Susil Crags

Disaster has struck!
The Crags are a series of rocky formations with small caves and crevices throughout. Many of the lower-lying areas of the Crags have been flooded, however, with water pouring in from the Northern stretches of Moladion. Some paths have been completely submerged, and some are nothing more than a few rocky peaks sticking out of the water. The water is fairly slow moving but begins to pick speed up towards the Grotto, becoming a series of intense rapids and waterfalls as it nears the Grotto's entrance.

The area itself is still traversible. However, it can be risky. Large amounts of debris can enter the waterway, creating bridges at times but also creating dams that break and cause ocassional flash-flooding. Be careful, travelers! One wrong step and you could end up finding out where the water goes.

Note: Susil Crags will return to normal once 25 posts have been completed (or at Staff discretion). During this time, new threads will receive a 'Surprise','Disaster', and prizes.

Return to Lunar Children

A sight for sore eyes and looks to kill Wey only
IP: 24.108.1.137

C'MON ANGEL, LET'S SHARE THIS EXPERIENCE


Disaster.
Something no one should have to go through.
But all the inhabitants here had. Life was not easy, time seems to drag on and the world slowly repairs it's self. Tree's begin to grow again, they age and their leaves die and fall off, the snows come and go and still life moves on, still the people try to gather strength from each other. They say that time heals all wounds, that deep down inside everyone's gone through some horrible disaster in their lives. What that is, how it changes a person... that is how you know if it is a true disaster or not. Though we may all call it thusly, in the truth of truths we all know that deep down we've all experinced it. Some in their youth, some in their hay-day; others while their just praying that what ever it is that's coming comes with a quick death. Many would think that little Mortz would have wished for death on that faithful night... he would not, never wish for death.

The morning mist sweeps across the front of their den, dew collecting on the bits of grass the poke out from the earth harken a new day, a day of playing tag with his two older brothers and his younger sister, of watching his mother hunt from the ridge. Today was the day that they would begin eating meat, something he'd toyed with on occasion when his mother left scraps at the entrance of the den. You can't blame her for what happend that day, he doesn't that's for sure. She was a new mother, barely old enough to have pups in the first place. His father had been a rogue going through the area and had spotted their mother and seen a very enjoyable evening. She'd fallen for his good looks, charming smile and way with words. Some times she told Mo he had the same charming smile.

He'd watched her go out just then, her tail the last thing his sweet little eyes would see of her ever again, or atleast the last thing that he wanted to see of her. It wasn't but an hour later as he was wrestling with one of his brothers that he heard a noise. A twig snap, he knew his mother would have given them a noise to announce herself other wise they were to stay within the den and never leave. Not yet anyway, they were far to young for that sorta thing. But his little sister, born only moments after him didn't have the same sense that he and his older brothers had. MOMMA! she had cried before Mo could pounce on her and force her back into the den, she was off like a rocket. Only stopping once she got to the edge of the den.

Her stance and the look of fear in her eyes was the worst thing... no, the second worse thing he has ever seen in his short life. With one great swipe of it's big brown paw the bear scooped up his little sister. Squealing and crying for help she was tugged into the daylight and then silence. Though his brothers were older, it was always Mo that stood up to other pups that tried to boss them around when ever they came into contact with others. The two stood behind him shaking in their invisible boots as they heard the snuffling of the bear as it began to sniff out what it knew to be the rest of the litter. An easy picking for the big ol' bear. That big paw began to push it's self further into the hole, getting to it's elbow before it could reach no further. A big claw scraped around trying to catch one of the pups. Soon it withdrew and then the digging began.

Like we said, you can not blame his mother, she was to young in the first place. She didn't know anything about digging a second entrance for the pups to run for freedom incase of a situation like this, a lone wolf with four pups would never fare well in the wild. The opening increased double the size before the bear could stick it's head in the hole and with flailing paws and snapping jaws it reached for the pups. Mo did his best to defend what was left of his siblings but a big paw swept him to one side and the world turned dark. Dark and cold.

He is alone when he wakes up.

There is no noise, no crying of his mother at the loss of her pups, no digging or sniffing from the bear. Just pure unadultrated silence. Like the eye of a storm or the cease fire during a war. Danger is around the corner, you just know it. Feel it in your bones. Slowly he gets up, his head throbs and the smell of blood is every where. He almost half expects to see smoke filtering in from a fire some where, it's what you'd expect in this instance as the world opens it's self up and swollows you whole. Mo takes his first tentative steps out into the world. The smell is more pungent out here, the air has yet to clear and so the disaster that had unfolded mer moments ago lays before his poor copper penny eyes. Tears begin to fall from the corners as he looks at half eaten bodies of pups, and then a thin wail leaves his lips growing in ferocity with each step he takes before he is at his mothers side. His wail turns to sobbing as he lays his face into the soft fur of her neck.

He craddles her, at least he likes to think he is, his paws and belly wrap around her neck covering him in her blood, his soft puppy fur is colored like the penny eyes of his, a mixture of oranges and light reds though it's more grey right now because he is a puppy. With time the gray will disappear and the red's and oranges will take over. He is a perfect replica of his mother. And so he lays there, unsure of what to do, unable to determine what he should do, unable to think beyond the unholy rage that builds within his tiny frame. Mortz is no longer that happy puppy that rolls around, now he is ragged and uncared for. Covered in his mothers blood he lays with her, awaiting his own unfortunate death that he is sure will come without the experinces his young mother would have taught him.

IF ONLY I COULD MAKE A DEAL WITH GOD
THANKS THE WINCHESTER GOSPEL @ CAUTION!


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