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.
:: He'll Only Break Your Heart :: IP: 124.168.145.246 Posted on September 16, 2015 at 10:23:08 AM by Tobias
He has not left the plains in several days, that darkened nightmare that has so long plagued Moladions earth having retreated to the confines of his den for several evenings now as the wounds of his victorious battle heal. He does not understand wound care, cannot perceive any true damage done to himself and yet his aging form demands rest of him, plunges his wretched mind into sleep until even the demands of his injured form can no longer sooth the hunger within him and he steps from the confines of his cave at last. Eyes of reptilian green glow like hell fire within the darkness, that darkened form of demonic perfection moving now with the easy grace of bloodlines long lost, his wounds healing, formed to scabs, even that wound which exists beneath himself and upon more sensitive areas has healed so that he may stride now across the earth and into the black canopy of his kingdom. The shadows are a welcome embrace, his form swathed within those lashings of ebony as he moves amongst them in search of his evening meal. His hunger is ravishing, driving the demons of his mind to riotous discord as saliva pools within his jaws in anticipation, seeking the warm and heated bodies of puppy flesh born within the spring to satisfy his desires. He moves in a straight line, as always, seemingly incapable of deviating from his fixated path until a single cry splits the air and his form of ebony perfection is halted upon the earth, ears pricked forward.
He knows this sound. He knows this cry. Even within the tattered confines of what remains of a mind so damaged he remembers these sweetened notes of angelic delight that have been denied to him so long. He has searched for her for years- though he does not know it, the male incapable of the perception of time, so unaware of how very long had passed for he cannot perceive it. He does not know of his own age, or her own, does not understand years have passed- for to his mind the line of time is a single long and continued line that ceases to break of change. It is fortunate perhaps, that this disability of mind should prevent him from ever having understood her disappearance- for years he has believed he simply cannot find her, that the Angels of Diveen keep her from him, refusing to return her no matter how often he had waited upon the borders of their pack, pacing upon the border line like a rabid creature in search of his shield in this life. Time had passed though- he had contended himself with She of Red and White, become her shadow, whatever fractured remains of his soul existed clinging with desperation to She of Scars, binding him to her in turn though part of him loathes it still- that bound he cannot break. Yet still he cannot harm her, will not, guards Sh of Scars as he guards She of Red and White- for they are his things, his belongings, his desires and possessions and he will not relinquish them.
His own jaws part, extended upward as instinct itself demands of him to allow a booming, roaring howl to pierce and screech into the sky in answer to her own, these darkened lyrics combined with hers as they have failed to do in so many years before his form lopes forward, driven now towards the crags in search of a….treasured possession. She had been his first obsession, his mind fixated for so long upon her with domination and ferocity unmatched, a creature he had possessed so fully and desires still as his black form streaks across the earth, hindered so slightly perhaps- by his still healing injury.
He comes from within the blackness, erupting from the darkness itself as heckles bristle upwards and a rumble of discord hisses within his damaged throat- the scars of Heyel’s assault so many years ago nestled beneath that black fur, flecked now with grey about his muzzle, the sound one not of aggression- but of curiosity as he comes. Each stride is slow, purposeful, head and tail lifted in the utter dominance with which he does all things as if wariness marks him still- mind desperately struggling to assure him this is indeed his Aaliyah, his mind failing to see change upon her, the female as untouched by age or years as forever she had been within his mind as he moves to rush forward suddenly in a manner that seems to betray an assault of sorts. Yet it is not. His muzzle thrusts into her fur, as demanding and forceful as always he had been, inhaling her scent with desperation as he very near curves his body about her in possession, black and white fur melding together and he encompasses her entirely.
“Mine.”
It is a single word, spoken on a breath and into the darkness and yet it is the single thing to which his wretched mind is assured off.
16 Years // Father of 8 // Mate of Flare // Imprint of Tick Tock // King of Asteraia