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

we were born sick, closed!

He knew he had grown sick; it had been brewing beneath the surface for seasons since. He could not pinpoint just where the sickness had come from but he thought only of Grimoire when he thought of it. She had given herself to another and with that giving, she had departed. Her departure had left a hollow within him, a hollow that could fill only with misfortune and sickness. It did not bother him, though. He had known since the minute he had taken his first breath that someday he would have to take his final. Many times, he thought he had felt his last lingering in the back of his throat only for some part of him to keep him going. No, it did not bother him at all. Wraith was, after all, always living on what he assumed was borrowed time. Sick as he was, it seemed to clear his mind, the cobwebs parting and the sun finally able to touch the shadows that lingered within his mind.

He had retreated to the crags, an unusual spot for a sick wolf perhaps but one he had always known well. His paws were able to trace the stones with ease even as snow covered them; he knew where to take cover, where to best hide from the wind. Winter's wind was dry and his cough had turned dry because of it, a stifled thing that made his chest thrust forward when it came for him. He might have lost weight but he had no idea; he had eaten small prey here and there, chewed on winter roots, but his body had always been a narrow, ghostly thing. He enjoyed his time alone. He enjoyed watching and waiting out the storms; he watched the stars at night, caught sight of the green skylights from time to time.

And that's where he was that night too. The snow had ceased for the evening and the sky had opened up its maw. Within it lay the moon, half-there and half-not; green lights played their games against the horizon, streaking out to kiss the crags from time to time before they retreated into the darkness. He had scrambled up the stones and laid himself bare, puffs of steam curling away from his mouth as his slow breaths met winter. Ah, how rare it was for him to feel at peace and yet he could not help but stifle a laugh at the idea of having only been able to find it where so many feared to go.

fifteen year old wolf of nowhere, son of paldor and ruvindra


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