out in the deep, I've seen something real
the mouth of the void that the waves conceal
She disdains that which she cannot have, the sky: the blistering sun, and all those who bask and play- fly so freely. Solace, ah yes Solace, she is all these things and Yidhra in her own way finds herself unable to swallow the full load of venom that lingers in her beak: in her throat; but she admits, there is a charm to her… a beauty that would lack if not for the wings and the air beneath them.
Solace was a creature not made for the sea…
Yidhra, however, is something strange and ill-begotten. A hairless beast whose watery skin is porous and rubbery, perfectly black and blue with mottled gray and white varnish… whose neck is aligned with thirty or more tendrils, all long and moving: a mass of writhing barbs and suction cups. Her tail too was the same, and upon her shoulders twin arms stretched out nearly some feet with paddle-shaped tips. Her oval shaped eyes are a strange teal with orange flecks and barbell irises that become little more than slits as she greets the sunlight.
Her beak chatters beneath a maw of tentacles that exist where her nose and mouth should be, and the playful chatter is joined by a strange lullabye from the depths, a shanty long lost.
Dawn is a mystery, and yet? Yidhra watches both Solace and the other- lingers and slithers beside them, the abrasive radula licking the chitinous black beak as she wades through green grass seas and jungles of vine and shadow. Tangles of primordium that make her shiver and recall a life long lost to her and as such she comments on it in passing.
(“I used to be a Goddess in form, immortal and revered: the Element named me the Avatar of Earth itself… how odd that I have been taken so well into the sea.”) she chuckles darkly, the language ancient and old- rattling through her water soaked lungs. To Solace and Dawn it is little more than clicks and hard consonants, harsh sounds that are accompanied by a bizarre foreign manner.
Magnus arrives in form and Yidhra blinks, watches and listens: the gutteral purr rumbling through her throat suddenly evident. She hears introduction and question, steps a leg forward and slithers in a manner more sea-beast than horse; but nonetheless a single long armor reaches forward: the paddle end stretching and flexing, briefly reaching out to, if allow, briefly press itself on Magnus’ nose before releasing the suction cups and drawing it back.
When she speaks it is with a voice harsh and smoky, accented in a song lost to time: a place sunken beneath the sea. Yidhra’s form lifting and poised in a manner that makes her seem taller. “I am Yee tho rah (Yidhra), the Archon of Pangea and one of the Councillors of the Sanctuary in the East.” she hisses, softening in an alien way. “I believe that our beloved coterie has arrived to speak of diplomacy between our regions: also to observe the manner in which the lands have blossomed in the plague’s wake.”
She’s had smiled; but instead her black chitinous beak chatters and clicks, the tendrils around her face moving apart to allow the sight of the dagger-like and impossibly dangerous maw. “It is a pleasure to meet you King Magnus of Tephra, you smell like the very jungles of this place. Mist and primordium, such a wonderful thing, to embody that which you control. Beautiful.”
Complementary and quick, she retracts the tendrils, parses the presence of Rhaegor; but little interacts with him, rather she offers the same- a tentacle reaching out to brush the nose in greeting.
