07-20-2017, 04:10 PM
feed your demons
He has waited.He has waited and watched these Helovians and their magic breathe life back into the Rift. He has smirked and grinned as Rifitans awoke from their dying slumbers.
This was right. As right as foreign gods ripping out the hearts of his world. As right as the deicide of those that fruited life in this world.
And then, he was done waiting. His ever-shifting, ever-mutating body appeared—great and giant and terrible—formed from the sharp shadows and neon light that were now apart of this world. For those that held any part of him: amulets of his blood, necklaces of his chosen, mutations from his power, or gifts of his choosing—these items now burned and pulled you towards his great apparition along the very edge of the dense Rainforest Cliffs.
A swift, ocean spray brought sharp droplets stinging through the air. And the Drench-laden skies rumbled ominously above; though only a light mist fell from them for the moment. The murky light caused Kisamoa’s teal, black-veins eyes to glow with intensity as he looked around for a few moments…
Then, he spoke. “Welcome,” he said first, to these newcomers, a grin showing ever-mismatched teeth, “And welcome home,” he said to those turncoat Rifitans that had abandoned his realm, his grin growing sharper, more feral.
“Do you like my gifts?” his ever-mutating eyes honed in on the many bodies that now joined him in mutantcy. “And the friends that I bring?” he asked of his native Riftians—those loyal souls that had remained in the Rift.
A brief silence respite from his booming, deep, smoothly soul-shaking voice as he waited for answers.
Then, with a swift edge, he spoke again, “I think there are too many judgements, too much prejudice against my home,” he frowned slightly, “Quite rude of any guest, really. Perhaps something to teach you manners?” He hummed lightly, in thought.
“Learn of the Rift, of my home. Of those evil, awful gods you 'so rightfully' killed. Maybe you’ll learn to like it here,” a deep chuckle, “Or, maybe you’ll just learn to survive,” a causal shrug of his mismatched shoulders.
“And you,” he looked to the natives, “Teach them of our land, ” this was no request, as shown by the scarily flinty glint in his gaze. “These guests did save it, after all.”
kisamoa
i am kaos
This Southern Seas Guide might come in handy ;]
.. and kaos opened up its eyes