Winter's Bars (Solo)

[Warden Thrice]

76th of Winter Winter be damned. Eorar sulked just below the surface of the water, glaring up angrily. He hated winter and he hated the cold and he hated being stuck. Tenten was nice enough, but the seahorse simply wasn’t intelligent enough to be considered true company. Since the Konti’s recovery and subsequent departure, the Charoda had returned to his ways of desperately searching for anything to fill his time. The novelty of scavenging had quickly worn off, and interesting things were simply too difficult to find in the endless expanse of garbage that carpeted the floor of the bay for his attention to be garnered for long. A small voice in the back of his mind chastised him for thinking in such ways. Brooding about it would do nothing to improve his lot. Growling grumpily, Eorar slipped downwards. The light was dim by the time he leveled out fifty or so feet above the bottom of the bay. At this distance from Zeltiva proper, the rubbish that was so rampant was mostly absent. In its place were the skeletons of ships, countless ships sprawled over the sea floor. Most were rotted and covered with barnacles and slime, but despite their unsavory position they still stood proudly, testaments to ages past. Some were less than ten years of age; one or two probably pre-dated the Valterrian. A place like this one was usually a breeding ground for sharks, but not a single fish was in sight. A pod of dolphins had claimed this stretch of land, and so many creatures preferred to stay away. It was for this reason that Eorar was confidant as he wove between the masts. Most of the cloth had been washed away or stolen by the sea’s denizens, but here and there a small tendril of something waved in the currents.

[Warden Thrice]

Approaching on one of the stable-looking crow’s nests, Eorar sat himself upon the cleanest portion of railing and place his chin in his hand. If boredom could kill… A faint clacking caught his attention. He raised his head and looked around, but was unable to locate the source. Again. He frowned and looked at the railing. Was it breaking? It didn’t seem to be. And again. It was coming from behind him. Twisting, Eorar scanned the floor of the crow’s nest, and a movement caught his eye. Turning around completely, he leaned close to attempt to identify whatever it was. It was a lobster, and Eorar quickly drew back and off the railing as it waved its claw threateningly. Curiosity quickly overrode his fear and he stuck his head through the bars that made up the nest’s walls. The lobster was a deep, deep red, deeper than any the Charoda had ever seen. It chattered irritably and rotated, shaking both its claws at nothing in particular. It scurried towards the other side of the nest, and Eorar followed.

[Warden Thrice]

The more he watched, the more he found himself loving the lobster. Its claws in particular entranced him. They opened and closed loudly with the creature’s anger, and it gave Eorar an idea. He took one long look at the lobster, then closed his eyes and relaxed. He fell, clearing his mind of everything but the lobster. Nothing but the lobster. Nothing but the lobster. His right hand started to prickle, and he slowly moved his left to assist. He massaged the skin, which became hard and bumpy. It swelled and twisted, his fingers blending while his thumb snapped opposite and inflated. He hit the deck of a ship and opened his eyes. His right hand had been transformed into a massive lobster claw. He stared at the red appendage almost the size of his head, then flexed. The claw yawned open, displaying a serrated interior. He felt new muscles coil and stretch with surprising power, and when he contracted them the claw closed with a loud snap. His arm reverberated with the sudden strength, and he grinned.

[Warden Thrice]

He tried to leap from the deck, but his new bodily addition was ungainly and it ended up more as falling upwards. He twisted, trying to acclimate to swimming with this hindrance, and managed a clumsy stroke towards one of the more decayed ships. Drawing his claw arm back as if preparing for a punch, he sped towards one of the ribs while his stomach twisted nervously. He took a deep breath, and his claw shot forwards. Crack! The wood splintered under the force and the plank almost snapped in half. Grinning, Eorar planted his feet on the bottom half and sprang backwards. He hurked as he was yanked to a quick stop. Frowning, he heaved backwards, trying to rip the claw out of the wood, but it wouldn’t budge. After a lengthy struggle, he resigned himself and opened the claw, gently letting go of the unfortunate rib. While the lobster claw had considerable strength, Eorar himself did not, and though the claw could close very nicely his arm couldn’t even try to rip it out in the epic fashion he had been hoping for.