The Portal
07-21-2017, 03:09 AM
the tempest of an unrelenting sea
Blue blood ran.
It streamed from her plated crest, where shadows of Kisamoa had dug their claws in when she had tried to fight.
And the militant seahorse would have died fighting—if not for that siren call.
That alien, but achingly familiar thrum of blackened magic that whispered through the rent between worlds Kisamoa had ripped.
The Rift.
There was no other sound, or feeling quite like it. Her blood knew it, her heart knew it (ached for it). Had she not dove deep, deep, deeper into the Helovian seas trying to find her beloved Akvo? Had she not tried to save them? From the Rift and bring them all here?
But, now, it was she that needed saving. From Helovia. So on scaled and ripped limbs, she darted through the mists. Too large and unblinking eyes darted around; her mind sending a succinct succession of commands to Craonos so that the narwhal calf would not become lost or die in this sudden, violent shift of worlds.
The moment her webbed hooves hit the thickly matted, forest floor, she felt her home. Her plated nostrils flared, taking in the tangy, sweet smell of decay that was hallmark of the cliffs. It was not a place she frequented often—why did Kisamoa put them here? She didn’t spend long thinking of theman deity; there was some strange combination of longing, lust, mistrust, and hatred for him.
Instead, she was about to run—to run to the cliffs and dive into the Southern Seas. To swim, swim, swim to her city. But her lunging limbs were halted—Craonos. The young leviathan was limp on the earth. The usually regal and composed creature moaned once—a pathetic and keening noise, before going entirely still.
Her heart stopped—what was this? Ears tilted backwards, sharp teeth baring at the shadows that dared to encroach. A harsh snarl ripped from her, warning away the many predators of this old forest.
“Craonos?” She murmured, deep voice laced with unusual concern, “Craonos, come. We must get to the sea.”
It streamed from her plated crest, where shadows of Kisamoa had dug their claws in when she had tried to fight.
And the militant seahorse would have died fighting—if not for that siren call.
That alien, but achingly familiar thrum of blackened magic that whispered through the rent between worlds Kisamoa had ripped.
The Rift.
There was no other sound, or feeling quite like it. Her blood knew it, her heart knew it (ached for it). Had she not dove deep, deep, deeper into the Helovian seas trying to find her beloved Akvo? Had she not tried to save them? From the Rift and bring them all here?
But, now, it was she that needed saving. From Helovia. So on scaled and ripped limbs, she darted through the mists. Too large and unblinking eyes darted around; her mind sending a succinct succession of commands to Craonos so that the narwhal calf would not become lost or die in this sudden, violent shift of worlds.
The moment her webbed hooves hit the thickly matted, forest floor, she felt her home. Her plated nostrils flared, taking in the tangy, sweet smell of decay that was hallmark of the cliffs. It was not a place she frequented often—why did Kisamoa put them here? She didn’t spend long thinking of the
Instead, she was about to run—to run to the cliffs and dive into the Southern Seas. To swim, swim, swim to her city. But her lunging limbs were halted—Craonos. The young leviathan was limp on the earth. The usually regal and composed creature moaned once—a pathetic and keening noise, before going entirely still.
Her heart stopped—what was this? Ears tilted backwards, sharp teeth baring at the shadows that dared to encroach. A harsh snarl ripped from her, warning away the many predators of this old forest.
“Craonos?” She murmured, deep voice laced with unusual concern, “Craonos, come. We must get to the sea.”
Magics:
{*] Magic: DarkxWater | Tail barbs are filled with neurotoxin. \n{*} Magic: Light (P) | Stripes darken and blue patches grow more vibrant/glow with extreme emotion\n\nRift-god / Kaos items\n{*} 4x Kaos amulets\n\nAmulets : 5\n\nCompanion/s : \n[*} Craonos : Narwhal Leviathan
OOC obtained: 26 February 2017
Rift Birthdate: Late Freeze 1172
Mutations: Sharp teeth, maybe? Since seahorses don't really have sharp teeth.
Requests: If she rolls for mutation, ALL THE FINS. Or anything, really. Go wild :*
