Fish Back in Water

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 the man 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.”

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 :*

The portal brought him home. He knew this from the way the darkness lingered; unwavering, relentless, and bringing no hope of dawn.  He knew from the mist; bone-white and ethereal, swaying like pale ghosts above the pooled shadows from gnarled, twisted trees.  Perhaps most of all, he knew from the eery silence.  No birdsong, no wind whispering in the leaves, nothing.  Just a still, apprehensive silence that made one wonder if he might be the only living soul in the world.   And he may very well be, considering the carnage on the other side of the portal in Helovia. He thought of those fallen and dead from the wrath of the newly created Rift god, lost to the endless void.  He knew he should feel certain emotions, remorse—even guilt, perhaps, for not breaking his stride to help those in need.  Instead, he felt nothing.  Resentment, if anything, a weary, strained resentment towards the godkillers. When would they learn? Perhaps they never would. Meddling in the affairs of gods, killing gods, would only bring destruction upon them all. He had learned long ago to walk his own Path, and avoid the eyes of the gods, for those eyes are hungry and jealous.   He knew all too well. He stumbled through the mist, his legs leaden and his mind clouded with a buzzing fog; he felt sick from the swirling vortex that had vomited him forth.  The voice had rendered his mind apart, nearly crushing his grip on reality, such was the power of the new Rift god that spoke to him: traitor.  He felt like he might collapse.  But he couldn’t stop, he needed to get away from the portal, as far away from it as he could possibly get. He needed to find his people, he needed to know if they still lived, if they waited for him, wondering where he had gone all those years ago.  Perhaps they thought him dead.   Staggering forward, he tripped over something, someone, a body maybe— A whale? He nearly dropped the small wolf pup swinging from his mouth, hardly believing what was sprawled out before him, literally a beached whale.  The whale was not alone, its protecter flashed and bared her feral teeth at him, a guttural snarl sounding deep in her throat.  He moved backwards, intending to turn and leave, when something flickered in his mind, a memory, brief and fleeting, triggered by brilliant, unblinking aquamarine eyes.  He gently put the wolf pup on the ground.  She whimpered softly, clearly afraid of the open ground, and crept near the whale, where she found comfort in the mass of blubber. “You,” he said bluntly, his feline gaze meeting the angry, clear eyes of the sea woman. They had met in Helovia, briefly, an awkward, tense encounter in which Raistlyn foolishly had mistaken her for a siren monster laying in wait to prey on unsuspecting visitors, when in reality, he had interrupted a regal lady taking a very private moonlit bath. He would rather wrestle a water hag than find himself in that awkward situation again. It was not his finest moment, admittedly. She had not been amused in the slightest, then.  She did not looked amused now, either.  The small sea beast made a pitiful, wounded noise.  Of all companions, a whale. A dying whale, by the look of things.  Not waiting for a response, he hurriedly ripped some thick, ropey vines with his fangs from the tangled web of gnarled trees.  “Here,” he said gruffly, through a mouthful of vine, tossing her one end. “Put it around him. I’ll pull him.”  He fumbled awkwardly with the vine, managing to use his muzzle and teeth to flip the end of the vine into a knot.  Scooping the make shift vine with his horn, the loop fell securely around his neck.  He hoped this worked, and he hoped they could find water. The silver pup crawled on top of the horned sea creature, looking thrilled at the prospect of a whale ride. “Unless you have a better idea?"

I hope you don't mind, I used part of his portal entrance post and played it like he had just come through the portal as well!

the tempest of an unrelenting sea

Movement.


Too large, bright teal and yellow eyes jerk towards it, drawn by a combination of feral fear for her bonded and vicious challenge. And they met a feline, predatory gaze before skipping to the young wolf pup (the whimper drew her attention) for a moment.

The fins along her face flared out in warning, ridges along her neck undulating in a very clear message: back off. Sharp teeth were on full display as her unblinking eyes scoured every inch of this new threat: striped and scarred skin; bearded chin; long and pointed horn; long white hair (that could be used as a handle—)

But any more defensive thoughts were cut off: You. Her pinned ears jerked forward at the accusation, and she blinked once. What?

Oh.

A brief, fleeting memory of Helovia. This wild, scarred man had prowled the shadows, before slipping away at her forceful warning. Her head rose, slightly—though uncertainty kept her guard fully raised. Especially when he revealed fangs of his own the moment he reached for vines; a growl started in her throat—

But promptly died as he tossed her an end to the vine. He was…he was helping her?

Sharp, luminous gaze watched him for a few, precious moments; they watched his dextrous lips slip the sturdy vine into a knot. Appreciation at his efficient and quick manner flared in her too-large eyes. However, another quiet wail from Craonos jerked her own body into a likewise adept movements.

