Poet
Things that I am : - Complete Newbie
- Chatbox Spammer
Loveliness : 0 Join date : 2014-08-20 Age : 28 Location : Canadaland
| Subject: [Muse] High Tide Mon Dec 15, 2014 1:01 am | |
| [OOC: So, had a couple ideas floating around in my head for a while now with DC as the basis, so I thought I might as well write some of it down. If any of this gets used in canon, great! If not, please stick around and enjoy the pretty story. Participants thus far: Poet and Blackhot, various characters.]If it wasn't for the bright yellow streaks snaking through his scales, his dark hide might have had a chance to blend in with the warm stone beneath his belly. His nose twitched with the beginnings of a snarl, disturbed by the prick of sea-spray against the sensitive heat receptors under his long, fin-like whiskers, and black-scaled lids peeled away from crimson orbs. Judging from the returning tide, his nap had lasted much longer than he had expected. Hadn't there been something he ought to have been doing? Ggynr, the mage!The long, delicate dorsal fins upon his back shivered with annoyance even as he called upon the name of his elder in profanity. Hydrðsormr, for that is what he was, tended to revere their living heroes akin to gods, so it wasn't lightly that he brought forth the name of he who had felled a thousand ships within the herculean grasp of his coils, and devoured thousands more who would bring ruin to the land with a maw filled with swords. Personally, the deeds of the elder warriors had always appealed to the young Hydrðsormr much more vividly than his race's scholars, teachers or scientists, and as such, the young 'sormr fancied the aging giant as his favourite from the myriad of fabled heroes locked in stasis beneath the waves. At any rate, Teorryl roused his long, lean coils as he remembered the meeting he'd been supposed to make inland with his acquaintance. The thin, capable tip of his tail hooked the strap of a rather plain brown bag, remarkable only in the way it shimmered very slightly when the light caught it, much as if it were crafted of tiny fish scales interwoven. The corner of a roll of slightly waxy paper covered in various diagrams and scribbled notes peeked out from under the top flap of this bag, threatening to loose itself over the side of the rather daunting cliff as our lean friend snaked his way upward with a sure-footed approach. Though jostled by the climb, it was the stiff breeze that jiggled the roll free, leaving the one of many scrolls to tumble downward toward the waves. Not that he noticed. He didn't bother to shake himself dry when he reached the top, knowing the sun upon his scales would rid him of moisture in minutes; it very rarely ever cooled below being comfortable in these parts. As it was, he had trouble enough adapting his long, sleek and decidedly aquatic form for terrestrial locomotion, having to focus on keeping a fluid gait to avoid tangling his long torso and tumbling to an embarrassing halt. It became a tad more challenging the moment he reached town, his size making maneuvering the human-made streets quite a chore. At times, he found himself stretched over three or four roadways, body held carefully over the heads of merchants and annoyed travelers alike. Though he wasn't very tall, he was incredibly long. His na'an used to say that he could have been a warrior, if not for how slender his form had turned out. As it was, he was stuck as a lowly designer of magic-based nautical equipment, formerly freelance and only precariously now a part of the aquatic state's design team. Progress was slow and frustrating, but a job was a job. A tall building loomed over the town square, spiraling upward in the fashion of a tower. The young serpent set himself to the task of carefully coiling himself around it so as to peek his head in the third floor balcony without obstructing the pathways of the square, nor the entrance or exit of the building itself; his claws found the perfect holds without much trouble, and his weight settled against the warm stones soundlessly. Practice makes perfect, after all. With ruby eyes slitted against the bright afternoon sun, he peeked into the comparative gloom of the office within. | |
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