Gardener of the Red Shallows [ Faolan x noric ] [◈Kairos]

[noric]

C/P'd with permission from Kairos, an open Discord RP community.

[noric]

Dawn’s touch turned the shallow’s sea to blood. Roiling, foaming ebb and flow. The weak pulse of a dying beast spewing the night’s poisons from its gully: bones of ships and forsaken cargo, bloated corpses of marine denizens buoyed by their gasses, slimey ropes of kelp and seaweed trailing from the sandy deeps…

This dawn had a mourner; a robust figure meandered along the hissing foam, inspecting the contents of the sea’s expulsion. A lily-skinned woman, who’s form knew not of starvation, with salt and sands and seafoam crust alone to clothe her.

[noric]

Harsh light of morning, unfiltered by any window shutters, stabbed at Faolan's eyes even though his tightly closed eyelids. He grimaced, groaning at all of his aches and pains, blinking against the bright glare of morning. Around him on the beach, various bits of flotsam moved with the surf. Some had been deposited at the high tide mark, other lighter materials remained caught in the ebb and flow.
Realization of what had happened finally dawned on him and Faolan glanced around to see if he was in any danger. Luckily no large creatures seemed apparent and though a bit chilly so far, the morning air was not entirely cold and looked to brighten and warm up as the day went along.

With a grunt he pushed himself up from the sand and spent a few minutes brushing corrosive and itchy specks of mineral from his still damp clothing. On inspection of his own person, Faolan was thankful that his silver dagger and cutlass still hung from his belt. The brace of pistols under his arms also remained but many of his bullets had come free from his bandolier so he was low on ammunition  until he could find another source. A rumble from his belly informed him of dire needs, not having eaten since the morning before.

The grizzled veteran looked around at the chaos surrounding him and despaired. Everyone aboard the ship must have perished. He didn't see any other bodies though. Surely some would wash up. He gave a heavy sigh and glanced up at a slight sound of sand shifting. He gasped. She was stunningly gorgeous. Ripe. Lush. and totally naked aside from salt crystals glittering on her alabaster skin.

[ by Faolan]

[noric]

Still and breathless- like a mouse what's sensed the shadow of a hawk- the woman stared at him. Stared with impossibly wide, impossibly dark eyes, unblinking to the ebb and flow of the blood-red froth that doused her toes.

[noric]

"Are... you all right?" Faolan asked. He took a step toward the woman, then stopped himself and glanced about, making sure no danger lurked nearby. Something about his surrounding gave Faolan pause. Something was not right.

[ by Faolan]

[noric]

Indeed, for the shoreline's ambience was devoid of all but the water's wake. The shipwreck's offal buffeted in the sands with slightly variant hollow rhythms, but no birds beckoned or bickered, no insect screeched from hiding places.

No other creature, save the woman before him, made sight nor sound. She made no motion as the man took his step, as if he was no more a threat than the field of shattered timber he'd lifted himself from.

At last, she tipped her head just so to the left and replied with a throaty, unpracticed accent: "Are...you?"

Her mouth was teeth. Most mouths had teeth, but hers were not the teeth one would see in most women's mouths. Tusk like canines erupted from her lower jar, just barely peeking above her lower lip- a trick of the eyes, a shadow, until one knew better- four curved counterparts flanked them from above.  The four teeth between the flesh rippers- above and below- were almost normal, crooked, even. And then...there were teeth. The man had little time to see in full, but instinct would warn of their uncommon, predatory shape.

[noric]

Faolan backed away, biting back a curse, hand to the hilt of his sword. What manner of creature was this woman? Werewolves and a few other creatures he understood. The monstrosity was on the outside. How was this woman so beautiful on the outside yet possessed of such predatory inner nature?

"I am Faolan," he answered at last, hoping to keep this meeting peaceful at least for now. "Who are you?"

[ by Faolan]

[noric]

The woman knew the nature of a blade, that much was clear in how she responded-- curled lip and tensing posture- but so long as its hostility stayed sheathed, so too did she. Those onyx eyes fixed on Faolan, unblinking.

"Shivaun." She answered; whether it a name, a curse, or a warning, it was unclear. Perhaps she, too, hoped to keep the meeting peaceful.

[noric]

"Shivaun," he said, feeling the sound of the name in his mouth. It sounded much like an Irish girl's name whom he had once known, but there was a subtle difference that set her apart. For one thing this Shivaun did not sound Irish. Keeping one hand on the pommel of his sword he showed her the open palm of his other. "I greet you Shivaun."

He took a half step back again just and glanced around their surroundings once more.

"Please, forgive me if I seem rude," he said, "but I have never met a man or woman with teeth like yours. What are you?"

[ by Faolan]

[noric]

No magician's fool was she, eyes ever keen on the waiting blade as his harmless palm upturned.

"A gardener," she replied at last, though nonsense it did seem, and her voice took a darker turn as she mused upon his features: "Yet, what are weeds 'cept planted poorly."

Her eyes lifted away and cast about around them, 'til she coveted a shell within the sands and knelt to claim it. A venus comb-- a spiral shell be-spined, unbroken. With its edge she cut a lock of salt-brined hair off her shoulder. This twisted black, now tucked inside the emptied curl of the shell, she offered to him with outstretched hand.

"Follow the set of sun 'til a clearing in the kelp you see, then turn your better face 'gainst its rays and walk 'til the sickmen's quay. Look then for your peoples' planter, their ink across the sky, but do not breathe a human word 'til my lock is dry."

[noric]

"weeds indeed," he muttered.

This woman put him on edge. Her tone, her air, none of it felt comfortable to him in any way, despite her beauty otherwise. He kept expecting her to rush him with arms outstretched.

"West, eh?" he grunted. "Very well. I will go in peace."

He approached her slowly, letting his hand leave the pommel of his sword, but hover near the handle of his dagger which would be more useful in close quarters if she decided to break the truce. He reached out for the be-haired shell in her pale fingers.

"Don't speak until the hair has dried. I understand."

He kept his gaze locked to hers as he took the shell.

[ by Faolan]

[noric]

The brief meet of skin as the shell passed hands was unremarkable. She was neither hot nor cold, merely humanly warm; nor did a jolt of fire or ice pierce the man's veins on contact. Her hand dropped.

"Find soil suiting, Faolan. Hone your prickles, lest the beasts partake. And should you chance to bloom, perhaps you'll meet a gardener here, in the fade of a gibbous moon."

The woman said naught else, but lifted upturned palm the way he was to set upon. His silence was to begin.

[noric]

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