- Joined
- Jul 31, 2020
- Messages
- 99
- Awards
- 2
- Essence
- €14,452
- Coin
- ₡10,700
- Tokens
- 50
- World
- Kraw
- Profile
- Click Here
His makeshift raft was pathetic; naught but a pitiful, paltry scrap of wood that was more splinter than board, his fingers white with strain as he fought against the relentless push and pull of the churning sea. Cormac had salvaged it from the great wreck at his back, or what little of it remained, the once proud vessel reduced to worthless flotsam now, still stirring amidst the choppy mangle of the cold, salt-tinged waves.
The man could not bear to gaze upon it for long, a benumbed feeling having seeped into his limbs as he beheld the airship that had been his home for many months, the ship that had sheltered his cloud-brethren and lords and all that lay in between. The rest of the tremendous boat, if such a magnificent hovercraft could even be embodied by such a pedestrian term, had fractured and sunk—a mere shadow in the sunless black depths—leaving only the burgundy-painted mass of one hull to keep the encroaching tide at bay as it tried, futilely, to reclaim what it had no right to hold.
He shivered and closed his eyes, letting himself sink into his own thoughts rather than into the profound abyss that waited beneath his kicking legs, clinging to the sturdy wooden raft under him for all he was worth. The cold salt-spray stung his pale skin as he bobbed about like a lightweight cork on the briny waves. Each swell and dip of the water lifted him up and slammed him back down, a mere rag doll in the hands of the rumbling ocean.
And with each swell, he was tossed further and further away from the steadily sinking wreck, a minuscule speck against a swirling expanse of yawning, glassy green.
All that he held dear was gone, swallowed up by the sea. He was his own ship, now, and so he would need to chart a new course.
But Cormac could not ignore the bone-deep chill that spread from his fingertips to his heart. The chill that told his drifting body that something was out there in these bottomless, dusky waters, biding its time, ensuring that he knew well that every second spent riding the waves was a gamble.
It was the very same creature that had dashed his ship to pieces—a gigantic leviathan with scales as hard as iron, its powerfully built serpentine body capable of turning a galleon of immense bulk into splinters. If he was to keep his life, he would need to maintain an unceasing vigilance, for there was a force that could snatch it away with a single misstep.
Cormac lurched forward unwittingly, feeling the sweat freeze where it clung at his temples, the nape of his neck, as he paddled faster. The frigid drink appeared to close around him like a rolling dark blockade, an invisible hand seeming to draw tighter and tighter, the pressure and helplessness growing more and more intense. He looked out into the darkness beyond his raft, the white pinprick stars above twinkling coldly in the night sky, the salt stinging at his eyes and the taste of brine filling his mouth as he struggled to stay afloat. He could feel the weight of his wet clothes dragging him down, making each movement wearisome and slow.
He knew something was coming, but its form remained horrifically elusive. All he could do was cling to his raft and beseech the heavens for safe passage to shore. But no land lay ahead...
The sound of a tremendous splash reached the man's ears then, a deep and resounding crash akin to the blast of a cannon. His head pivoted as if on a hinge, eyes bulging in an attempt to pierce through the deafening roar of rushing, grumbling water all around him, trying desperately to glean just what had produced the cacophonous disturbance, and from where.
And lo, there it was, emerging from the turbulent waters with a grace unmatched by any vessel sailing Opealon's endless blue. Its shimmering scales glinted in the moonlight, its sheer size dwarfing even the grandest of ships. A great serpent, longer than two laden whalers and wider than a frigate—its spiny, silvery fins creating staggeringly looping humps atop the tumultuous waves, its unique musculature capable of launching its weight, as if by a spring, entirely airborne. The very same leviathan that had dashed his ship to smithereens only an hour prior, returned for a midnight snack.
He heaved at his raft's splintered edge and paddled faster, never once breaking his gaze from the monstrous beast closing in. The moon's pale sheen cast an eerie glow upon its serrated hide, illuminating every inch of its sinuous, snaking form, coruscating off the innumerable barbed ridges that rose along its back like a spear-tipped phalanx marching atop the distant, loping crests of a valley. As it neared, Cormac could discern the vast, prickly pinnae adorned with emerald-blue scales protruding from its massive reptilian cranium, resembling the crested plumage of a cockatiel. The thrashing of its fluked tail broke upon the water's lip, sending a spray of salty sea into the midnight sky.
Then, in an instant, it was simply... gone, submerging itself beneath the waves.
Cormac puffed a soft, shuddering breath, which fogged in the air before him as a fine white mist.
