there was nothing simple about Tuga,
not in the slightest

*Tuga’s Head: Tuga heard things. Tuga saw things. Tuga lived a life that was a part of this
world, certainly, but from which most folks are separated, as if by a great chasm of awareness.
Others thought Tuga unawares, whereas in reality, she was more aware than most all of the
others put together. Tuga heard thoughts unbeknownst to the thinkers. Tuga saw the colors of
emotions the way others see the colors of garments. Tuga oftentimes knew what was going to
happen before it occurred. At first Tuga assumed everyone felt this way, and that everyone saw
what she saw, and experienced what she experienced. But, circumstances soon taught her to
keep to herself. Her visions and foreknowledge served only to alarm others. Tuga’s interior
world was rich beyond the imaginings of most but she’d learned to keep it all to herself. She
became distant and strange and awkward out of an abundance of caution. She learned to guard
against her uniqueness, for the safety of others, and her own safety as well
*The Yacht: A year into her service as ArchBishell Tangaroa's most trusted servant Tuga was
told to pack his things for a long sea journey. And sure enough they set sail the next day on a
luxury yacht that made even Tangaroa’s sumptuous palace seem dim by comparison. They
sailed not alone, but rather were joined by other Bishells and even ArchBishells. The entire
delegation had been gathered together to sail towards Bivalve City in order to elect a new
Nautilus as the Holy Roman Nautilus was rumored ill upon his seashell throne. The day before
their expected arrival a grand dinner was planned aboard the yacht and all the Bishells were
asked to attend. The idea for the dinner had been Tangaroa’s, and he made certain, the day
before, to stop by and extend an invitation personally afront each Bishell’s quarters, Tuga in tow.
Upon return to their own quarters, and after Tuga helped Tangaroa into his finest vestments, she
was ordered to produce from the bottom of one of the ArchBishell’s many sea trunks a small
ivory box. Tuga recognized that box, and she remembered well the late night when Tangaroa
had received it, and how loathsome the Tortle had been who gifted it, and how truly awful that
same Tortle’s thoughts had been and how sickly his personal aura. Tangaroa ordered Tuga to
open the box
and laid inside were three vials of a putrid yellow liquid. Tangaroa then instructed Tuga to empty
all three vials into the soup course before she served the assorted Bishells at that night’s feast.
He mentioned notably not to put the rancid yellow liquid in his soup however. Tuga played dumb
and obedient but in that moment she knew exactly what horrors Tangaroa plotted for the
evening. She had watched it all transpire. She had read his thoughts across months of secretive
meetings, and those of his accomplices, and only now was she able to piece it all together. It
was clear to her. And it was monstrous.

*The Plot: Tangaroa and his web of accomplices intended to usurp the entire Reefian Catholic
Church. To depose the Holy Roman Nautilus and his loyal adherents. Tonight was only the first
of many atrocities that Tangaroa planned to commit. For years Tuga had taken great
precautions so as not to peer too deeply into others’ minds. She tried to respect their privacy.
Also, knowing too much of one’s acquaintances had proved universally disappointing. But, she
allowed herself, as they walked towards the dining hall, to examine Tangaroa’s fully, and what
she saw there was madness. He was driven only by greed, and by the pursuit of power for
power’s sake, and he was more than willing to murder whomever should stand in his way. Tuga
did not know how, but she knew that Tangaroa had to be stopped

