#shaels rage is my own

[sea-and-storm]

BENEATH THE WAVES ;

The moment that Ghoa's back hit the water's surface, the breath came rushing from her lungs and a blinding white exploded behind her eyes. Yet just as quickly as it came, that lightness in her vision was swallowed whole by the deep dark of the sea.

Just as soon as she regained her wits and her bearings, the Mankhad's arms and legs began kicking against the water to try and propel herself back to the surface. Though no matter how hard she swam and fought, she only seemed to be moving ever downwards as if a heavy anchor were pulling her towards the sea floor. The harder she strained against the current, the more her lungs began to burn with the effort until what scant breath remained to her escaped in a small shower of bubbles. 

Though she had never feared the sea before, Ghoa could now feel the fear and panic welling up within her breast as the cold, briny seawater filled her lungs. As the darkness grew deeper around her like the walls of a shadowy coffin.

You need not be afraid, child.

A voice called out to her. At once it seemed to echo within her head and all around her, from everywhere and nowhere. Yet for its strangeness, it seemed not in the least ominous. The voice was warm and matronly. 

None shall harm you here, the presence cooed to her. Within my arms, you are safe.

Yet it was not only the words the reached Ghoa now, but sensation. What felt like two arms wrapped about her slight form, holding her in within their grasp. With it the feeling of sinking came to a gentle stop, and so too did the breathless burning within her chest. The oppressive, frightening darkness began to pull away from the edges of her vision. Now, looking upwards, she could see -- even if still murky and distorted -- the surface above. 

Her brow furrowed in confusion. It felt as if she had been sinking for so long, and even more perplexing was the way her chest had begun to rise and fall with breaths once more as if she wasn't beneath the waves. The bone-deep chill of the water receded like low tide from her body, replaced instead by comforting warmth.

Queer as it all was, a deep and soothing veil of peace had fallen over her. Her eyes batted closed, and now she could feel the heavineherand fatigue in her limbs from her struggle just moments ago. Oh, how she wanted to sleep here now, wrapped in the sea's loving embrace. 

Rest, the voice coaxed as if it had read her very thoughts. I shall watch over you, child of the sea.

Somehow, she felt she could trust this voice at its word, and so Ghoa allowed her eyes to fall shut and for the tension to fade from her body. 

Perhaps only seconds had passed as the sea craddled her, or maybe entire bells. Time seemed a remote and meaningless triviality this deep underwater. But eventually, before she could fall too deeply into the rest it afforded her, the voice called again to gently rouse her.

You must awaken now. 

Her brows furrowed as she felt a tender caress to her cheek, but her brow furrowed and her eyes stubbornly stayed shut. Reluctance swelled within her. Why would she ever choose to release her grasp upon the sweetest peace ever to take her? 

You cannot stay here.

Why would she ever choose to leave this place where she felt so safe, so far removed from any who would ever do her harm? She hadn't felt this deep sense of security since she was but a young girl, when she had still naively and mistakenly thought herself protected by old traditions and those whom watched over her.

Look, child.

That phantom, formless hand brushed her cheek once more and then gently guided her head upwards. Despite her own stubbornness, curiosity eventually won out as her eyes blinked open once again. In the water above her, she could see a shadowy, unclear figure above her. A figure that seemed to slowly grow larger as it drew nearer. But still, even as the distance between them closd, she could make out no details as to their identity.

You cannot stay here, the voice repeated, its tone ever patient and gentle. Go with them.

The figure loomed closer still, until finally a hand outstretched towards her came into focus. There was a pause before she shifted her gaze then, trying to peek past the splayed fingers beyond to the face of whomever to which it belonged. Yet even as they drew near enough for her to touch, their visage remained frustratingly hazy. Even so, despite knowing not their identity, she felt within her a sense of familiarity and trust that had her reach out her hand towards them. Yet it stopped just short of taking that hand.

She was hesitating. Though something wordless and indescribable urged her to reach for them, a voice in the far reaches of her mind whispered to her. Why leave this idyllic, peaceful place? The world beyond the waves could be so very cruel. She could stay here. No one would ever hurt her here, as the voice had said. She was, at last, safe from any who would seek to harm her.

You harbor doubts.

Once again, that motherly voice seemed to read her thoughts just as if she had spoken them aloud. 

You have suffered much, I know, and you have held fear in your heart that your path has led you beyond our sight and mind. You worry that we have forgotten you, or worse, forsaken you.

But know that though you have wandered far, all water returns to the sea in time -- and so too have the tears you've shed. I have beheld them and wept for you, longing to bring you home to my arms for succor. The Storm, she has raged for you, howling and thrashing at those who would harm her beloved. Our love for you has never faltered, my child, and when the time should come that you return to us for good we will welcome you gladly and with opened arms. 

Yet until that time, you must walk your own path. To walk it is to endure suffering and fear and doubts, yes, but so too is it to experience love and laughter and joy.. 