He was a fool to believe he was safe, if only for a moment. The serpent burst through the surface of the water with a sudden ferocity, this time much closer, menacingly close to upsetting Cormac and his thin, half-shattered panel of timber. Its gaping maw stretched wide as it reared upright like a cobra poised to strike, exposing an infinite chasm of razor-sharp teeth and a rippling gullet lined with frilled gills—hundreds upon hundreds of knife-like points crammed in precise formation along the cavernous span of its jaws, each one longer than a man's arm.
With a precision that was as alarming as it was breathtaking, the serpent's unblinking, coal-black eyes held him captive, its mirror-like pupils swirling, ticking slowly in his direction like the hands of clock, the gelatinous membrane glistening like the dwindling beacon of a lighthouse at daybreak.
He didn't have time to scream or even attempt a feeble, paddling escape. With lightning speed, the monstrous creature lunged forward, ready to swallow Cormac whole in one merciless gulp.
But it seemed that chance, or destiny, or some other inscrutable power that dictates the distinction between existence and demise, rolled in his favor.
As the jaws of death surged towards him, Cormac was lifted by a colossal wave from below, casting him and his raft away. The sea monster missed him by only a hair's breadth, it seemed—its massive form gliding narrowly past before crashing back into the roiling depths.
For what seemed like an eternity, the ginger-haired man lay with his arms splayed over his raft, winded and shaking, grateful to still draw breath. His eyes stayed fixed in fear as the creature vanished once more into the black abyss, its silvery coils writhing downward like a fluttering, eddying ribbon, plunging out of sight.
He tried to steady himself, struggling to regain his composure and trembling from head to toe. He'd come perilously close, too close for comfort, but somehow... somehow, he still stood... drifted... among the living.
The terror was ebbing away now, and Cormac could feel himself beginning to drift off under the weight of his exhaustion.
He fainted.
Seconds later, his eyes shot open with a violent start as a wet slap of the ocean's fury struck his face, a sudden sense of constricting panic gripping his lungs. The moon was still high in the sky and his raft was still bobbing aimlessly on the dark sea, his only lifeline between this world and oblivion. But the beast was gone, its presence fading like a bad dream.
Cormac felt a twinge of relief, but he couldn't shake off the dread that lingered in his bones, frequently glancing fretfully over his shoulder, scanning the murky waters with wild eyes, searching for any sign of the monstrous creature's return. And yet, amidst the terror that gripped him, an inexplicable glimmer of hope shone through. For he still lived and breathed, and so long as he clung to that life, he had a chance to make it back to his home in the sky.
And with that thought firmly in mind, Cormac paddled on, eyes wide open and fear in his blood, as the first fiery glimmer of sunrise began to crest the horizon.
The man could not bear to gaze upon it for long, a benumbed feeling having seeped into his limbs as he beheld the airship that had been his home for many months, the ship that had sheltered his cloud-brethren and lords and all that lay in between. The rest of the tremendous boat, if such a magnificent hovercraft could even be embodied by such a pedestrian term, had fractured and sunk—a mere shadow in the sunless black depths—leaving only the burgundy-painted mass of one hull to keep the encroaching tide at bay as it tried, futilely, to reclaim what it had no right to hold.
He shivered and closed his eyes, letting himself sink into his own thoughts rather than into the profound abyss that waited beneath his kicking legs, clinging to the sturdy wooden raft under him for all he was worth. The cold salt-spray stung his pale skin as he bobbed about like a lightweight cork on the briny waves. Each swell and dip of the water lifted him up and slammed him back down, a mere rag doll in the hands of the rumbling ocean.
And with each swell, he was tossed further and further away from the steadily sinking wreck, a minuscule speck against a swirling expanse of yawning, glassy green.
All that he held dear was gone, swallowed up by the sea. He was his own ship, now, and so he would need to chart a new course.
But Cormac could not ignore the bone-deep chill that spread from his fingertips to his heart. The chill that told his drifting body that something was out there in these bottomless, dusky waters, biding its time, ensuring that he knew well that every second spent riding the waves was a gamble.
It was the very same creature that had dashed his ship to pieces—a gigantic leviathan with scales as hard as iron, its powerfully built serpentine body capable of turning a galleon of immense bulk into splinters. If he was to keep his life, he would need to maintain an unceasing vigilance, for there was a force that could snatch it away with a single misstep.
Cormac lurched forward unwittingly, feeling the sweat freeze where it clung at his temples, the nape of his neck, as he paddled faster. The frigid drink appeared to close around him like a rolling dark blockade, an invisible hand seeming to draw tighter and tighter, the pressure and helplessness growing more and more intense. He looked out into the darkness beyond his raft, the white pinprick stars above twinkling coldly in the night sky, the salt stinging at his eyes and the taste of brine filling his mouth as he struggled to stay afloat. He could feel the weight of his wet clothes dragging him down, making each movement wearisome and slow.
