i found the antidote. i let the anger go and mother nature found it's place.
now we're compatible, my inner animal, i wanted blood and got a taste.
Each leaf and each blade of grass ruffles and shifts with the wind, each brushed over by an unseen hand that curves that and releases thereafter, and this creates (alongside a cacophony of locusts, grasshoppers, and songbirds) a strange melody within the air that tickles his ears and tentacles… that leaves the lingering taste of sun and dew on his every sense.
A shudder manages through the scales flesh and the glimmering color remains the same endless black; but as before streaks of purple, green, blue, yellow, and a magnitude of others bent through like oil on the pavement, and when he moves even the slightest there is highlight of his broader form and the muscle well within it.
Still, a monolithic and strange as he recalls the depths, he finds that in this place of sun and grass- the only such things are rocks and trees: towering pillars of nature that he cannot fathom to take the shape of… for they, although full of life, lacked the spark of sentience well within and seemed beyond his capabilities. Jealous, in a way, he found himself forced to distract from this at the approaching footsteps and sounds of wings within the air.
Those grim and blackened eyes changes as the reptilian pupil manifested and a burst of orange and yellow, and even red filled them and appeared almost Draconic in some manner as he studied the spotted blue girl. Slender but familiar in her features, he noted the spatter of blue or purple and the tangle of white blending her- morphed by blood and magic; but as she closes the distance he is not cruel nor venomous and instead turns to look down and over her with a sense of playfulness in the forming grin.
His teeth, sharklike in nature, flashed for mere seconds and when he speaks there is a watery echo through the baritone and a corruption of sound that almost makes him speak as if he bore static in his throat… though not unpleasant, is forced an accent of a kind: one more ancient than even Beqanna itself was.
“No more than a bear enjoys his salmon or a wolf with her deer,” he remarked with a blink, and a tilting of his neck and head that seemed inherently owlish or avian. “But it is the first of it’s kind that I have seen so far. Just as you are… call me Nodens,”
Though it was a pause he made no attempts to obfuscate why, the pace and shift of his weight: and his tendrils all writhing en masse as he slithered forward and reached out, not touching but waiting a patient and precious minute. “Would you mind? I am curious what your hair feels like.”
Nodens
@[Dracarys]