And though you may wander far from us along this path, you need not walk it alone. Look again. Closer.

Once more she felt the unseen hand guiding her gaze, this time back towards the figure whose hand she held loosely onto. The indistinct face she had not been able to make out before began to slowly clarify into a familiar visage, and with it a name. Arasen. No, wait.. as she blinked again, the face she saw belong to Anchor. Again, and it was Batuhan. Nabi. Shael, even.

Your friends and allies walk beside you, and it is to them that you should turn when doubt threatens to overwhelm you. Lean upon them when you want for support, cry upon their shoulders when you are pained, but also share with them in whatever happiness and moments of peace you find.

So you cannot stay here, my child. You need them, just as they have need of you. They've their own paths, their own trials and sorrows and triumphs. You must be there for them as they are for you.

Now go, the voice coaxed. Go with them, and go with our love.

Ghoa paused at the gentle push, but not from reluctance. Rather, despite being underwater, she could feel tears welling up in her eyes and rolling over cheek and scale alike -- not of sadness, but of immense relief. She wanted to say something, to say how much it meant to her to hear those reassuring words, but every word at the tip of her tongue felt wrong or woefully insufficient. But deep down, she knew that it didn't have to be spoken aloud;  the sea would know her heart and her mind well enough without words.

Indeed, as if in answer, Ghoa felt what could've been the soft brush of lips against her forehead before slowly the feeling of those arms around her began to drift away. Yet still, though they parted, their warmth and comfort remained. 

Once more, she turned her eyes towards the surface. Yet this time, her hand tightened on the others' and her feet began to kick and propel her upwards towards it. Up, up, and up.. and when she finally broke the surface again, once more her vision was overwhelmed by blinding light.

[anchor-management]

The Monster They Create

Blue skies stretched on over the horizon, the sun set high at its peak. It was just transitioning to the afternoon, where warmth replaced the cool morning air and colored the world in bright and saturated hues. The salt-filled breeze brushed over tanned skin, gently disrupting short, coarse hairs against his scalp. The grass was soft and moist beneath, cradling his head and tired body. His breaths drew in and out with ease, even and relaxed. It was perfect. He could lay here forever and never tire of it. If only time would stand still. “Jude--!” Musical and playful, her voice was, albeit distant. The footfalls approaching were light like a dancer’s, coming closer still until he could feel the presence of another’s foot near either side of him. His eyelids parted open into warm slits of crimson. There, above him, was her silhouette, the light behind her blinding him from making out her features. But he hardly needed to see her to know who it was. The shape of her wisping locks of raven hair were enough, her ears alert, fluttering slightly each time the wind caressed one. “Jude,” more audible, it came, the tone almost chiding, though full of humor and warmth. “Wake up now. We have to go back.” He felt her bare fingers touch his face, the pads of her digits running over the scarring over his features. There was blood on her touch as she drew back, but for some reason this didn’t alarm him. “Wake up…,” she repeated softly, a little more pleading. He didn’t understand; he was far from asleep by now, being able to watch her contently as he was, regardless if she was veiled in the blinding sun. But, for some reason, he couldn’t tell her. He couldn’t find the strength or will to move... “Wake up!” An order now. Almost desperate. Her hands were on his chest, shaking him slightly. He couldn’t reach out to her. She started beating on his torso with balled fists. His breaths were growing anxious, the situation slowly sinking in, filling him with anxiety. “Wake up!” Why couldn’t she see he was awake? Why couldn’t he reassure her he was alright? And most of all, why couldn’t he move?! “w A k E   u P - - - !” Her words screeched against the sudden gale that tore through, piercing his ears, ringing in an echo as she screamed. It seemed to tear the very foundation from their feet, the light behind her engulfing their surroundings like a blast. He wanted to press his hands to his ears and squeeze his eyes shut, but all he could do was stare in horror as her form was revealed in the flash. Some gray creature, with nothing but whites in her traumatized gaze, jaw stretching off her face until it was peeling off the weathered, bloated corpse that she was...

