I. Crawling out of the ocean feels right, beached upon the shore exhausted by the rough waves — but Silco has persevered through the Mariana-fury of the riptides and wash, his little squidself not dashed away. It's dangerous to be on the beach right now, but he doesn't know that. All Silco knows is the effort of reshaping himself, the growing into a human form (once more? a familiar form?) that has angular limbs and sharp cheekbones and crooked teeth, a twisted, corrupted body around a core of banked rage. It's slow at first and then comes all at once, and you, his Waker, have him crouched and damp, furious at his own weakness, snatching any offered clothes, still so grateful to be alive.
One pale eye darts around to his surroundings; the other is an abomination, black sclera that tendrils dark sickness beneath the scarred skin of his cheek, eye glowing orange-red like banked flame, fixed on his Waker. The feeling of connection is there, if coming home, but he's suspicious of it, and wearied by his own suspiciousness.
(( please check and see if anyone else has replied to this prompt; it's OTA in case anybody wants to be his Waker, but i would prefer to go over that opening infodump only once if at all. thank you! ♥ ))
II. Funny, truly, to see a festival so outdoors. Silco is used to street stalls selling rubbery and unidentified sea creature stews, to sparkling chemical-made distractions for children, to celebration. It seems sweeter and more charming than anything Zaun ever held in his lifetime, but it's also not the pompous and rigid Piltover festivities that are usually held under open sky. That discrepancy fascinates him, and — still in only his newcomer's robes — he wanders through the festivities in the early evening, his strange eye alight amidst the shadows.
To one salesperson whose wares seem more along the lines of fabrics, he stops and inquires in a genteel rasp: "I'm looking for some clothes."
To another manning the dunk tank, he squints and frowns: "I'm not sure I understand the point."
And then later, if you appear to be on the younger side, a child or teen, you might find a bright blue cupcake being offered to you. "Too sweet for me," Silco says, already turning away as though the gesture is simply offhand.
III. The creature emerges from the ocean tentacle by tentacle, though its suckers seem to grip not the rocks or sand but the air itself as it pulls its hideous gelatinous body from the waves. It's a great dark mass veined with something pulsing and noxious, bright blue or orchid purple veins deep beneath the eldritch blubber of its flesh. Silco should run, should be afraid, can feel his own mind bending to simply comprehend its existence in the space — but instead he stares, fascinated. Even on these shores, invisible threats lurk beneath the waves. It's almost enough to make one homesick.
His melancholy amusement is cut short by two things. Firstly, the creature suddenly moves quickly, far faster than its bulky emergence. It's tentacles carry it forward like a spider with hundreds of legs, and it pancakes itself wider and flatter, taking up space, ink spreading up the beach. Silco should have left when it first started to emerge; it won't be long before it spots him, and anyone with him.
The second thing that happens, though, is his reflexive reaction to the danger. Smoke bursts from his chest and mouth as his omen manifests, and its own dark tentacles take form, wrapping themselves around him protectively.
IV. (( misc option! canonmates are welcome to recognize him or just the vial of shimmer he has with him, you might want to do more welcome wagoning, or you might have a better idea for a starter that doesn't fit my prompts. ))
silco | arcane | vileblood
Crawling out of the ocean feels right, beached upon the shore exhausted by the rough waves — but Silco has persevered through the Mariana-fury of the riptides and wash, his little squidself not dashed away. It's dangerous to be on the beach right now, but he doesn't know that. All Silco knows is the effort of reshaping himself, the growing into a human form (once more? a familiar form?) that has angular limbs and sharp cheekbones and crooked teeth, a twisted, corrupted body around a core of banked rage. It's slow at first and then comes all at once, and you, his Waker, have him crouched and damp, furious at his own weakness, snatching any offered clothes, still so grateful to be alive.
One pale eye darts around to his surroundings; the other is an abomination, black sclera that tendrils dark sickness beneath the scarred skin of his cheek, eye glowing orange-red like banked flame, fixed on his Waker. The feeling of connection is there, if coming home, but he's suspicious of it, and wearied by his own suspiciousness.
(( please check and see if anyone else has replied to this prompt; it's OTA in case anybody wants to be his Waker, but i would prefer to go over that opening infodump only once if at all. thank you! ♥ ))
II.
Funny, truly, to see a festival so outdoors. Silco is used to street stalls selling rubbery and unidentified sea creature stews, to sparkling chemical-made distractions for children, to celebration. It seems sweeter and more charming than anything Zaun ever held in his lifetime, but it's also not the pompous and rigid Piltover festivities that are usually held under open sky. That discrepancy fascinates him, and — still in only his newcomer's robes — he wanders through the festivities in the early evening, his strange eye alight amidst the shadows.
To one salesperson whose wares seem more along the lines of fabrics, he stops and inquires in a genteel rasp: "I'm looking for some clothes."
To another manning the dunk tank, he squints and frowns: "I'm not sure I understand the point."
And then later, if you appear to be on the younger side, a child or teen, you might find a bright blue cupcake being offered to you. "Too sweet for me," Silco says, already turning away as though the gesture is simply offhand.
III.
The creature emerges from the ocean tentacle by tentacle, though its suckers seem to grip not the rocks or sand but the air itself as it pulls its hideous gelatinous body from the waves. It's a great dark mass veined with something pulsing and noxious, bright blue or orchid purple veins deep beneath the eldritch blubber of its flesh. Silco should run, should be afraid, can feel his own mind bending to simply comprehend its existence in the space — but instead he stares, fascinated. Even on these shores, invisible threats lurk beneath the waves. It's almost enough to make one homesick.
His melancholy amusement is cut short by two things. Firstly, the creature suddenly moves quickly, far faster than its bulky emergence. It's tentacles carry it forward like a spider with hundreds of legs, and it pancakes itself wider and flatter, taking up space, ink spreading up the beach. Silco should have left when it first started to emerge; it won't be long before it spots him, and anyone with him.
The second thing that happens, though, is his reflexive reaction to the danger. Smoke bursts from his chest and mouth as his omen manifests, and its own dark tentacles take form, wrapping themselves around him protectively.
IV.
(( misc option! canonmates are welcome to recognize him or just the vial of shimmer he has with him, you might want to do more welcome wagoning, or you might have a better idea for a starter that doesn't fit my prompts. ))