With movements that spoke more of a soldier and less of a healer (in other words: rough), she slipped the vine around her young calf. And she tried to imitate the actions of his lips with her own—but hers were plated and scaled. Not nearly as nimble as his.

With a worried (and perhaps ashamed) glance towards her beastly savior, she huskily murmured, “I cannot…fasten it, like you did.” In any other instance, Aquila would have practiced for hours to master such a task, rather than ask for help. But this is Craonos, her bonded whale calf. She did not have hours.

At first, Raistyn was afraid she might attack him anyway. He had been in worse shape for a battle, but his body felt heavy and sluggish, as if the Rift presence still lingered, withholding total control of himself.  And his head felt as if it might split in two—he could still hear the drums, pounding, deafening, roaring. He did not even know if he had the strength to summon his shadow armor; the idea of pulling the shadows forth was dizzying. Did he still possess his hard earned abilities? He had felt the Rift god taste them, savor the flavor of his shadow magic and mutated genes.  The god’s brief visit in his mind left behind a bitter, metallic taste in his mouth.   She did not, however, attack. Her regal, ethereal fins flared, blooming spectacularly like the poisonous flowers in the Rainforest.  A warning.  She remained wary and cautious, her eyes ever-vigilant, and her sharp teeth flashed in the wane light.  He had not encountered such a strange, hypnotizing creature in all his of his worldly travels. To be honest, he was not entirely what manner of creature she was. A cousin of the siren or water nymph?  Indeed, she certainly had the beauty of her cousins; the same beauty that a deep, still pool possess: a hypnotizing, dangerous effect. And no doubt, she must be dangerous.  He wondered if her brilliant eyes had similar powers. With one glance, would he be drowned in a bottomless abyss? He avoided her unwavering, steely aquamarine gaze, not entirely trusting her completely, even though she seemed to have accepted his presence and did not repel him further. She seemed hesitant, even stricken.  She had not expected his help, he realized, perhaps it was not even wanted.  If she objected, he had no doubt she would voice her obstinance. She did not.   She set about fussing with the other end of the vine, quickly slipping it beneath the young sea creature, her touch gentle and soothing. She fumbled with the vine, handling it awkwardly with her scaled lips just a few moments too long, struggling. She glanced at him, doubt clouding her eyes, her lips fumbling once more, but this time, to find the right words. “You can. Slower,” he said simply. He nodded towards the vine, urging her to try again.

the tempest of an unrelenting sea

“You can. Slower.”

The simple words in his deep voice made her still. Scaled ears tilted back as too-large eyes began to narrow slightly, a small snarl lifting her lips and once again revealing the sharp tips of her teeth that had previously been sheathed.

Fins along her face vibrated as they flared, a manifestation of her frustration. “There’s no time!” Her voice was feral, deep, and sharp with desperate command. Her teeth snapped, glare sweeping to the pulse that hide beneath the bands of muscle in his thick neck; it looked over the striped skin that rolled across his hefty shoulder…

Distress made her glare dart towards his own wolf pup—would he be so quick to teach in a moment like this, were it his companion writing on the ground? How easily her bladed horn would cleave the defenseless pup in half—but no. Then this great beast would no be inclined to help her…and, truthfully, were the mare not so driven to anguish by the sick pain that roiled through her bonded, the woman would find it difficult to inflict such soul-searing pain on another.

The narwhal calf raised his tail weakly, slapping it against the earth in a feeble attempt at moving. The motion brought her ridged muzzle to his soft, rubbery skin; nostrils flared and taking in his curiously briny scent. Though her unease surged once again as the glowing markings along his spine faltered.

A deep breath to calm the panic—and then she turned her unblinking gaze fiercely to the brawny stallion towering over her and her calf; bright teal met vibrant indigo. And with a voice that held pleading, which scraped every part of her soul as it left her lips, she quietly said, “Teach me after. Please, help him.”

OOPS guess I did have 1 more post left in me :P

The merciless world crowds around them, clad in shadows and electric blues, sick purples and neon greens.

damnation prayer

image

[ TRANSFER NOTES: AQUILA ]

Magic:
Offensive: Tail barbs are filled with pheromones, markedly increasing the sex drive of whatever they touch.
Offensive: Stripes and blue patches grow bulbous boils when she experiences extreme emotion. They may pop and leak a stinging fluid.

Amulets:
The black liquid in your amulets whisper and break free. They run along your body, converging at your poll, where they whisper and hiss. Eventually, they flow down your entire body, leaving void-black stains in places. By the end of the season, pitch black fins will have begun to grow at their locations.

