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

the lonely one refuses to die


He was lost in his head. That was a thing Wren did often, and it was the only constant thing that had made things… made things easier for him. His head was safe. His head was the place that he could go where no one could touch him. It was rather like being up high, rather like being able to see everything from where he sat. Seeing… everything. The altitude would never bother him, being born to it had his perks. Quite the opposite-- being down low, the air felt so heavy, so thick in his lungs. He hated that. That was really the only… bad feeling. Only bad feeling he ever had, other than the frustration that came sometimes with his, ah, condition.

There’s a young man down below, and he’s scrambling. Wren’s head cocks to the side as he watches, trying his best to blend in with the rocks around him. If he sat very still maybe he wouldn’t be noticed. Maybe he wouldn’t be found out. Maybe he could escape without being… ah… seen. Not for now. His plan his shortly foiled, as the child calls up to him. Wren considers for a moment before easily slipping from his high perch and standing beside the creature.

He does his best to set his gaze in a way that’s not threatening, though Wren accidentally trends toward the resting bitch face. That was the worst. He was sorry. For that, he was sorry. The child claimed himself a flatlander, and Wren was gentle. Though he could not talk, he could teach. A gentle dip of his head, trying to be friendly. Trying so hard to be friendly. Wagging tail. He could do this.

With his nose he reached to bump where the rocks were indented, where they would make good places for feet. The rock is a problem, a problem that needs to be figured through. He could do that. He could show someone else how to do that. Very directly pointing out the holds, and then setting his forepaws up on the rock, he looked to the child and waited.
wren. swallowbanexcalista. seven. mute.

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