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

Do not go gentle into that good night

It seems as if the boy would take the bait for he turns to face Blackthorne more head on, his face twisted into a grotesque look of dislike. Yet there, twisted within him, is a curiosity that Thorne zeroes in on with a satisfied smirk. The bait was out and it seemed the hooks were sinking. Thor had said having a group of fighters would be a bad thing, that a pack need stability, but he wasn’t looking for some pansy pack of healers. There were necessary things to learn such as hearing but he desired strength because with strength came FEAR. And such a feeling was what drove him into dens such as this, what marked his body with tiny scars hidden between his fights, what electrified his blood.

“You are,” Thorne agrees dispassionately now, having had his fill of amusement and on to more important topics. Possum moves a little closer, a flower to the sun, and Thorne shines his light directly upon him. Underidge had asked for disciples but he had no way with words, unlike Thorne, not much inclination to twist and offer. A brow ticks up at Possums words. “I venture to say there was plenty of room, but you just weren’t what they wanted,” he says, the bite in his voice used to drive Possum further into his machinations. “They are all like that. Good and kindly and pitying.” The last words is spit out, his ears flipping back. “Pity can be used as a weakness, just as your ugliness can be used as a strength.” Now he grins, a wicked, wild grin.

“We fight to survive but also to triumph. I seek a world where the very mention of us is feared and filled with awe. Do you want to be part of the meek in this world or the strong? The ones who make the rules and do not bend to other.” Now he weaves his story, his truth, and he stands proud. “All you must do is submit to me and I would give it all to you, but do not expect it to be easy. That wouldn’t be fun at all, would it?” He has a way now, flicking his eyes around then back, of making it seem as if they are conspirators, confidantes. What would Possum do?


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