Her head tilts to the left, a mockery of feigned confused and of question; but the tendrils at the end of her face become pointed and triangularly shape… conal perhaps given their dimension. They do not move when she speaks… not lips, not a nose: just stable and still all the while those on her neck lay still and straight: her tail coils well around her legs and those length arms at her shoulders reach up and out- paddle-shaped tips and their barbs scratching and brushing the the porous flesh and all the biting creatures.
Dynast speaks and she is listening, ears forward and them flickering as Yidhra considers all her words and their meanings: mulls over the Cnidarian’s posture and behavior… her every existence in the region. To herself she feels her own beak pulling back, slowly moving behind the mass and tentacles and sounding out each necessary sound and syllable. In such a voice, she replies in time, ancient and cold: unafraid to address the creature before her with all the resonation and echo of the depths.
Her voice has changed.
Deep and watery, lacking smoke and seduction: there is a brutality and poignant nature to it, reverberating in the air as it would the water. “The creatures on land possess of them a spark that is theirs and only theirs. Such is the same of us beasts beneath the sea: it is truly the miracle when one can manifest in both worlds with surety and the spark of both. I find them interesting, not so much foolish, but curious in a way that I and others can not be well beneath the ocean.” her teal eyes blink: the barbell irises stretching.
Cnidaria, like Dynast, are creatures similar to herself: old and ancient, beyond comprehension in all their forms and shapes. Bioluminescent or lacking… sometimes so massive they might swallow a young porpoise; but other times so small as to be undetectable. For this there is a silent respect, one she bore for Ivar and for the other beasts forced upon land.
Yet? The middling remark about Carnage pushes that backwards, not out of favor for the drowned God; but simply because she dislikes rudeness and discourtesy. “A God does as a God does, careless of the world around it and the things which inhabit it. After all, what do Gods care for the lives of mortals in truth? Nothing. Carnage plays and toys as he wants; but in the end it is only when he wants: otherwise he is keen to merely go about his way.” she shrugs, the Gods are fickle things after all.
She knows, she was a God- and in many ways, she still is.
“You mean the boy who passed out.” she blinks, half recalling Delta and the way he had crumbled so easily. “I had wondered why he had come here. Not many willingly walk into infestation and sickness, albeit it I admire his tenacity in some ways.” she is quick to shrug: merely blink and sighs.
Yidhra
@[Dynast]