Anchor jarred awake against the floor in a cold sweat, eyes wide and reflecting the same horror at what he had just witnessed. His irises were brighter than usual, but slowly dimmed as he drew in ragged, shuddering inhales. A whispered curse passed his lips as he reached up shakily, chains dragging from the restraints against his wrists. His quaking fingers raked through his coarse, black hair before sliding back down his flushed and contorted features. A dry swallow then, pressing a palm to the cold earth to push himself up. It was an effort; he was still incredibly weak after the second fight. The poison wielder had been more of a challenge than the pirate had hoped and left him terribly dehydrated after his body had expelled much fluid trying to rid itself of the toxins his knife-like nails had produced. Though… he supposed he himself was to blame for half of it; using his own poisonous body to end the bastard’s life. It earned him his victory, but the cost was great. In this condition, he wasn’t sure if he’d have the strength to contend. Not like this. [“He’s had a good run so far… but may I suggest enhancements at this point?”] Nagakane’s words floated into his memory like an echo. Anchor’s fingers curled into weak, trembling fists. His body was already ailing from the years in the mines from years past. What would something like this do to him? He felt... nervous. And he hated it. He hated feeling that familiar sensation of uncertainty when it came to him and his own. It was his life. It was his body. It was his. [“... You will understand one thing.”] It was Elam’s voice now that came to surface. Anchor could still feel the throbbing pain against his throat as the other’s fingers dug in against it from under the metal circlet, squeezing along the fresh gashes from his recent fight. He could still smell Grave’s breath hissing against his skin, [Your life is mine. The moment you betrayed me, then walked right back into my den trying to protect some helpless doe that was mine for the taking. You just haven’t realized it yet. You will kill for me. Someday soon,] [“Even that doe.”] Anchor’s fists slammed into the cavern floor. It hurt. He didn’t care. Even though the words had passed, he still felt the same anger that had nearly taken him all over again. His breaths shook from his nostrils, growing in intensity until he growled in frustration. His temper threw him into a fit. He raked his heels along the ground away from the cavern wall his ankles and wrists were chained to. The metal dug into his already raw skin as he thrashed and pulled, as if he’d somehow break from the very earth it was embedded in. Grunts and seethes of frustration poured from his lips and between his gritted teeth. His pale, sick flesh went flush for his effort. His body contorted this way and that, twisting legs and shoulders in a mad lash like some wild animal. Within it all, Anchor released some violent outcry while he jerked repeatedly against his restraints. His legs gave out. Anchor’s knees collided into the ground, his rasping roar weathering into pained and exhausted gasps. He still pulled desperately, though with less ferocity, with what strength he had left in his torso and arms. The rattling of the chains went on for a few more minutes, before gradually stilling, replaced with the sound of his harsh and labored breaths. He stared out towards the cell bars in front of him, eyes wide with the recent, blind madness as his visible breaths panted out and dispersed into the cold air around him. But Anchor’s disposition twisted slowly; brows creasing over the anguished lines against his forehead. He felt it suddenly… That dreadful feeling he never wanted to feel again. The feeling that kept him submissive for years in That Place. The feeling of control being ripped from his fingertips. H e l p l e s s. And SLAM went his head. He had dipped it suddenly, letting his forehead collide into the ground punishingly. That awful feeling passed. Because to hell with it. He was not a child. And he was most definitely not a slave. Not to his past, and certainly not now. To Hells with Shael. To Hells with Elam Grave. He couldn’t trust either of them and he certainly couldn’t count on another to pull him through the gutter that was this world. He didn’t get this far riding on coattails or having his hand held through the darkness. Anchor dragged himself tooth and nail; through blood, piss, and shit. Anchor was still breathing laboriously as he lifted his bruising head off from the stone below. There was still a madness to his countenance as he lifted a palm to his mouth, wiping away the slaver and sweat there from his recent fit. His hand lingered over his lips, eyes darting about searchingly. If Elam Grave could not stand on equal ground with him... If they could not work together... Then he would have to die. Just as all others that got in his way. He would godsdamn crush him and whatever he was trying to build here. He would tear everything from his fucking greedy fingers. ...But how? There was a flicker in his peripheral, beckoning for his attention like the dull light of a firefly. His jaw set slowly as his gaze panned over, breaths easing from his nose as his palm slowly lowered from his features and back to the cavern floor. It slid over with a light rake of chains following behind, his fingers outstretching to the small little crystal embedded into the earth there. The tip of his calloused, grimy digit made contact tentatively, like testing the temperature of a stagnant pool of water. He traced the shape down, following the veins that had become a familiar sight in this mountain. It was gentle, the way his finger drew over the patterns, going from one crystal to the next, towards his side and behind him and back to the wall where they seemed all the more abundant. Anchor’s form rotated in place to follow, palms sliding up the walls and over, eyes flickering over the different portions of the cavern wall like it were a canvas and he was the hungry artist trying to decide where to start. All of these… they all went through these caverns. They might stretch through the entirety and beyond. An odd smile quirked up Anchor’s lips on one end. More intently, he pressed his palms against the wall, brows drawing together. Sweat beaded from his temple and slid down the dark and purple bruises marring half his features. His breathing picked up again and an unearthly static sparked between his knuckles and contact along the crystals and stone. [“...Another use of such ability will kill him.”] Anchor paused, that energy in the air fizzling out as more of Nagakane’s words seeped into his thoughts. He pulled his touch away slowly, looking down at his trembling hands. They weren’t shaking from fear or rage. It was simply strain and the pain wracking his abused form. That’s right. He was far too weak. He didn’t have enough within him. Yet. A soft exhale puffed out of his nostrils and, after a moment of reluctance, Anchor turned from the wall and let his scarred back lean against it instead. Not yet. But soon. He supposed he would get whatever enhancements Elam Grave and the Curator spoke of. And then… Then he would show them what the monster they created could do.