*The Feast: To make matters worse only Tangaroa’s personal guard waited inside the Yacht’s
Feast Hall. They watched the arriving guests like hawks, hands on hilts. They watched Tuga as
well, there would be no way not to serve the poison as Tangaroa planned. Tuga’s hands shook
as she dished the soup bowls and added the foul surprise. She served them up around the
table, to the Bishells and the ArchBishells alike, uncertain how to stop what seemed inevitable.
It was only as the first Bishell raised the first spoon to his mouth that the normally silent, taciturn,
Tuga screamed, ‘Stop!’ But she hadn’t said a thing. Her mouth remained closed and faintly
smiling as always. ‘Stop! Do not eat the soup!’ She screamed again. And her voice rang out
loud in the minds of most everyone in the room. All seemed shocked. Some seemed stunned.
Some held their heads in obvious pain. Tangaroa looked about the room in complete surprise.
One clueless Bishell seemed somehow largely unfazed, and only shook his head as if ridding
himself of an awful thought, and dove back in for a healthy spoonful. ‘No!’ Screamed Tuga even
louder this time and she raised her arms above her head and sent all the bowls flying with that
single gesture. ‘You!’ Said Tangaroa angrily rising from his seat and striding towards her

*Food Fight: ‘Apostate!’ ‘Heretic!’ ‘Undeserving Wretch!’ Spat Tangaroa as he moved furiously
across the room. ‘I took you into my house! Under my roof! You who wield powers you have no
claim to! A mere servant! A mere maid!’ And at that he pushed an open palm towards Tuga, as
one would push a vase off a table, and she slammed into the dining room wall with the force of a
sledgehammer. The timbers cracked and buckled behind her. Tuga returned the gesture,
repeating the same open palm, but pushed towards Tangaroa this time, and he flew fully twenty
feet back and smashed into a china cabinet. ‘Kill her!’ He screamed at his guardsmen. ‘Kill them
all!’ Then, as Tangaroa picked himself up from the floor, picking pieces of pottery and china out
from his robes, his guards began to do exactly that. They drove swords into the Bishells and the
ArchBishells who rose to run for the doors. The guard nearest Tuga slid a sword in her side,
somehow wedging the blade between her shell and deep into ribs. As she buckled in agony
Tuga gestured with her palm, much the same as before, but faster, and in real pain and anger
this time, and the guard's head spun around like a top with a loud crack of bone as he collapsed
to the ground. At that Tuga pointed first at one guard and then another. She yanked them
through the air, and tossed them as easily as rocks, hard up against the walls where they
crumpled. One guard she sent flying straight through the Yacht’s hull entirely and splashing out
into the waiting ocean. Another she hung in midair and bent in half like a thin tin knife. Another’s
head imploded as she made a tight fist. Until, ‘On your knees!’ rang Tangaroa’s voice in her
head. Tuga fought a compulsion to indeed fall to her knees ‘Do you think you are the only one
with powers?’ The voice continued. ‘I am high born. I am Tangaroa ArchBishell of Marseille and
the Bivalve City! On your knees slave!’ And Tuga collapsed to her knees. Completely helpless

*A Meeting of Minds: Everything that remained in the room outside Tuga and Tangaroa hung in
the air. Spun about in lazy circles. As the two met in an epic battle of minds guardsmen floated
by - plates and ladles floated by - Bishells floated by - sword and shields floated by. To an
outsider looking in it might have appeared almost peaceful. Strange and impossible, but oddly
peaceful all the same. To the two combatants it felt anything but. Tuga and Tangaroa’s wills
were pointed at one another like cannons, like warship broadsides. Each strained to gain the
upper hand but neither could bend the other’s resolve. Two implacable forces juxtaposed. It felt
to Tuga that she would falter and be crushed at any moment. She was inexperienced at this, not
so much Tangaroa. Then, when all seemed lost, she found a chink in his mental armor. What
she discovered was the little fear that lay at the base of the mighty ArchBishell. Tuga found the
small original fear in Tangaroa’s mind upon which he’d built an empire of avarice and power, all
in an attempt to but cover it up. And she began to tear at that tiny hole and widen it and thus
tear Tangaroa apart in the process. He began to scream in agony as everything spun about
them faster and faster. ‘Who. Are. You?’ He asked almost spent of breath. ‘I am Tuga! And
nobody’s maid!’ She replied. And then all of the Yacht exploded outwards from that point, for
hundreds of yards in every direction, and then nothing was left, and the ocean engulfed what
little remained