Mutations:
Sharp teeth.

Companion:
Craonos: Leviathan
Obtained: 26 Feb 2017
Birth Date: Late Freeze 1172

for there are many ways to kill a man they say She searches for anyone else she might know - a fruitless task in this chaos (ha, ha, ha), but it gives her a moment to clear her (much larger) head. Everyone seems to be struggling; some cry out names, others deal with what seems to be multiple companion problems, and Wessex moves through the crowd with a throbbing headache, but sees no one in immediate danger. Not yet. A sharp, desperate voice barks nearby, and Wessex’s whole armory turns to see what is going on. Oh. Oh! She recognizes that one, one she had not seen for quite some time, but nevertheless found their first and only meeting rather intriguing. She - it? - appears to be in distress, and another stallion attempts to do something. Whatever it is, it either isn’t working, or they need more help. Wessex takes a few steps towards them, and can now see that their efforts are focused on the young leviathan. Oh. That’s not good. “Balenokorn?” she says loudly to the scaled, horned mare, as if it might job her memory and identify the now much more threatening woman as friend instead of foe. “Aquila?” Er, that is her name, isn’t it? ”What’s wrong with Craonos?” She peers around, trying to figure out what they’re doing with the vines. “Do you need help?” For once, it seems, not having a companion is a good thing.   I am Iron and I Forge Myself

lines | color & coding

-crashes in-
@Aquila @Raistlyn

She would not try again.   She lashed at him angrily, teeth snapping and her fins flaring in distress.  She was volatile and unpredictable, relentless and unwavering as the sea she dwelt in.  For a fleeting moment, he thought she might do more than scorch him with mere words, noting the way her slitted eyes settled on the silver pup, lingering a moment too long. He did not need the power to invade minds to know that she harbored ill intent in her heart.  He pinned his ears, waiting, watching. He didn’t know what the wolf pup meant to him, not yet, but he surely wasn’t going to allow her to trample a newborn pup even though he had only snatched the pup moments before whirling through the vortex of the portal from Helovia and into the Rift.  He went very still, a snarl building deep in his throat, but the sea siren’s moment of hostility seemed to have passed—fading as quickly as a sunset. She returned her attention to the sea calf, hovering over him like a worried mother, her nose brushing the creature's markings, fading.  He watched her carefully, less inclined to offer his help now.  She had taken no action, but that did not erase the threat he had seen in her eyes. There was very little preventing her from turning on him completely. A single knot kept the peace between them  “Alright,” he replied curtly, not attempting to conceal the icy tone he addressed her with.  He lowered his head, silver gray hair sweeping across the ground.  Gripping the vine gently, he shuffled the plant into place, noting the little whale’s feeble sounds. He pulled, securing the loop underneath the fins.  His silver pup whimpered softly, scurrying beneath his hooves.  He felt something strange, then, fear, hitting him like a physical blow, until he felt nearly overwhelmed with the sensation. Somewhat bewildered, he wondered if some sort of emotional, mental connection had formed with the pup when he witnessed the egg hatching.  He would have to ask the sea mare, assuming they survived the Rift together, and supposing she did not kill him first. “Let’s go.”     The shadows of the Rift seemed to expand, roiling and writhing, and then collapse violently around them.  Neon colors flashed and whirled, spinning faster, faster, and faster still.  He braced himself, ears pinned and teeth grit.  But nothing happened. He pricked an ear tentatively forward, not trusting that the wrath of the Rift had fully passed. But it had, and he breathed easier as the sudden onslaught of shadows dispersed.  Had the striped sea siren felt the malevolence brewing in the shadows as well, or had he experienced some sort of delusional hallucination? He glanced at her quickly, his eyes widening as black liquid pulsed from the amulets she wore, flowing like an oily black waterfall down her armored body. “I hope that’s not poisonous,” he said grimly, before moving ahead, pulling the suffering creature as gently as he could manage while making haste.  They could only wait and see if the black liquid had any ill effect; there was nothing they could do about it now. But they could save the young calf. He had only started moving when a horned, steely gray mare with a glowing marking and golden eyes like jewels stopped to address the armored sea mare—Aquila, as the newcomer said.  And Craonos.  They knew each other then. The mare asked what was wrong with the calf and Raistlyn flattened his ears, feeling irritated by the question. Wasn’t it obvious? “We need to go,” he said to the horned mare. “If you want to help, you can carry the pup.”  He motioned to the small, quivering silver wolf pup huddled by the sea calf, her eyes wide with fear.

@Wessex @Aquila