The Physalia
@voraciousTreasure
The blood in the water shines a beacon Private messages are open. I may not deign to answer. If I do, this is your warning to tread carefully.
~~~~~~~~ ((OOC: TL:DR and info at the bottom!)) Let me tell you a story. Long ago for all but the eldest of trolls, there was a collector. His name does not matter. His bloodline does not matter. His caste matters only for it lent him undeserved power. He used that power to gather a great many things that took his fancy; jewellery, relics both fabled and not, beautiful things, powerful things, curiosities of all kinds. One night, whilst the pink moon was full, he decided to follow a tale he had heard of a hidden hoard of treasure. He cared not for the curse said to have been laid in protection. He cared not for the reticence of his crew, both indentured and there by choice. He cared for nothing but his own greed. One night, whilst the pink moon was full and the seas were still, he brought his ship to a great spire of stone; the remains of once-grand mountain. Now only a shard remained. He weighed anchor and brought his ship to a halt. He sent some of his crew into a cave at the base of the spire to retrieve the treasure, and when they called to the ship the news of its discovery, he joined them on the stony shore. He had the honour of becoming the first ensnarement when the song rose up from the deep to wind through his mind. It called to him. It told him: there is a greater treasure to collect. It told him: come here, for there is something you dearly want. His boots met the waves and he plunged down beneath, unheeding of his crew. It told him: hello, Collector. I’ve been waiting for you. And then the singing stopped. A very specific cruelty. He had time to realise what he’d found. He had time to try and scream before his limbs turned to stone, his flesh hardening against his will to flee, for he knew he could not win this fight. One night, whilst the pink moon was full, they say the collector was stolen by a siren. They say it turned his bones to stone and froze his limbs in place. They say it let him sink in the sea and watch from below as it sung his crew into its clutches and paralysed them too. They say it let him watch as it tore them apart. They say it finally curled around him and let him beg. They say it smiled and sung in glee as it broke his ribcage in twain and ate his pusher in front of him, slowly. They say it rendered his grand ship to sticks and took the treasure for itself. They say it was a mertroll. They say it was a siren with a paralytic prowess. They say dulling your hearing will not save you. They say using a weapon will not help you. They say it comes up from the depths and roams the oceans of Alternia. They say if it catches you, it will eat you. They say its name is The Physalia. Hello. ((This account will contain #violence, #gore, #death, #nsfw, #nsfwe, and #cannibalism. The Physalia is a seadweller who has spent much of their life in Alternia's oceans. Something of a legend, they are one of the many dangers facing trolls on the planet; if The Physalia catches someone, they will paralyse and eat said troll, taking any valuables for their own benefit. Their voice is rumoured to have hypnotic qualities. The Physalia is a mutant, having a fish tail instead of legs, but does not seem worried about being culled. They spend their time exploring shipwrecks and underwater hives; their lair is a cave system hidden in one of the deepest trenches on Alternia. DMs open both IC and OOC!))
~~~~~~~~ Good dawn. Do remember to ensure the sun will not reach you. Charred remains are hardly worth consuming. ((#cannibalism))
~~~~~~~~ There appears to be a small fleet of ships travelling on the surface. Unwise of them, though I am certainly not complaining. I'm rather hungry, so: select a number between one and eleven, if you will. ((#cannibalism implied))
~~~~~~~~ Good dusk. Take caution tonight; the shadows are deeper than you might expect. Hungry.
~~~~~~~~ Good dawn. The unprepared will always find the water deeper than expected. Darker. Deadlier. Take caution whilst sleeping this light.
~~~~~~~~ A fragment of a song I enjoy, translated into Modern Western Alternian for your convenience. For once, the song I hum concerns neither myself nor my interests. You are most welcome. 'Heave ho, Glashtyn go Tug the ferry to and fro Heave ho, you must go Down to the river below Gain adventure, give a little grief (To and fro we haul away) Dark cool waters; our toil and relief (To and fro we haul away) Send your smiling shadow down (Haul away, haul away) To call the dance in Glashtyn Town (Glashtyn, haul away)' ((#lyricposting))
((Sadly none of my characters would comment on this but I wanted to say I really liked it!))
