Riptide Isles
07-29-2017, 08:27 PM
(This post was last modified: 07-29-2017, 08:30 PM by Rift Presence.)
There existed only lone, broken, forgotten spires of barren rock in the midst of this angry, writhing ocean. They stood as a reminder of what had been stolen from the Rift. Tall, dark spires jutting from surging seas; reaching for their heart—lost in a foreign land, ripped from its magical chest.
And these lone anchors were locked in a war. A war to hold the lands of the Southern Sea together. To anchor them in the Rift; keeping them from going floating into the endless oblivion between worlds.
It was as it was before Vjanta came. Wild, terrible, uncontrollable power ripping itself apart. This was shown by the littered body parts of a Giant Drifter. The great, gentle beast had the misfortune of drifting along the wrong ocean current into the midst of the Isle’s cyclone.
Its great spine snapped, underwater sail being torn and shredded as dark blood seeped into the seas’ uncurbed rage.
A deafening, high-pitched screech (almost metallic sounding) reverberated from beneath the waves and into the air. A Baleano, thrilled by the scent of blood in the water, rose its massive and glowing body from the depths beneath the Isles. Its ridged, tentacle-ed back undulated from the seas; long and sharp teeth open in his hungry jaws.
But not even the sea’s predator was safe from the chaotic loss of the heart. A great wave rose from the tempestuous ocean, slamming its long body into the lone pillar remains of the Isles.
The screech grew in intensity and frequency, sounding as if it came from a thousands throats instead of one, giant one. The Baleano’s long, spiked body drug along the ocean floor, ripping free and crushing capitocoral and sea creatures alike. The living rocks sent out their memories, clouding the relentless sea with mournful tales of wasted magic and senseless deaths.
But then—then something happened.
Perhaps it was the waste of magical life; or the sudden flooding of magic into the waters. Perhaps it was a last stand of the pillars as beacons of the South’s heart.
Whatever the reason, the seas suddenly laid flat. The water spouts fell from the skies, splattering into the sea with unceremonious abruptness.
And a soft, glowing sunlight pulsed in the center of the pillars. A serene light that beckoned any and all who saw it. It coaxed and lured and drew any living souls towards it: warming and promising, welcoming.
It short, it was opposite anything the Rift had given, yet.
Then, it waited to see who would come.
And these lone anchors were locked in a war. A war to hold the lands of the Southern Sea together. To anchor them in the Rift; keeping them from going floating into the endless oblivion between worlds.
It was as it was before Vjanta came. Wild, terrible, uncontrollable power ripping itself apart. This was shown by the littered body parts of a Giant Drifter. The great, gentle beast had the misfortune of drifting along the wrong ocean current into the midst of the Isle’s cyclone.
Its great spine snapped, underwater sail being torn and shredded as dark blood seeped into the seas’ uncurbed rage.
A deafening, high-pitched screech (almost metallic sounding) reverberated from beneath the waves and into the air. A Baleano, thrilled by the scent of blood in the water, rose its massive and glowing body from the depths beneath the Isles. Its ridged, tentacle-ed back undulated from the seas; long and sharp teeth open in his hungry jaws.
But not even the sea’s predator was safe from the chaotic loss of the heart. A great wave rose from the tempestuous ocean, slamming its long body into the lone pillar remains of the Isles.
The screech grew in intensity and frequency, sounding as if it came from a thousands throats instead of one, giant one. The Baleano’s long, spiked body drug along the ocean floor, ripping free and crushing capitocoral and sea creatures alike. The living rocks sent out their memories, clouding the relentless sea with mournful tales of wasted magic and senseless deaths.
But then—then something happened.
Perhaps it was the waste of magical life; or the sudden flooding of magic into the waters. Perhaps it was a last stand of the pillars as beacons of the South’s heart.
Whatever the reason, the seas suddenly laid flat. The water spouts fell from the skies, splattering into the sea with unceremonious abruptness.
And a soft, glowing sunlight pulsed in the center of the pillars. A serene light that beckoned any and all who saw it. It coaxed and lured and drew any living souls towards it: warming and promising, welcoming.
It short, it was opposite anything the Rift had given, yet.
Then, it waited to see who would come.
the Rift
what lies beneath
what lies beneath
What's this? It seems like what is left of the Riptide Isles are ripping themselves apart...but maybe they want to show you something? ;)
