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.
P. 123; CHAPTER TWELVE (Aranck) IP: 184.108.40.206 Posted on July 17, 2016 at 04:20:30 PM by GRiMOiRE
5 years . 37 inches . 120 pounds . loner
"Dance, my little puppets, set your soul free. Dance, my little puppets, dance just for me."
- verse iii, sandy nobody
Dense mist shrouded the lowlands, confining the existing world to a meter and translucent one to up to two. A hawk’s cry punctured the uncommon stillness, but the call didn’t disturb the weight of the fog. Unseen to the soaring creature, however, a singular female wolf strode between the curves of boulders in the hidden underworld; she couldn’t see him soaring above, but she followed his voice. Her pearlescent eyes wandered over the cool shades darkening the gray ground while her paws softly glided over the damp stone up and up.
She wove in circles sometimes, matching the raptor’s pattern above with uncanny exactness. Her focus was not her own as she took on the likeness of the hawk, drifting between thermals which hoisted her further up the rocky slopes. Her gliding paws deftly carried her closer to her target, though it appeared she had no destination at all. Grimoire was with drawn into her body; as the observer to her steps, she had little influence over the instinctual directions and changes her lithe form took. Her mind was lost in manners more pressing than the travel of her form.
While her body moved, she watched instead for the phantoms of the fog. They were watching, ever waiting for her to forget them; they would strike if she did not heed their warnings. But she could never tell which directions they would strike from because they were wherever she wasn’t looking just behind the veil of mist. The only way she could testify their existence was the paranoia that she was being followed. Thus was the state her incessant weaving; her body moved to keep itself safe while her mind obsessed over where the haunts would strike her next. And so, she circled further up the mountain, her body giving her trust to the hawk soaring in the heavens to guide her while her thoughts whispered warnings, And in false sleep will from thee shrink, bath’d in a cold quicksilver sweat. Ne’er wilt lie a verier ghost than I.