((It totally makes sense! I’ll have to check out their other stuff.))
~~~~~~~~ Good dusk. Remember to look behind you. Remember to look up. Remember the shadows always have a source.
~~~~~~~~ Good dawn. There is always something bigger, stronger, faster. Hungrier. If you are near the ocean, that thing is myself.
~~~~~~~~ Good dusk. The pink moon is bright tonight. Nearly full. An anniversary approaches.
O~ I... Shall not aSk further, but I am glad for you to be celebrating an anniverSary of any kind without that background information. ~O
~~~~~~~~ Good dawn, trolls and otherwise. Head to your slumber swiftly, silently, surreptitiously. Your hunters may just let you live through the light.
G☽oo☾dlight Phyllie!! ⋆˚࿔
~~~~~~~~ Good dusk. Death will rise from the deep and feast as it drags you down. I am at home down here, after all.
"= my what ="
"= sorry. i don't have one of those. you can have my something else. ? ="
"= haha. okay. even if that, i'll be back next time. don't get used to it. ="
~~~~~~~~ Good dawn, trolls and otherwise. Take care with those rocks bound to your feet as you sink into slumber.
~~~~~~~~ My latest meal wore a rather elegant coat of ragseal hide, bearing an embroidered warning hidden amongst the lapel decoration. Said warning is a verse from a song I know very well. Given his fate, he should have heeded such words for himself, rather than hoping them upon his adversaries. For those of you who cannot parse the stitches, it reads as follows: Moon and moor and fire and fen We hunt in the night for a song You will know us well by the dawn If you dare try the tune sing along [voraciousTreasure uploaded a photo!] ((An elaborate, expensive-looking grey coat drifts underwater, the fabric not sodden in the way that fibre would be. Double-breasted with gleaming buttons and a broad collar, the coat is covered in delicate streams of tiny silver stitches in the shapes of waves, shells, and tentacled creatures. The lapels contain tiny pearls throughout the embroidery, with subtle stitching turning the jellyfish embroidery into neat lettering, hidden upon the first glance. Violet blood stains the pearls and clouds the water to the top-right of the photo. #cannibalism))
~~~~~~~~ Good dusk. A maelstrom begins to brew this evening. Be wary of the predators awaiting your foolishness.
~~~~~~~~ Good dawn. Some say that ignorance is bliss. Pretending the things stirring in the depths do not exist does not lend oneself to remaining intact. I'd recommend you pay attention.
~~~~~~~~ Some interesting developments on this website tonight.
~~~~~~~~ Perhaps I shall go hunting shortly. ((#cannibalism implied))
I h9pe this has n9 c9rrelati9n
~~~~~~~~ Good dusk. Remember that you cannot tread water indefinitely. Once you tire -- and you will -- drowning quickly will be your best hope. ((#death))
True! And the gul~ls might come to peck at your globes. #gore?
~~~~~~~~ Good dawn, trolls and otherwise. Take note of the shapes in your dreams. Pray they are only hallucinations.
-O-O-kay, well if it's happening in a dream then it's a dream. Halluci-o-o-nati-o-o-ns -o-o-nly really happen when y-o-o-u're actually awake... -O-O-r in between sleep and awake. But, again, then it's n-o-o-t a dream anym-o-o-re.
I d-o-o-n't think any-o-o-ne has ever said that.
OBJECTION! no rorian is right
Y-o-o-u just missed the mark with this -o-o-ne, that's alright. Y-o-o-ur -o-o-ther p-o-o-sts are plenty cryptic.
~~~~~~~~ I am growing increasingly irritated at the trend during the Sevcits Era to fasten jewellery with rootgut or shell hooks rather than metal. Hundreds of sweeps buried in silt or cradled in mouldering velvet leaves them liable to disintegrate just by being lifted through water.
~~~~~~~~ Good dusk. Take care as you choose the currents you'll follow, for the riptide will snatch most of you down into the depths.
