Rainforest Cliffs
01-31-2018, 02:19 PM
It had seemed like a good idea at the time. Step out of the shadows, share the burgeoning ball of light, declare something grand about saving his dying home (and throw in an apology for good measure), and then.. what, exactly? Kick back and watch them solve his problems? Did they even know what to do?
Because, let's be real: beyond sharing the hope with them, Kisamoa had no idea what to do.
He'd been at a loss when he'd recoiled back into the shadows, yet as always, unwilling to show it. Apologize for simply putting his land deeper in the shit, fine—he could do that. He wasn't beyond knowing when something he had done wasn't working. But stepping out in front of them all and declaring that he had absolutely no idea how to get them out of the mess he'd helped put them in?
Not happening.
The cervine, bleeding creature had returned to the layers between the worlds, once again considering simply ceasing to exist—waiting for that inevitable death—yet the stubborn presence of Hope kept him sullenly alive, one eye trained on his crew of horses. Thus, he wasn't far away when the Rift creatures congregated on the beach. And what happened next was .. interesting. He felt the Hope flare back to life deep within the Siren's lake, like a shudder reverberating up from the ground and into his bones.
Turns out the matron had had more of an idea of how to go about this than he had. They spread, to three of the more reclusive beasts of the Rift, and then convened on the beach again, hope alight in the hungry souls of predators and the stoic heart of the Protector.
It wasn't going to patch up the bleeding holes left in the land, but it was working, because something was happening. It was enough to catch his curiosity, and as the sullen Waker departed towards Halyven, Kisamoa pulled the shadows from himself and strode down to where the others had gathered.
As usual, black blood dripped down his legs from the spine fused to his back, and his mouth, full of too-many, mismatched teeth, bled the same thick, dark liquid. Each time his jaws parted, a green glow shone from within, and he was once again followed by the shadowy demon wielding a sword made from bone.
Blinking his dark eyes, the subtly shifting deity dipped his head in greeting to those gathered, before demanding—for such a creature cannot do anything but demand, rough of voice as it is—of no one in particular: "What is going on?"
Because, let's be real: beyond sharing the hope with them, Kisamoa had no idea what to do.
He'd been at a loss when he'd recoiled back into the shadows, yet as always, unwilling to show it. Apologize for simply putting his land deeper in the shit, fine—he could do that. He wasn't beyond knowing when something he had done wasn't working. But stepping out in front of them all and declaring that he had absolutely no idea how to get them out of the mess he'd helped put them in?
Not happening.
The cervine, bleeding creature had returned to the layers between the worlds, once again considering simply ceasing to exist—waiting for that inevitable death—yet the stubborn presence of Hope kept him sullenly alive, one eye trained on his crew of horses. Thus, he wasn't far away when the Rift creatures congregated on the beach. And what happened next was .. interesting. He felt the Hope flare back to life deep within the Siren's lake, like a shudder reverberating up from the ground and into his bones.
Turns out the matron had had more of an idea of how to go about this than he had. They spread, to three of the more reclusive beasts of the Rift, and then convened on the beach again, hope alight in the hungry souls of predators and the stoic heart of the Protector.
It wasn't going to patch up the bleeding holes left in the land, but it was working, because something was happening. It was enough to catch his curiosity, and as the sullen Waker departed towards Halyven, Kisamoa pulled the shadows from himself and strode down to where the others had gathered.
As usual, black blood dripped down his legs from the spine fused to his back, and his mouth, full of too-many, mismatched teeth, bled the same thick, dark liquid. Each time his jaws parted, a green glow shone from within, and he was once again followed by the shadowy demon wielding a sword made from bone.
Blinking his dark eyes, the subtly shifting deity dipped his head in greeting to those gathered, before demanding—for such a creature cannot do anything but demand, rough of voice as it is—of no one in particular: "What is going on?"
beauty in darkness
kaos in light
kaos in light
A wild Kis has appeared :O
.. and kaos opened up its eyes
