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

*is but a dream within a dream
IP: 24.179.72.172

"All that we see or seem, is but a dream within a dream."


He is far kinder than any before him.

I did not suspect that he heard my shuffling and felt the discontent that sometimes stirred it's scaly head in the midst of the dark hours. It never crossed my mind to suspect that he was duplicitous in such a way and besides, if such a thing was his fault then surely I had been granted wings of an angel. He did not berate me for times when my passion waned. He did not pressure me on mornings when I woke with groggy eyes and a somewhat ill temper, although I often tried to shove that fact down lest he grow tired of such things. My life had not be especially easy and I had grown firm in some things, my older ways harder to lose than I had intended.

Aranck haunts me in these hours as I press closer to Exodus. I take comfort in his warmth, in the large figure that protects me from whatever lies beyond. Molodian has become more tame in recent seasons with the death of those who stood on wolf flesh and the subsequent dismantling of their hoard. Aranck had been a more insidious evil than even they with his desperate bid for power and I... I was a demon in the shadows, bound to the Lord of them. Now that he was gone the light was cast unceremoniously upon me and I found that life in the light was much better.

But that could not change me completely.

I still felt dregs of my old wanderlust and malcontent. Memories in abundance threatened to overwhelm me in the quiet hours - the hours when I lost sense of my new self and reverted back to my old one. It is perhaps wise that now I seek the comfort of my mate. To see how he would react to such a thing, although I feel uneasy at the task. We were to have a child and I could tell from the moment of conception and realization that Exodus would prove to be a far nobler father and mate than I had ever taken.

He would be content with just this, me and this child, and it stuns me. Sometimes I try to fathom why... it is so beyond my scope of understanding that he could just be happy with us. That he does not crave more. I am so used to it and time has not been long since I was subjugated before.

The wash of his tongue across my cheek makes my eyes close as I sigh into his face, leaning in to the words he offers. "To hear your voice. I can still hear his and it echoes over and over in my mind." For a moment I fall silent because I am almost timid to broach the subject of Aranck to him. Exodus has not questioned me, perhaps sensing the need to earn my trust first, and I want him to have it fully.

To understand what I offer.

So I peek up at him with my red and pink eyes. "He once told me that Aithne cursed him. That she haunted him. Even in his downfall it was only ever her call he linked to his fate. I'm afraid," I whisper suddenly, ears tilted back. "What if he was right and what if he has now similarly cursed me? I fear for our child and that it will be born cursed or worse, not born at all." It is the dark that is talking, not me, not really, and yet... a niggling of worry.

malleah
eleven - loner -exodus's mate
eleanor's soul
html (c) Alicia, image sanctuare




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