Morphic - Open Thread KINGSGUARD ;;
#1

ASTYN

The King's First Wave / Corrosion

She doesn't remember much except for waking to her limber body being tossed on the waves like a ragdoll, gasping for breath only to have the water rush in-- Long fingers splay as she swims wildly in whatever direction she believes is up, coughing hard when she gets lucky and finds the right direction in the chaos of it all. Another blasting wave drives her chest-first onto the black-sanded shore. The sand digs into her scales as she coughs and heaves and tries to breathe upon the ground. The thin golden chain's tendrils clink against her the glimmering disc fastened by a leather strap upon her shoulder.

Her head feels hazy. She blinks, looks around, and then unsteadily raises slim figure up above the reach of the water. The lizard's lip curls at the way the salt water stings in her nose, where the ferocity of the sea has caused her chain's piercing to dig into the flesh. Astyn looks around, searching. Being out in the open like this makes her skin crawl for reasons she can't place; she seeks the comforting shadows of the cliffs as she heads toward them.

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#2
Jones the Heliolisk (Solar Power Ability).
Rogue.
Affected RPers: None.


Jones hadn't meant to stray this far afield. These earthquakes have altered the island's topography and with it, Jones's sense of direction. For a little while, Jones indulges herself in these ramblings, keeping her frilled neck flared to take in sunlight. But then, as she stops to catch her breath after climbing a particularly steep hill, a familiar sound catches her by surprise. Sea spray. Jones has found her way back to the beach she washed up half-dead on not long ago.

The first instinct is to turn back. Jones is a desert creature through and through; she has no need of the ocean, and it brings back bad memories. Lungs full of salt and bones chilled near to death are not pleasant sensations to recall. But another sound catches Jones's attention, quieter, almost buried by the crashing of the waves. Something below is clinking, slinking, with the sound of something living sliding across the sand. Morbid curiosity impels Jones forward. What being has been dragged ashore by this bizarre island now?

The creature is black-scaled, reptilian, bedecked in shining yellow metal with bright pink stripes shimmering across their - her - body. She's moving closer, and as she does, Jones catches a glimpse of cold, cunning violet eyes.

Sparks crackle along Jones's scales and her heart speeds up without her input. She doesn't know who this Pokemon is, but she can feel the fear and rage flooding her thoughts, and she trusts her own instincts. She channels the electricity, swinging her tail forward, shooting out a warning Thunderbolt above the stranger's head with barely a second thought. "Who," Jones growls, half-forgotten memories of blood and battle stirring in the back of her brain, "are you."
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#3

ASTYN

The King's First Wave / Corrosion

Her disoriented scurry to safety is given pause by another reptilian figure approaching gradually. Purple eyes narrow to thin slits, pronged tongue flicking out to taste the salty air. Her head gives a throb at the sight of the yellow-scaled creature, but for her, it is not anger that bubbles up, but mild amusement. From where, she's not sure, but she knows that as soon as she sees the lizard, a wicked smirk cracks across her jaws unbidden. She anticipates the crackling electricity that streaks above her head and ducks lithely beneath it. The tingling of it just past her scales quite literally electrifies her. Her own tail lashes with excitement. Astyn wishes that she could place the feeling--this familiarity, this natural ease into ways she no longer knows but feels.

"Oh," comes the drawl, slipping from reptilian maw in a honeyed-sweet hiss in response to the gravelly growl. The words come without thought as she draws up to her full, slender height. "A plaything," she murmurs pointedly beneath her breath, brows raised. Her heart thunders in her chest with excitement. "Who's asking?"

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#4
A staccato rhythm beats, playing Jones’s heart like a fearful drum. The instant she sees the stranger rise up, she’s sure that she’s made a mistake, but she can’t back down, can’t admit it. Not when she’s already thrown down the proverbial gauntlet.

Plaything. Jones latches onto the insult, holding it tight to remind herself to be angry instead of afraid. On instinct, she puts her hand to her back for… something that she was hoping would protect her, but whatever she’s seeking, it isn’t there. The thought makes her nervous. “I don’t hafta tell you anything,” she spits, her tail lashing back and forth. “But I’ll tell you something I know. You look like trouble, and I’m not gonna have any of it.”

She remembers something - a flash at the edge of her vision. She was holding something, something that she trusted, and she was fighting with that, that weapon, black scales flashing all around her. She’d been hurt, she was hurting others, and she didn’t know when the battle would end. She was fighting for her life.

The beach feels hazy, like the black sand could at any time vanished and be replaced by the harsh golden dunes of her nebulous past. Like the scent of salt could change to the tang of blood. Without thinking about it, Jones digs her talons into the earth.

“So you better not be here t’cause any.”
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