He knew something was coming, but its form remained horrifically elusive. All he could do was cling to his raft and beseech the heavens for safe passage to shore. But no land lay ahead...
The sound of a tremendous splash reached the man's ears then, a deep and resounding crash akin to the blast of a cannon. His head pivoted as if on a hinge, eyes bulging in an attempt to pierce through the deafening roar of rushing, grumbling water all around him, trying desperately to glean just what had produced the cacophonous disturbance, and from where.
And lo, there it was, emerging from the turbulent waters with a grace unmatched by any vessel sailing Opealon's endless blue. Its shimmering scales glinted in the moonlight, its sheer size dwarfing even the grandest of ships. A great serpent, longer than two laden whalers and wider than a frigate—its spiny, silvery fins creating staggeringly looping humps atop the tumultuous waves, its unique musculature capable of launching its weight, as if by a spring, entirely airborne. The very same leviathan that had dashed his ship to smithereens only an hour prior, returned for a midnight snack.
He heaved at his raft's splintered edge and paddled faster, never once breaking his gaze from the monstrous beast closing in. The moon's pale sheen cast an eerie glow upon its serrated hide, illuminating every inch of its sinuous, snaking form, coruscating off the innumerable barbed ridges that rose along its back like a spear-tipped phalanx marching atop the distant, loping crests of a valley. As it neared, Cormac could discern the vast, prickly pinnae adorned with emerald-blue scales protruding from its massive reptilian cranium, resembling the crested plumage of a cockatiel. The thrashing of its fluked tail broke upon the water's lip, sending a spray of salty sea into the midnight sky.
Then, in an instant, it was simply... gone, submerging itself beneath the waves.
Cormac puffed a soft, shuddering breath, which fogged in the air before him as a fine white mist.
He was a fool to believe he was safe, if only for a moment. The serpent burst through the surface of the water with a sudden ferocity, this time much closer, menacingly close to upsetting Cormac and his thin, half-shattered panel of timber. Its gaping maw stretched wide as it reared upright like a cobra poised to strike, exposing an infinite chasm of razor-sharp teeth and a rippling gullet lined with frilled gills—hundreds upon hundreds of knife-like points crammed in precise formation along the cavernous span of its jaws, each one longer than a man's arm.
With a precision that was as alarming as it was breathtaking, the serpent's unblinking, coal-black eyes held him captive, its mirror-like pupils swirling, ticking slowly in his direction like the hands of clock, the gelatinous membrane glistening like the dwindling beacon of a lighthouse at daybreak.
He didn't have time to scream or even attempt a feeble, paddling escape. With lightning speed, the monstrous creature lunged forward, ready to swallow Cormac whole in one merciless gulp.
But it seemed that chance, or destiny, or some other inscrutable power that dictates the distinction between existence and demise, rolled in his favor.
As the jaws of death surged towards him, Cormac was lifted by a colossal wave from below, casting him and his raft away. The sea monster missed him by only a hair's breadth, it seemed—its massive form gliding narrowly past before crashing back into the roiling depths.
For what seemed like an eternity, the ginger-haired man lay with his arms splayed over his raft, winded and shaking, grateful to still draw breath. His eyes stayed fixed in fear as the creature vanished once more into the black abyss, its silvery coils writhing downward like a fluttering, eddying ribbon, plunging out of sight.
He tried to steady himself, struggling to regain his composure and trembling from head to toe. He'd come perilously close, too close for comfort, but somehow... somehow, he still stood... drifted... among the living.
The terror was ebbing away now, and Cormac could feel himself beginning to drift off under the weight of his exhaustion.
He fainted.
Seconds later, his eyes shot open with a violent start as a wet slap of the ocean's fury struck his face, a sudden sense of constricting panic gripping his lungs. The moon was still high in the sky and his raft was still bobbing aimlessly on the dark sea, his only lifeline between this world and oblivion. But the beast was gone, its presence fading like a bad dream.
Cormac felt a twinge of relief, but he couldn't shake off the dread that lingered in his bones, frequently glancing fretfully over his shoulder, scanning the murky waters with wild eyes, searching for any sign of the monstrous creature's return. And yet, amidst the terror that gripped him, an inexplicable glimmer of hope shone through. For he still lived and breathed, and so long as he clung to that life, he had a chance to make it back to his home in the sky.
And with that thought firmly in mind, Cormac paddled on, eyes wide open and fear in his blood, as the first fiery glimmer of sunrise began to crest the horizon.