Fjord (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
built_fjord_tough) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
fandomtownies2019-06-20 07:22 am
built_fjord_tough) wrote in fandomtownies2019-06-20 07:22 am
The Beach, Thursday Morning
Water. Just as had been the trend lately, Fjord dreamed of water. A darkness so thick he couldn't begin to guess at which way the surface was, or whether there was any surface to be found. A crushing pressure, a cold that seemed to seep into his every pore, and the thick, heavy feeling of ocean brine in his lungs, moving in and out of him with no effort at all, today. His mouth was open, rows of jagged teeth punctuated by curving tusks that could have given somebody a very, very bad time, if he saw need to use them. He breathed that water in, or swallowed it, but it never quite seemed to cause him discomfort, filtering out through gills just behind a graying jawline that was slightly more angular than usual.
By now, there would have been eyes.
By now, there would have been a voice, rumbling through his entire being, giving him instructions, or promises, or threats.
But for a stretch of time that went on forever, there was only darkness.
And then, a rumble, as if something that was too large to fathom had suddenly shifted.
It was met with another, abrupt and coming from everywhere at once, and Fjord recognized that movement as the shifting of coils that often threw him around, or crushed him or...
Something hit something else in the distance, and the current that swept over him sent him twisting through the water, throwing his body around like a broken doll. There was something sharp to it, something that ripped at him and he snarled and lashed back out at it, trying in vain to resist the undertow. There was absolutely no denying that what he was lashing out with were talons, even if the only light there was to see them by was the vivid glow of his own eyes, mirroring the multitude that often stared at him in his dreams.
And that was when the shapes began to emerge, beginning as pinpoint specks of light in the distance, one after another after another, following a serpentine body that seemed to go on for eternity, now paying little heed to him. They twisted and writhed and coiled around something, but every time Fjord thought he could get a good look, they blocked his view, or the current sent him tumbling again.
Something in his guts told him that this was for the best.
And then, the noise began. An incomprehensible mass of writhing thought, like slithering razorblades tearing at his mind, being met with the howling of the familiar everything-voice that tormented him. Fjord tried to raise his hands to his ears, tried to blot out the sound, but there was no blotting away something that was everywhere, running through everything at once, and when he opened his mouth to scream, he could taste blood on the water.
The two forms fought, struggled against one another, alternated between crushing Fjord and tearing him apart, cutting through his mind and his body until he was just pieces of himself, just meat in a growing cloud of red drifting through the water.
There was no parting word from the serpent before he woke, tonight. But it was very, very clear, even without words that he had no hope at all of understanding, that something was still staking its claim.
Fjord awoke on the beach in the darkness, the rumbling of waves breaking against the shore filling his senses. His head felt as though something had been carving into it, eating it from the inside out. He rolled over and coughed, choked up seawater tinted red, and then grabbed at the sides of his head and shook.
His falchion sat next to him in the sand, just a normal sword, the blade broken in two.
[OOC: Hi I am having fun with Eldritch horrors. The beach is open! Fjord is on day two of the infection, so expect a violent half-orc making swift strides toward monstertown today!]
By now, there would have been eyes.
By now, there would have been a voice, rumbling through his entire being, giving him instructions, or promises, or threats.
But for a stretch of time that went on forever, there was only darkness.
And then, a rumble, as if something that was too large to fathom had suddenly shifted.
It was met with another, abrupt and coming from everywhere at once, and Fjord recognized that movement as the shifting of coils that often threw him around, or crushed him or...
Something hit something else in the distance, and the current that swept over him sent him twisting through the water, throwing his body around like a broken doll. There was something sharp to it, something that ripped at him and he snarled and lashed back out at it, trying in vain to resist the undertow. There was absolutely no denying that what he was lashing out with were talons, even if the only light there was to see them by was the vivid glow of his own eyes, mirroring the multitude that often stared at him in his dreams.
And that was when the shapes began to emerge, beginning as pinpoint specks of light in the distance, one after another after another, following a serpentine body that seemed to go on for eternity, now paying little heed to him. They twisted and writhed and coiled around something, but every time Fjord thought he could get a good look, they blocked his view, or the current sent him tumbling again.
Something in his guts told him that this was for the best.
And then, the noise began. An incomprehensible mass of writhing thought, like slithering razorblades tearing at his mind, being met with the howling of the familiar everything-voice that tormented him. Fjord tried to raise his hands to his ears, tried to blot out the sound, but there was no blotting away something that was everywhere, running through everything at once, and when he opened his mouth to scream, he could taste blood on the water.
The two forms fought, struggled against one another, alternated between crushing Fjord and tearing him apart, cutting through his mind and his body until he was just pieces of himself, just meat in a growing cloud of red drifting through the water.
There was no parting word from the serpent before he woke, tonight. But it was very, very clear, even without words that he had no hope at all of understanding, that something was still staking its claim.
Fjord awoke on the beach in the darkness, the rumbling of waves breaking against the shore filling his senses. His head felt as though something had been carving into it, eating it from the inside out. He rolled over and coughed, choked up seawater tinted red, and then grabbed at the sides of his head and shook.
His falchion sat next to him in the sand, just a normal sword, the blade broken in two.
[OOC: Hi I am having fun with Eldritch horrors. The beach is open! Fjord is on day two of the infection, so expect a violent half-orc making swift strides toward monstertown today!]